‘Well, sometimes, yes – but if you were a dressmaker, you’d expect to make a garment the size and shape your client wanted,’ suggested Catherine. ‘We have to tailor our words in a similar fashion. If you find you’ve written too much, then cutting what you’ve done is always a useful exercise too. Most of our work is improved by cutting. You’d be amazed at how my poems always benefit from the knife – though I still find it very difficult. Have a go at two thousand words anyway.’

‘Can it be a children’s story?’

‘Of course. I expect you’ll all produce something completely different. So long as the subject and length are right it can be anything you like.’

Bunty perked up immediately.

‘Bet they all travel by broomstick on that particular journey,’ muttered Louisa to Morwenna who was sitting next to her.

‘Hmm . . . or on a magic carpet,’ agreed Morwenna, already planning how she could make her journey horticultural and finding to her own surprise that despite her usual lack of imagination she could clearly envisage a trip to Nepal with the Dendrologists Society, something she had always wanted to do.

‘Just for fun, let’s go round the table and each produce a word off the top of our heads which we’ll all include in our story or article,’ said Catherine. ‘You start, Win.’

‘Flapjacks,’ said Win.

‘Louisa? What’s your word?’

‘Owls,’ said Louisa.

‘Rhododendrons?’ suggested Morwenna.

‘Tanks,’ said the Colonel.

‘Fairies,’ offered Bunty predictably. Joyce suggested tourists, Marnie produced voodoo and Christopher said oysters.

‘Fine,’ said Catherine. ‘Those are all nouns so I’ll throw in an adjective. Let’s go for spine-chilling.’

‘Spine-chilling flapjacks! That should be a first,’ said Christopher and everyone laughed. Catherine thought that her class were beginning to relax with each other and hoped it would give them the confidence to be adventurous in their writing.

At eleven o’clock they were just about to pause for a mid-morning break and troop off to the espresso coffee machine in the bar when Stanley burst through the door, followed at a slower pace by Giles. It was clear that Stanley was in a black rage. He scowled at everyone.

‘Get your bag packed,’ he said to Win. ‘We’re leaving. I want everyone to know that I reckon this place is a bloody con. You and me’ll catch next train to York and I’ve told Giles Grant here that I’m demanding my deposit back in full and I won’t be paying owt else neither.’