The Giants daughter hated the castle she had inherited after her father fell off the beanstalk. He was a cruel man who took pleasure in singing the old family song
Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!
I smell the blood of an English man
Be he alive or be he dead
I'll grind his bones to make my bread
And bread he baked, but more than this he also baked cakes and pastries of all shapes and sizes which she still missed. He was famous across the sky for his Belgian buns ( made with real Belgians of course) and French stick loaves ( made with French cyclists legs) and Cornish pasties ( made with Cornish miners)
But to be honest she was pleased to have the castle to herself, it was time she made some changes and over the next few days she decided to clear the castle of all the old junk which her father had hoarded.

Chapter one
The Giants Daughter
Chapter two
So she ordered
So she ordered the servants to clear out the west wing and haul all the furniture and decorations outside and place them on the castle drive. She looked at it all, swords, shields, tapestries, paintings and without a twinge of regret nodded to the servant to begin.
Then the giants daughter got to work revamping the west wing, she plastered and painted throughout, all white and bright, none of the old dark fusty colours. The halls became sleek and modern, open plan with sparse pieces of black leather furniture interspersed with coffee tables and angle poised lamps. Magazines of stylish interiors were neatly piled everywhere and centrally in the room stood a very large curved TV.
She sat down in one of her new chrome edged recliners with a view across a gently rolling cloudscape, from here she could clearly see the servants struggling with the furniture as they took piece after piece to the edge then pushed it off to litter the land below.
Then the giants daughter got to work revamping the west wing, she plastered and painted throughout, all white and bright, none of the old dark fusty colours. The halls became sleek and modern, open plan with sparse pieces of black leather furniture interspersed with coffee tables and angle poised lamps. Magazines of stylish interiors were neatly piled everywhere and centrally in the room stood a very large curved TV.
She sat down in one of her new chrome edged recliners with a view across a gently rolling cloudscape, from here she could clearly see the servants struggling with the furniture as they took piece after piece to the edge then pushed it off to litter the land below.
E - I am not the spoon the knife nor fork. I am not the cake, the pie nor pork. I am not the rack to drip me dry, I am not the shelf for that's where I lie. The round is my shape and you can rat off this ....... What am I (one word with five letters)