Well, Steampunk-Shrunk Towers has had its fair share of, erm, unusual residents over the years, but when we noticed this group of individuals skulking around Clockton-upon-Teas, we were somewhat alarmed.
Henry, who is a relatively fearless and friendly chap popped down to have a word with them.
Alas, conversation was not easy. A combination of strong Italian accents and huge masks stuffed with herbs to fend off infection rendered discussion almost impossible.
Gradually, though, he was able to discover that they have arrived here from a far-off city called Roma, where they have been busily administering care and assistance to victims of a dreadful plague. They commandeered a hot air balloon, in order to offer their particular skills to the people of our country, in this time of need.
Naturally, Henry was keen to inspect their transport, but it seems it has been appropriated by the fourth member of their medical team – one Marco by name – who has travelled on in it to the United States, where he has been hired to provide private medical services.
We could hardly leave the good doctors out in the rain, so they have joined our band of residents.
Certainly they are being most attentive to everyone’s health, although their methods seem to differ quite markedly from those we are used to. We can’t quite understand why, for example, they need to check Sally and Lucy’s temperatures quite so often, nor why they need the ladies to strip down to their underwear in order for this to be done. However I’m pleased to report that we are all very healthy at present, and hope that you are as well.
Her project for the last few weeks has been the long-forgotten Backgammon Garden. It was almost completed several years ago, but a leaning orangery and broken lawnmower meant that it lay forgotten while other tasks took precedence. Finally, she opened the vintage box once more and shook her head sadly.
“I think I can fix Draig, Penelope,” she told me. “The blades just need to be remounted.” (Draig, for those who may be wondering, is the metal dragon lawnmower who patrols the garden, keeping it neat.) “The pond will be fine with a bit of adjustment to the fountain. The standpipe needs a touch of distressing to get the patina right, but what can we do with that orangery?”
A selection of bamboo skewers, polystyrene balls, greenery intended for model railways, mock oranges and epoxy putty was assembled, together with various paints and glues, and at last the clipped orange trees were ready. Slightly unconventional, perhaps, but maybe it isn’t the only outbuilding that is held up by its trees.
It all started with tea. Hardly surprising – our little hive of fairly pointless but hugely enjoyable industry runs largely on tea most of the time. Not, I hasten to add, the sweetened, milk-infested mud-brown builders’ variety. We are partial to fascinating infusions – green, white, herbal – with 
More tea was imbibed, more empty boxes found, and interesting paint or paper applied to every surface. That clear plastic box in which the tea bags had arrived was pressed into service to make arched windows. Curtain rings, cocktail sticks, drinking straws and various beads were gathered. The extensive stash of adhesive tapes – metallic, decorative, double-sided – was raided. Gradually a rather wonky, rust-toned, multi-towered building emerged.
Far off, in a deep meandering gorge in the Archipelagonian mountains, are the caves where the Time Dragons nest.
The ones I can clean up and get working are either sold as they are to automaton makers or turned into pretty clockwork twittering birds that sell as fast as I can make them. The ones that have seized up completely are taken to pieces, the parts being upcycled into our miniature gizmos and contraptions.
I hunted in an old box of bracelet charms and found a few dragonflies, a butterfly and a bee. These were painted in jewel colours and most were stuck to the casing. Another was threaded on to a length of copper wire and fixed to the wheel in the centre.
Constructing a pair of arms and hands from epoxy putty was relatively easy. One held the net and was molded to the flailing metal arm. The other held a diminutive magnifying glass, cobbled together with a few bits from the stash. It fitted neatly into the now empty housing from the bird whistle. A pair of small black sleeves and cuffs dressed the arms in a suitably formal fashion. My entomologist might lack all other body parts, but those he had were at least well attired.
The mechanism was housed in a small cardboard box, decorated with an assemblage of suitable images. A few coffee stirrers were sawn up to make a cover for the spring, so that the sharp, snapped steel edges would be safely covered.
His lordship started violently at that. (
Steampunk - Shrunk! 