The Wabbit had for some time been working on a new drink to
rival his favourite Irn Bru. His secret project was well protected by a
friendly gardener, who tended the secluded garden of an old palace in the centre
of town. There, hidden in a shed for organic waste, the Wabbit kept a hoard of
his mysterious new drink. The drink had been a happy accident. The Wabbit liked
to sip from a straw but one day, he ran out. He could only find the aerosol
extension from his can of WD40 lubricating oil, so the Wabbit used that as a
straw and it imparted a strange and earthy flavour to his new drink. Gradually,
the Wabbit began to like it. Then his drink just didn’t taste right without a homeopathic dose of oil. All was going well until one sunny morning the Wabbit noticed
that cans were disappearing, because the Wabbit was always counting things and he knew immediately. It definitely wasn’t
the gardener because he didn’t like the Wabbit's new drink and had emphatically told him so on several occasions. So someone
or something unknown was helping themselves. "I’m going to find out who this purloiner is and unmask him or her or it," muttered the Wabbit. "Wabbit’s the name. Gumshoe’s the game," he murmured as he took a sip of Wabbit’s Cola. "But first I need a clue." The Wabbit looked all
round but he saw nothing that looked remotely like a clue. "I’m currently clueless," sighed the Wabbit.
