I’ve fetched a cloth and made it damp with silver polish goo. I’m banking on this little lamp to make my dreams come true. I’ve rubbed and scrubbed. I’ve really tried. The smell has made me dizzy. But nothing’s stirred from deep inside. The genie must be busy.
Now that’s what I call a house, with lots of space for everyone. Lots of stairs to run up and down, and a room on the roof just for fun. I could play my music really loud — Mum and Dad wouldn’t hear it at all. My siblings would be out of my way, at the other end of a long, long hall. But when it’s time for dinner, there’s a problem I can see: by the time I went down all that way there’d be nothing left for me!