Wild Moose Chase Read Free Page B

made her way along the red carpet and up on to the stage. She was dressed in a long purple coat with matching shoes. Her grey curly hair poked out from under a lilac-brimmed hat. Bert was disappointed that she wasn’t wearing a crown, but guessed it must be quite chilly riding in a hot air balloon. A small dog stayed close to her heels. She was followed by four trumpeting guardsmen and a thin man with a huge curly moustache, wearing a flat triangular hat. The Queen smiled and waved at the cheering crowd. Gramps bowed low as she stood up to the podium and waited for the fanfare and the cheering to die down.
    â€œMy lords, ladies and cheesemongers,” she announced. “My family and I are, and always have been, great cheese enthusiasts.”
    The crowd clapped eagerly.
    â€œMy son is patron of the Specialist Cheesemakers Association and my corgi”– she smiled down at the small dog by her feet –“is patron of the Easy Cheesy Doggy Treats Society. Both of whom are represented here today.”
    Two men in dog outfits with “Easy Cheesy” embroidered on their ears cheered loudly from the back of the crowd. The Queen carried on speaking.
    â€œI have come here today with a challenge for the world’s finest cheesemakers.”
    Bert glanced at Cam. “This is it,” he whispered. “The competition.”
    â€œI will be hosting a state banquet here in Cheddar Gorge in precisely six days’ time,” said the Queen. “And the French president himself, Monsieur Grand-Fromage, will be our guest of honour.”
    There was more cheering and lots of “bravo”s coming from the Brie and Camembert tents.
    â€œMonsieur Grand-Fromage is a cheese connoisseur,” she said, “and knows his fondues from his fon-don’ts.”
    â€œWhat’s a con-o-sir ?” whispered Bert.
    â€œSomeone who knows lots about something,” said Cam. “Unlike you.”
    â€œHowever,” continued the Queen, “there is one dairy delight that neither the French president nor I have ever tasted.”
    She paused and looked around at the eager crowd.
    â€œA cheese like no other; a cheese that some believe has mystical powers and others think impossible to make. A cheese so rare that I will bestow the title of lord or lady on anyone who can present it to me in time for the state banquet. I want…”
    The audience held their breath.
    â€œâ€¦moose cheese!”
    A shockwave seemed to ripple through the crowd before erupting in loud cries of disbelief.
    â€œImpossible!” gasped Gramps.
    â€œWhy?” asked Cam, looking round at the excited crowd. “What’s so special about moose cheese?”
    â€œIt’s the holy grail of cheeses,” whispered Gramps. “Nobody has successfully made one in hundreds of years. The ingredients are extremely rare and scattered across the world. But tales of its exotic flavour have been passed down the generations. The taste is indescribable. There are many ancient myths and stories detailing its magical qualities. Some say that one mouthful can bring you a lifetime of health; others believe that it brings wealth. Maybe a whole cheese will bring both. Who knows? Apparently it glows like a light bulb.”
    â€œIt must be hard to milk a mouse,” said Bert.
    â€œNot mouse cheese!” cried Cam. “ Moose cheese!”
    â€œMilking a moose may be even harder,” whispered Gramps. “But listen, Her Majesty hasn’t finished yet.”
    Beside the Queen, the thin man with the large curly moustache was holding his hands up for silence. Cam noticed that his yellow hat looked like a large wedge of cheese. Everybody slowly calmed down.
    â€œThe Royal Cheesemaker, Mr Gordon Zola, will now hand out leaflets detailing the rules and regulations for the competition,” said the Queen, nodding towards the man in the hat. “I realize that it will require much more than just