I am sick of this horrid anti-witch therapy place, it is all a lot of grotty nonsense. I wish I was actually a real witch, because then I would be able to magic my way out. Yesterday, I broke into the cleaning cupboard in search of a broom. This is a well-known mode of transport for witches, and I figured they'd be bound to have one knocking about somewhere. No such luck. I found a mop and sat astride it for twenty minutes, trying to figure out how to make it go, but the thing wouldn't budge.
I would have to break out the place the old-fashioned way. I waited until nightfall so that I could sneak out under cover of darkness like a sexy spy. Unfortunately, most sexy spies aren't encumbered by woodwork, like I was - you will remember that I was wearing a window frame and a doorframe, the legacies of two previous failed escapes*. These tended to make me clatter a bit, so I had to be careful not to draw attention to myself.
I decided to escape by making my way to the roof and abseiling down using a rope that I had cunningly woven from some bits of old string and my own hair. I could probably just have walked straight out of the front door, but the roof escape would be more spectacular. I was right. The bit of guttering that I tied my rope to was all wonky and bent. It gave way, I plummeted to the ground and landed with a thump and a splonk, and bits of the roof came down on my head with a crunch and a wallop.
*See The Exciting Adventure of the Window Frame and the Doorframe, published by Penguins, price 80p