It was a damp Thursday in September when Horace Twiddle awoke to a most unusual sensation. It wasn't the typical cold, dripping water from his constantly leaking ceiling, nor was it the irritating roughness of his threadbare and worn out ex-army blanket. No, this was altogether much more...slobbery.

Horace opened an eye, and then the other. To his surprise he was confronted by a creature, in a place where there should be no creature other than him. This particular creature could only be characterised as ‘unexpected’. It was an extremely large and very green dragon. Although it had its expansive and leathery wings furled, the same could not be said about its tongue, which was, for some inexplicable reason, licking Horace around his face with the zeal of an overly friendly puppy.

"Good heavens," Horace mumbled, though it came out more like "Goo' h'vens" due to the dragon's extensive tongue-slavering.

He tried to sit up, only to discover that the dragon, sprawled across his little bed, filled up the majority of the available space. In reality, it occupied more volume than was mathematically possible in Horace's little bedroom. The bedroom was on the small side. It was the sort of room estate agents would refer to as ‘deceptively spacious and perfect for a single persons occupation. They would, even at their most creatively optimistic, not have envisaged it being a space for vast, non-euclidean reptiles.

The dragon paused a moment from its assiduous licking and looked at Horace with teacup-sized eyes. Its expression could only be described as, well, kindly. It did not, on the face of it, seem likely that it would bathe Horace in a searing blast of dragon-flame breath. Well, apart from when it burped slightly, which resulted in a puffy orange smoke from its rather large nostrils.

"Erm, hello?" Horace ventured, unsure of the appropriate behaviour in situations where one is confronted, in rather intimate circumstances, with a vast fire-breathing flying reptile. His school curriculum, as far as he could recall, did not, for some inexplicable reason, include Dragon Conversation Starters 101.

The dragon puffed a further small cloud of smoke, which alarmingly, on this occasion started a small fire on Horace’s blanket. He yelped and patted it out, to a remorseful cry from the dragon. The blanket was, none the worse and, if anything, slightly less smelly as a result of the conflagration.

"Right then," Horace responded, attempting to maintain control of the situation. "I suppose you're here for a reason?"

The dragon, demonstrating extraordinary comprehension, poked a charred letter towards him with its snout. Horace cautiously lifted it up. The parchment was warm to the touch and smelled faintly of brimstone. He unwrapped it, revealing an eloquently scribbled message:

"Dear Mr. Twiddle.

Please take care of this dragon, whose name is Vertigo. He enjoys cuddling in the early mornings and eating bread and kippers.

Yours sincerely, A. Wizard.

Horace looked at the message and then at the dragon, which was now wagging its tail like an enormous puppy.

"Well, Vertigo,” Horace said, as Vertigo’s tail wagging demolished a desk, a washstand, a bookshelf and part of one wall. "I suppose I should put the kettle on."

And so started the most unusual chapter of Horace Twiddle's life, when he unexpectedly became the companion of a kipper-loving dragon.

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More chapters in the adventures of Vertigo and Horace may follow.