I recall that last time I penned an episode of my adventures as a one-twelfth scale explorer, inadvertently lodged in the year 2017, my normal sized assistant and myself were pondering a method of combustion for the steam engine we were building, to allow me to power up my Machine and escape to my own dimension – in every sense of that word.
By a piece of great good fortune, I myself was able to solve that particular conundrum. It occurred when I noticed, in a nearby city, an establishment named Whitherspoons. It had a most favourable external aspect and, hoping that I might have stumbled upon a high quality gin palace, I eagerly made my way towards it. No sooner had my foot alighted on the threshold, however, than I was pushed backwards by a person carrying a cage almost as large as himself and being propelled from the building with considerable force by a burly and irate landlord. The language which passed between them convinced me that this was in no way the kind of establishment I had anticipated, so I turned my attention instead to the evicted individual.
“Honessly,” he was mumbling, “it was only a puff o’ smoke. Nuffin’ to make a fuss about. This no smokin’ rule is ridickilus.”
I assisted him to his feet and righted the cage which, I then noticed, contained a greenish yellow reptilian creature with a baleful expression.
“It’s ‘er fault!” the man said angrily, gesturing towards the animal. “Reached out an’ grabbed a bit o’ coal from the scuttle by the log burner, didn’t you!”
The creature attempted to slink further down the cage and averted its gaze.
“All I wanted was a quiet pint! Wos a bloke s’posed to do, eh?”
“What manner of creature is it?” I enquired.
“She a fire starter,” he replied. “Twisted fire starter. Best sort. They fit better in the cages, see? Cost me an arm an’ a leg, she did. But that’s the nature of the beast, innit? Give ’em a bit of coal and they start a fire, don’t they? An’ when they go nickin’ coal that’s been left lyin’ around in scuttles, well, stands to reason she’s gonna start smokin’, don’t it? An’ wot wiv pubs all bein’ no smokin’ hestablishments these days, little madam only been an’ got me slung out, didn’t she?”
“I understand your predicament,” I responded.
That was when I had my enterprising idea.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to allow me to take her off your hands, would you? I can promise her an excellent home and plenty of coal.
He regarded me solemnly. “Well,” he began slowly, “Like I said, she cos’ me…”
At that moment, though, the door of the inn opened and two exceedingly merry gentlemen emerged, bringing with them a distinct odour of cheap ale. The temptation was too great for my companion to resist.
“Go on then. Take ‘er, an’ welcome. Jus’ don’t feed ‘er unless yer want a fire startin’. She’ll try anythin’ to get round yer. ‘Arden yer ‘eart, mate. Don’t say I didn’t warn yer.”
And without further ado, he handed me the cage and returned to his beverage, while I headed back eagerly to my assistant’s cottage with my new acquisition.
Henry’s Engine Room, including the twisted fire starter, will be on display at the Steampunk-Shrunk! stall at Glastonbury Town Hall on Saturday 25th March 2017.
“It’s a battery tea light,” she continued, as if all should then become clear to me.
Should you wish to become better acquainted with Henry, do visit him at the Steampunk Dolls’ House. He’d enjoy the company. 
The good lady looked only mildly taken aback when I informed her that I would need an engine room – at 1/12 scale, naturally – in order to generate enough steam power to re-calibrate and start the Machine. She rummaged in a cupboard and produced a small valise of suitable dimensions (although quite UNsuitable design). Once I had persuaded her to redecorate it in a more suitable manner, though, I decided it would do very well.
“About that size and shape,” I said.
I am livid, madam, absolutely livid!
Well, yes, certainly one does depict you au naturel, Bertie, dear, but it’s only there to show the followers the transformation that occurred as you took on your current resplendent form. I’m quite delighted with your present appearance, and so should you be.
Well to my way of thinking, you’d be far better off with steam power and our ingenious mechanical devices. Fiddling endlessly with those strange little glass boxes of yours – it isn’t healthy! I trust that your photographs for this piece will be of a more appropriate nature.
“I assure you, Miss Templemann, I would not dream of doing anything so ungentlemanly. All I have told you is the truth. I was crossing the Northern Sea in my airship, when a huge green tentacle appeared from far below and, as I explained, rendered most of my arm useless.”
Grace gave a throaty laugh. “Good gracious no! I asked Oscar to build me this dart launcher so that I might protect myself from attack when I embark on my expedition to darkest Africa. One simply can’t be too careful. I’ve been wearing it for a month and he is due to make any necessary adjustments before my departure on Saturday. But tell me more about your device. It looks most tremendously complicated.”
Grace is also available at the Steampunk Dolls House and can be found here: 
The lovely Alice can be found at this link: 
Alex, the young adventurer whom regular readers last met on an airship journey 
James, a debonair gentleman carrying a telescope and sporting a very unusual monocle – are about to embark on a new adventure.
Here’s a rare picture of Amelia with her identical twin sister Leonora. When I first met them they both looked exactly like Leonora (left).
So here she is – a fearless flyer and expert mechanic. She may be petite and blonde, but she’s the equal of any other aviator and is happy to strip down an engine with the best of them.
As for Leonora, she must have been inspired by her sister. Following a very unpromising start as a dolls’ house housewife, she ended up as a renowned explorer, travelling the world with her glass astro-chronometer. Her unusual goggles have integrated clockwork dart-launchers. I wish I had the skill to make them work!
As he boards the airship, though, there is many a raised eyebrow. His backpack – is it steam powered? What do the dials measure? And that metal tube protruding from the top – what is its purpose? Most of all, though, his fellow travellers’ attention is drawn to the device he cradles in his hands.
“The astrolade, I believe it’s called,” a sandy-haired man in a bowler hat ventures.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 