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Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,

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and my friends and I will be reading you a

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sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to

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help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From

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time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,

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peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.

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Once we have read the stories, we will then read

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them a second time, but this time they will be

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read read even slower. This will help you to relax

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even more. Before we begin, I would like you to

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close your eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply.

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Take a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your

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breath for a few seconds more, and then release and

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breathe out. Do this a few times if you need to.

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While you listen to the music and you listen to

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my voice, give yourself time to let your body relax

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and your mind settle. It's important that we allow time

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for us to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease.

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And now it's time for this week's story. The Baker

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of Impossible Things on the corner of Pebluick Street, between

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a bookshop that sold only unfinished stories, and a clockmaker

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who distrusted Tuesdays stood a bakery called the Flower and Wonder.

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It was not a large bakery. Its windows were slightly crooked,

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its sign creaked in the wind, and every morning, before

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the sun rose over the rooftops, warm golden light spilled

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from beneath the door, carrying the scent of cinnamon, sugar, oranges,

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and something else entirely impossible to describe. Some said it

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smelt like childhood. Others said it smelled like rainy afternoons

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or long forgotten songs. Old Missus Petal claimed it smelled

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exactly like the summer of nineteen sixty three. No one

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knew how The baker himself was equally mysterious. His name

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was Basil Crumb. He had flower in his hair at

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all times, wore stripy socks with holes in the toes,

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and spoke to bread as though it had opinions. Steady now,

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He'd murmur to rising dough, no need to The dough

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often seemed to listen. But the strangest thing about Basil

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Crumb was not his socks, nor his talking bread, nor

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even the fact that pigeons followed him around like loyal employees.

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No The strangest thing was what he baked. Not ordinary

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things like buns or cakes or pies. Oh, he made

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those two and they were excellent. But hidden among the

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ordinary pastries were impossible things. Croissants that could warm cold

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hands for hours, biscuits that helped shy people speak bravely,

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merangues that tasted like your happiest memory, and once, though

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only once, a lemon tart that made a grumpy tax

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collector laugh so hard he snorted tea through his nose.

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People traveled from miles away to visit the flower and wonder.

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Most left smiling, a few left crying happily. One man

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left convinced his hat had become philosophical. Basil considered that

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an unfortunate side effect. Now in the room above the

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bakery lived Basil's apprentice, a fourteen year old girl named

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Tilda Red. Tilda had sharp eyes, ink stained fingers, and

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absolutely no patience for nonsense. This made apprenticing under Basil

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extremely exhausting. Why is the dough glowing, she asked one morning, Confidence,

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said Basil, that is not an answer. It's a bad answer.

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Tilda side the sigh of someone who had long ago

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accepted that reality was no longer reliable. She carried trays

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downstairs while Basil hummed beside the ovens. Outside, rain pattered

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softly against the windows. The bakery bell jingled in swept

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mister Foss. Mister Foss was the richest man in Pebblewick.

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He owned factories, warehouses, six waistcoats, and an expression suggesting

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he had never enjoyed anything voluntarily. Morning, said Basil cheerfully.

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Mister Foss sniffed. Your sign is crooked. It's artistic. It's

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loose that too. Mister Foss adjusted his gloves carefully. I

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require a cake. Splendid. Birthdays are very important. It is

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not for a birthday anniversary, no secret pirate ceremony, mister

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Foss stared. Basil brightened. Ah, so it's private. Tilda hid

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a smile behind a tray. Mister Foss leaned closer. I

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need a cake for the Mayor's gala tonight. Chocolate or vanilla. Impressive.

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That's not a flavor, it is if you charge enough.

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Basil nodded, thoughtfully, Very true, mister Foss lowered his voice.

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The mayor plans to name someone's Citizen of the Year tonight,

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and I intend for that. Someone to be me.

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Speaker 2: Tilda frowned, you can't win awards by ordering fancy cakes.

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Mister Foss gave her the look adults reserve for children

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who accidentally say correct things. I want a cake, nobody

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can forget. Basil rubbed flour from his chin. I see.

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For a moment, the bakery felt oddly quiet. Then Basil

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smiled gently, I'm afraid I cannot make that cake. Mister

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Foss blinked. What I only bake impossible things. Vanity is

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perfectly ordinary. The silence that followed was magnificent. Mister Foss

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went red, then purple, then a worrying shade, resembling boiled beetroot.

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You refuse me, I politely decline you. There's a difference,

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a very important one. Mister Voss slammed coins onto the counter.

