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Duck! Baby on Board

13 October, 2013

Stile Antico’s newest blogger puts the world to rights…


“Well hello there y’all! I am nearly at the end of my grand tour of the States, so thought it was about time I let you know how I am getting on.  As you probably know, I was lucky enough to win the recent World’s Bonniest Baby competition, and the prize was a trip to America, where would meet the Great Canard Himself. I have been joined by eleven lucky members of my fan club, a dedicated servant (below), and, of course, my PA and general factotum – my mother.


“My companions seem to be suffering under the misapprehension that the large crowds of people they keep encountering want to hear them making strange noises, but of course the people are really here to meet me. The attention is flattering, but it can be hard to keep one’s composure under this sort of pressure.


“The first half of my trip was spent in New England, where the trees were spectacular. I just can’t get enough of those colours. We spent a lot of time driving around, searching for the Great One, but I’m afraid to say that the navigational skills of my team were quite inadequate (see “Confessions of an errant tenor”) – you just can’t get the staff around here. In fact at one point we got so hopelessly lost that I had to take matters into my own hands.


“And then there’s the food. I was promised delicious fare in prodigious quantities on this trip, but what I’ve been given is indistinguishable from the food back home. My milk seems to taste identical.


Out of Bounds

“Since route-finding clearly wasn’t a strong point, I insisted on flying west to Cleveland – no eight-hour driving days for me. We were lucky to find some stunning sunshine by the lake, although my delicate complexion means I had to stay in the shade.


“I hate to be immodest, but I have to admit that I recruited impressive numbers of new fans for my fan club here. I lost count of the number of times I was pronounced “a cutie pie”! Meanwhile I condescended to have myself passed around between the members of my fan club, even giving them a smile now and again to keep them keen.

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“They are apparently unable to behave sensibly in my presence, making fools of themselves with silly songs and sillier faces. I am content to humour their simple nature, while occupying my mind with higher thoughts.

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“Yesterday the moment finally arrived. My chance to meet the great Duck Himself – a private audience with the Supreme Head of the Order of the Bath. Or so I thought. My chauffeur delivered me to the river’s edge, but there the scale of the deception became clear. This was no higher being, but a cheap plastic replica which seemed entirely uninterested my in presence. And the site was overrun with hoi poloi, meaning that I couldn’t get anywhere near him anyway. I made my disappointment clear to the onlookers.

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“My spirits were as broken as my mother’s sleep – but remembering my British stiff-upper-lip I soon pulled myself together and set out for home, with one last look at the New England trees en route. I return a little older and wiser, certain of my ability to charm all around me, but resolved to dream of ducks only accompanied by pancakes and hoisin sauce.”