For the hydrophobic townspeople, Sailortown had always been dangerous and scary and perhaps it still was, a little bit. But cockles were spreading into the suburbs and no one had the will to stop them. Limehousesailortown did not change, of course, but the world about did – and people were constantly surprised and pleased and sometimes amazed.
Larry kept on the policeman at the door of Number 10; the tourists liked him and he could live at Number 11 with his wife and children, which was handy for work.
Phoebles was made editor in chief of the independent, Limehousesailortown based broadsheet ‘International Catnip Times’ – valued as the finest fish and chip wrapping of any mainstream paper and, in the Jubilee Year of 2012, awarded the Étoile D’or at the Fishmongers’ Guild Summer Gala – which, drifting away only minimally from its 1960s underground roots under his editorship, promoted the etiquette, and social and personal efficacy of catnip consumption.
Bozzy’s catnip franchise spread out of dockland and into a grateful and receptive world at large.
Ginsbergbear won the Man Booker Prize for his writing, because all the other nominees let him.
Ferdy took the Dragon Rapide home to Surrey and gave aerobatic displays at country fairs, slowly amassing sufficient funds to set up Silvertown (International) Airways.
Googleberry got his ice cream.
And everyone could have lived happily ever after. Except that the Merovingian Lizard Kings were still in their mountain stronghold, Les Chats Souterrains still occupied the tunnel system that honeycombs the earth’s crust and Mr Fluffy still harboured a plan.