Paddington Here and Now. Michael Bond

      The following morning, as soon as breakfast was over, he waylaid Mrs Bird in the kitchen and persuaded her to let him have some plastic gloves and an old apron.

      Knowing who would be landed with the task of getting any paint stains off his duffle coat if things went wrong, the Brown’s housekeeper was only too willing to oblige.

      “Mind you don’t get any of that stuff on your whiskers,” she warned, as he disappeared out of the back door armed with his list. “You don’t want to spoil your elevenses.”

      Paddington’s suggestion that it might be a good idea to have them before he started work fell on deaf ears, so he set to work gathering the things he needed from the garage. While he was there he came across a special face mask to keep out paint fumes.

      Clearly, it wasn’t meant for bears, because although it covered the end of his nose, it was nowhere near his eyes. All the same, having slipped the elastic bands over his ears to hold it in place, he spent some time looking at his reflection in the wing mirror of Mr Brown’s car and as far as he could make out all his whiskers were safely tucked away inside it.

      Once in the garden he set to work with a wire brush on a rainwater pipe at the rear of the house.

      “I must say he looks like some creature from outer space,” said Mrs Bird, gazing out of the kitchen window.

      “At least it keeps him occupied,” said Mrs Brown. “I can’t help being uneasy whenever he’s at a loose end.”

      “The devil finds work for idle paws,” agreed Mrs Bird; almost immediately wishing she hadn’t said it in case she was tempting fate.

      But much to everyone’s surprise Paddington made such a good job of the first pipes,

      even Mrs Bird’s eagle eyes couldn’t find anything amiss when she inspected them. There wasn’t a single spot of paint to be seen anywhere on the surrounding brickwork.

      And even if it meant she would never be able to use her plastic gloves or her apron again, she didn’t have the heart to complain. It was a small price to pay for having number thirty-two Windsor Gardens made secure, and keeping Paddington occupied into the bargain.

      “What did I tell you, Mary?” said Mr Brown, looking up from his morning paper when she passed on the news.

      “I only hope he doesn’t try shinning up the pipes to see if it works,” said Mrs Brown. “You know how keen he is on testing things.”

      “It’s a bit like giving someone a hot plate and telling them not to touch it,” agreed Mrs Bird.

      As it happened, similar thoughts had been going through Paddington’s mind most of the morning. At one point when he stopped for a rest he even toyed with the idea of hiding round a corner in the hope that Gentleman Dan might turn up, but with only one more drainpipe to go he decided he’d better finish off the work as quickly as possible.

      It was the one just outside the landing window at the side of the house, which had been the cause of all the trouble in the first place, and he had left it until last because he wanted to make an especially good job of it for Mrs Bird’s sake.

      Having scrubbed the bottom section of the pipe clean with the wire brush, he mounted the steps and began work on the actual painting.

      He hadn’t been doing it for very long before he heard a familiar voice.

      “What are you doing, bear?” barked Mr Curry.

      Paddington nearly fell off the steps with alarm. The last person he wanted to see was the Browns’ next-door neighbour.

      “I’m painting Mr Brown’s drainpipes,” he announced, regaining his balance.

      “I can see that,” growled Mr Curry suspiciously. “The thing is, bear, why are you doing it?”

      “It’s some special paint which never dries,” said Paddington. “It’s very good value.”

      “Paint which never dries?” repeated the Browns’ neighbour. “It doesn’t sound very good value to me.”

      “It was recommended to Mr Brown by a policeman,” said Paddington importantly. “I’ve nearly finished all the pipes and I haven’t used half the tin yet.

      “Mrs Bird saw a face at the window when she came home from her shopping the other day,” he explained, seeing the sceptical look on Mr Curry’s face.

      “The policeman thought it might have been someone called ‘Gentleman Dan, the Drainpipe Man’ who climbed up this very pipe. Mrs Bird said it gave her quite a turn. She hasn’t got over it yet.”

      “I’m not surprised,” said Mr Curry. “Let’s hope they catch him.”

      “I don’t think he’ll be back,” said Paddington. “Not if he saw Mrs Bird on the warpath, but Mr Brown thinks it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

      “Hmm,” said Mr Curry. “What did you say it’s called, bear?”

      “Miracle non-dry paint for outside use,” said Paddington, reading from the can. He held it up for Mr Curry to see. “You can buy it at any good do-it-yourself shop.”

      “I don’t want to do-it-myself, bear!” growled Mr Curry. “I have more important things to do. Besides, I’m on my way out.”

      He paused for a moment. “On the other hand, I would be more than interested in having my own pipes done. I do have some very valuable items about the house. Family heirlooms, you know.”

      “Have you really?” said Paddington with interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an heirloom before.”

      “And you’re not starting with mine,” said the Browns’ neighbour shortly.

      “I don’t have them on display for every Tom, Dick and bear to see. I keep them tucked away - out of the sight of prying eyes.”

      Paddington couldn’t help thinking if that were the case there was no point in the Browns’ neighbour having his drainpipes painted, but Mr Curry was notorious for being unable to resist getting something for nothing, even if it was something he didn’t need.

      A cunning look came over his face. “Did you say you have over half a tin of paint left?” he asked.

      “Nearly,” said Paddington. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t mentioned it in the first place.

      Mr Curry felt in his trouser pocket. “Perhaps you would like to have a go at my pipes while you’re at it,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t have very much change on me, but I could stretch to ten pence if you do a good job.”

      Paddington did a quick count-up on his paws. “Ten pence!” he exclaimed. “That’s less than tuppence a pipe!”

      “It’s a well-known fact in business,” said Mr Curry, “that the bigger the quantity, the less you pay for each individual item. It’s what’s known as giving discount.”

      “In that case,” said Paddington hopefully, “perhaps I could do one of your pipes for five pence?”

      “Ten pence for the lot,” said Mr Curry firmly. “That’s my final offer. There’s no point in having only one done.”

      “I think I’d better ask Mr Brown if he minds first,” said Paddington, clutching at straws. “It is his paint.”