Hi Ewan, here. I know it should be a Grandad Day that I am reporting, but there is something much more important to talk about: my birthday party.

The party is at Clumber Park, in February. Mum has sent out invites so if you’ve not receive one you’re not invited. I’m sorry, please don’t take it personal. We probably just forgot about you and numbers are limited. We can’t invite everyone. If you’ve not got an invite don’t blame me. I don’t get a say in choosing who’s coming. That’s right, my party but mum chooses all the guests. I don’t think even dad gets a say in it.

The best of it was, Mum was organising me a Thomas the Tank Engine party. Yes, you read that right, a “Thomas the Tank Engine party”. Where was it being held? In the middle of a wood.  Does it make sense to you? No and it didn’t me, either.

When mum first talked about my party being a Thomas the Tank Engine party, I knew I had to stop her, but how?

I’m trying my hardest to get a hold of this talking lark. But it is so complicated. There are a million thousand words you can use that mean food for example.It is not easy.

I have practiced tantrums. But the family only laugh at me and ignore me, saying I’m a drama queen.

Thomas the Tank Engine is alright but he’s not fierce and scary. Just a face on an engine that puffs out smoke instead of a creature with a poisonous wart at the end of his nose, that is huge terrifies everybody and every animal in the world ever. And eats everything including raw live mice.

You’d choose the Grufalo every time, wouldn’t you?

So I kept asking for the Gruffalo DVD on TV, and accepted nothing else for a week. I also demanded the book be read to me. And carried my cuddly Gruffalo around with me all the time.

The penny finally dropped to mum and dad. “I think we really should do Ewan a Gruffalo party.” Hoo-bloody-ray! Pardon the French. (Grandad said to write that but I do not think it is French.)

You see with a Thomas the Tank Engine party I assume you only get coal to eat. If you don’t know what coal is it is hard black stuff, harder than rock and when you eat it steam comes out of your nose and ears. People used to have a chimney in the top of their head. But not any more. They used to in old days and cover them up with top hats.

I’m hoping at a Gruffalo party we will get a variety of food. I assume the menu will be:


Roasted Fox

Owl Ice Cream

Scrambled Snake

Mouse Sandwich

And a Nut


There is a wood around the Burrows at Clumber Park where my party is to be held and I am pretty certain the Gruffalo lives in that wood. I know the big bad mouse does.


The last time we went to Clumber Park I heard Grufalo, but did not see him. He lives there and works at Sherwood Pines at Edwinstowe. But he doesn’t like being a celebrity or  ultra famous as he is since his book and film came out. He is a bit of a recluse and tries to avoid the public eye. The paparazzi and tabloids are always hounding him.


He’s still very embarrassed that the Big Bad Mouse tricked him, that’s why he hides away. If you do manage to find him he will put his hands over his face so that you cannot see him.


I’d like to be the Gruffalo, to be big and strong and eat everything even snakes, and have everyone be scared of me. But I suppose I am big and strong and eat everything even snakes, and everyone is scared of me anyway.


But I’d like to be wise and canny and have everyone be scared of me like the Big Bad Mouse.  But I am small and wise and canny and everyone is scarred of me anyway.


Probably being the Big Bad Mouse is best, I would be embarrassed if I was tricked.