‘This is impossible,’ she said, falling over. ‘It feels warm, and clammy.’

By now Tancredi was accustomed to strange new situations. Landing on a pink marshmallow was no more surprising than coming across an army of the sick, or watching people gorge on pizza in the face of death. They could breath and so survive, wherever they were. Here was another opportunity for revelation.

The travellers stumbled off in search of a clue as to what lay beneath their feet. As they negotiated a bulbous hill, which yielded with every tread, the surface began to undulate. Tancredi put his ear to it.

‘There’s a rumbling noise underground,’ he said. ‘We must have landed on a volcano of some sort.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Cocomo replied. ‘Something’s wrong.’

It was in her nature to see the negative side of any given situation. Optimism is not an attribute of the huntress. Self-preservation requires a perpetual sniffing for the scent of danger.

They rounded another peak and came upon a rosy cliff face. It towered above them; any progress in that direction was impossible. As they looked up, wondering what to do, the cliff shot upwards. Cocomo herded the group back, shocked at what had been revealed – a gigantic head. At last the enigma was answered. They had landed on the belly of the body attached to the head. The cliff was a hand, which was rubbing sleep from eyes now focussed on them. Kasbek began to bark uncontrollably.

‘Steady, Kasbek,’ said Tamany, trying to calm his usually compliant steed.

Cocomo threw herself forward; her instinct was to attack, but to what end was unclear. She had no weapons, the enemy was a vast pink mountain, impossible to scale. She managed a few strides forward.

‘Where are we?’ she demanded, then fell over.

There was a pause, followed by further rumblings. The face rolled back; the travellers were confronted with the rounded foothills of a multiple chin.

‘Ooooh! Me tum tum.’

Further rumbles gave way to a loud belch, which enveloped the travellers in a malodorous wind. They shrank backwards. The giant’s eyes reappeared above his chin. They contemplated the little group with growing interest.

‘Tasty, yum yum?’

None of them knew how to respond to this oblique comment.

‘No.’ There was a hesitating contemplation, followed by an apparent decision. ‘Maybe tasty fun fun?’ he tittered, ‘yes, fun, fun.’

He clapped his great hands together in evident delight.

Cocomo repeated her question. Her resolve startled the pink giant.

‘On Obesitas, of course,’ a voice boomed over the mound of his belly, which bounced precariously from the force of his reply. ‘I presume you’re freaks come to perform in the Show?’

He looked at them quizzically, then giggled and broke into a smile.

‘I’m the Game Show Master.’

His face was a pink sea, with great folds of flesh falling like a waterfall beneath his chin. His eyes were miniature emerald beads stuck in the rosy vastness of his fat head. It was difficult to discern their nature – were they inquisitive, clever, mean? His mouth was a cavernous monstrosity; for some reason he had no lips. Tancredi guessed they had been eroded by the constant inward-funnelling of food. He helped Cocomo to her feet, then steadied her.