The Grandson came to stay so we went dragon hunting, we are in Wales, after all.

I have a pet dragon. Well, not so much a pet as a long staying house guest who does giant poos in my garden, digs massive holes and has assorted adventures, including a stint on the International Space Station – rubbish toilets, a police officer – the stab vest chaffed his wings and an ice cream sales person – a nightmare for a dairy intolerant dragon who burps fire.

I have filled my Grandsons head with tales of Brian, that’s the dragon’s name, since before he could walk – lockdown Zoom’s were full of the exploits of Brian and his misadventures – that time at Santa’s workshop when he hiccupped and set fire to the reindeer’s hay but redeemed himself by burping to order and toasting marshmallows for hot chocolate. Or the time he got a job as a window cleaner and mistook a sheep for a cloth and smeared sheep poo all over the windows. Brian is, what can one say, an eventful guest.

Annoyingly whenever the Grandson comes to stay, Brian is always off having an adventure.

This time, knowing Brian’s love of water and disused mines, the Grandson and I set off on a road trip to the source of the Severn,- armed with Brian’s favourite food – Cornflakes, and a stash of Haribo for emergencies. (It is a myth promoted by the heteronormative patriarchy that princesses need rescuing and dragons eat people – they are vegetarians mostly, some eating a little fish. If you want to check if you have Dragons in your area simply sprinkle Cornflakes on the ground and wait. In a few days you will find that the Cornflakes have gone, ergo proving you have a local dragon.)

The road trip was a blast, tunes blaring, the wind in our hair, singing along to ‘I’m a Believer’ and’ Sweet Caroline’, playfully punching each other each time we spotted a yellow car. We were less successful in spotting Brian. We found dragon smoke, lingering on the tops of the pine forests by the dam, but to be fair that could have been any dragon.

We found dragon tracks and a scraped-out hole that looked the right shape and size for a dragon’s bum – you can always tell it’s a dragon because about a meter away is a long scratched-out area where they have stretched out their tail. But still no Brian, – we left cornflakes just in case.

We found claw marks in trees and for a terrifying moment saw a green eye glinting in the deep of the woods, but in a flash and a shuddering of trees, it was gone.

In the end, we drove around the forest, windows down, singing as loud as we could. (Dragons love music and especially out of tune singing to 70’s pop classics.) We stopped and asked a dog walker if she has seen Brian.

‘We are looking for our pet dragon,’ I asked through the car window, ‘have you seen him?’

‘Do you mean a lizard?’ she asked confused. (Why would be looking for a lizard?)

‘No, I mean a dragon.’ I sighed, indicating to the excited little boy in the back.

‘Oh,’ she replied looking like this might be a trick, before shaking her head. ‘No, sorry. No dragons.’

We drove on.

In the end, we headed back to civilization (or Llanidloes at least), for cake and lemonade.

‘Why don’t we phone Brian?’ asked the Grandson. So, we did.

It turns out that Brian was in Paris.  He had been at the mines, but there was a problem with the Eiffel Tower, and he was called in to provide assistance. It was all very hush-hush – top secret in fact, so maybe forget I told you that.

Satisfied with chatting with Brian, the Grandson and I went on the hunt for football cards, an easier prey to track down.

Home again, Grandson declared it the best day ever as he told Dodo (his granddad) all about our adventures. Guiltily I realised I may have only fed him sweets, cornflakes and cake for the whole day. I cut up an apple and figured that would make us quits.

Brian is back now. Sad to have missed the Grandson, who has headed back home with mum and dad.

The house is quiet – well as quiet as it can be with a new puppy and a pet dragon.

One thing keeps niggling at me, though.

Who the hell has heard of lizards in Wales? Bloody madness, that is.