Honey smiled at him in her Honey way. But when she looked round at me, she looked a bit sad. She won’t be in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, she will be riding around in a limo in a Hollywood dream.

Monty went to sit down on a table but his trousers were too tight to bend easily, so he put one arm on the top of the table and leaned back, in a casual storytelling pose.

He said, “Once more we enter the magical, tragical, comedical world of Shakespeare and his wondrous fairy tale. Now, as you may know, a great deal of the action takes place in the woods and to get into the proper spirit we shall ourselves, ‘enter the woods.’ The woods are of course a metaphor for the imagination and subconscious.”

Rain started pelting against the windows.

I said to the others, “I hope he is being ‘metaphorical’ in that he means we will enter the woods in our minds, but not actually have to go outside into the howling rain.”

Honey said, “I don’t want to spoil my bootth, the wain might wuin them for Hollywood. I don’t think they will like thoggy bootth in Hollywood.”

Flossie said, “I know, and my pants are only just dry from yesterday. I put them on the dorm radiator to dry. If Bob had found them I would have been hung for offenses against the planet.”

Everyone else seemed keen to get into the woods.

Vaisey said, “Come on, it will be fun.” And stuffed her curls into her hat.

Monty started putting on his raincoat. My coat was still damp from walking to Dother Hall, but who said the ladder to the stars was going to be dry? We squelched across the sodden grass and into the dripping woods. A big raindrop went right down my neck. At least no one licked it off.

Monty had his theatrical welligogs on (stars all over them) and bustled along in front of us breathing in the damp forest air as if it was tincture of joy. Then he darted off suddenly and hid behind a tree.

We looked at each other—had we started the avant garde performance already? Then Monty’s head popped out and he put his hand to his ear and said, “Sssshhhhhh. Can you begin to feel it, girls? Do you feel the magic working, girls? ‘What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?’ OOOohhhh, the Bard, the Bard! Genius genius!!!”

We blundered on while he yelled over his shoulder, “You can smell fairies out here!!”

We looked at each other.

Then he stopped and gasped, “Look, girls, look. Drink in the sight.”

He pointed to some moldy old hawthorn berries clinging on to a twig for dear life against the wind and rain. He gazed at them as if he was about to burst into tears and clapped his hands and said, “Two lovely berries molded on one stem.” And went chuckling off farther into the woods.