![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsikbZp3SihCiEJ5R0i-kqcVWqQaI2lKfL9FZhhj0nZO9-YWX7E3RZnwQedz8Jk7owbWgYIAq0uoqH2fipJEMeOxD8cOdwPQCr5VktHM-GpVikCkKIemlj7twr06lJhQGkQ4rkH0B038B/s400/the+structure+1.jpg)
The Wabbit barely had time to acclimatise to his old neighbourhood, when he came across frantic activity. Surely they weren't building a podium for the Wabbit? He was certain he wasn't that famous. And he had quite enough of speech making for this week, he thought. So the Wabbit crouched in a corner and listened. Excited voices discussed some match at the local stadium and he heard that the structure was for "catering". The Wabbit knew there might be sandwiches, salad sandwiches - and at that very moment he resolved to pass here tomorrow. Just to keep in touch.