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You'll regret this. I regret many things, said Basil, mostly

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hair cuts. Mister Voss stormed out so furiously he walked

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straight into the bread display. A baguette hit him on

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the shoulder. Tilda burst out laughing. The moment the door closed,

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Basil sighed, that bagguette has terrible timing. You could have

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just baked the cake. No, why not Basil looked toward

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the ovens. The firelight danced strangely in his eyes. Because

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baking changes people, Tilda folded her arms. That sounds dramatic.

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It is dramatic. It's baking. He opened one oven door carefully.

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Inside sat twelve golden buns, glowing faintly blue. Tilda pointed,

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those are glowing again. Yes, why there for the lighthousekeeper?

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That explains nothing. Basil shut the oven. Some people come

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here hungry for food. Others come hungry for courage, or hope,

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or forgiveness. You can't bake forgiveness, Basil looked offended. Of course,

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you can, terribly difficult recipe. Though, before Tilda could argue,

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the bakery bell jingled again. This time a small boy

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entered carrying a broken umbrella. He couldn't have been older

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than nine. Rain dripped from his coat sleeves. Excuse me,

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he whispered, Are you the impossible baker? Basil bowed slightly.

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On weekdays? The boy stepped closer. My sister's sick. Tilda's

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smile faded. She's been asleep for days, the boy continued.

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She won't wake up properly anymore. Mama says she's just tired,

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but his voice wobbled. I think she's drifting away. Basil's

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expression softened. What's your name, Oliver? Hmm. Basil walked slowly

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to the pantry at the back of the bakery. He

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examined jars, ICs, sacks of flour, and little silver tins

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labeled things like moon sugar and Thursday jam. Finally, he

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nodded Tilda. Yes, we're closing early. We are. We have

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something important to bake. For the next three hours, the

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bakery transformed completely. Basil moved faster than Tilda had ever seen.

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He mixed strange silver powder into batter. He stirred chocolate

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clockwise exactly thirteen times. He added cinnamon, honey, and one

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tiny glowing orange peel that smelled like sunlight after rain.

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What are we making, whispered Tilda. Basil smiled faintly, aking cake.

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That's not real. Most good things aren't until someone makes them.

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The kitchen filled with warmth and light. Even the rain

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outside seemed quieter. At last, Basil removed a small golden

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cake from the oven. Steam curled upward in shimmering ribbons.

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The scent made Tilda's chest ache unexpectedly. It smelt like safety.

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Basil wrapped the cake carefully and handed it to Oliver.

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One slice only, he warned, and make sure she eats

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it while someone tells her a happy story. Oliver held

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the cake like treasure. Will it work, Basil adjusted the

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boy's crooked umbrella. Love usually does. After he left, Tilda

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sat heavily on a flower sack. You really think cake

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can help people, Basil looked, surprised. My dear girl, cake

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has saved humanity dozens of times. That evening, the Mare's

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gala began. Lanterns glowed across Pebblewick Town Hall. Music drifted

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through the square. Rich guests swept through the doors, wearing

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velvet coats and expressions of great importance. Tilda carried a

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basket of pastries beside Basil as they entered. Why are

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we here, she asked. The Mare invited us. Why he

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enjoys my apricot tarts and fears my opinions. Inside the

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grand hall stood a towering cake at the center of

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the four layers, tall covered in gold icing, decorated with

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spun sugar swans. Mister Foss stood proudly beside it, accepting

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compliments like a king receiving tribute. There you are boomed

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the mayor. Upon spotting Basil. The Mayor was round, cheerful,

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and permanently out of breath. You simply must judge the

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Garla cake competition. I thought this was a charity event.

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It's both, whispered the mayor. People behave better when trophies

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are involved. A bell rang, the crowd gathered. The mayor

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raised his hands dramatically. Citizens of Pebblewick, Tonight we celebrate generosity,

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community and expensive disease. Applause thundered. Mister Foss smiled smugly

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beside his enormous cake. Then the hall doors burst open.

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Everyone turned. Oliver stood there, soaked by rain, breathing hard.

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She woke up, he shouted. The room fell silent. My

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sister woke up. He ran straight toward Basil. She ate

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the cake and laughed at my pirate story and asked

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for soup, and Mamma cried. He stopped, suddenly, noticing the

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enormous crowd. Basil crouched beside him gently. She's all right,

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Oliver nodded fiercely. The mayor dabbed his eyes with a napkin.

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Several guests sniffed emotionally. Mister Foss rolled his eyes. Oh, honestly,

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it's just coincidence. At that exact moment, his gigantic cake

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collapsed sideways, with a noise like a sleepy avalanche. The

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sugar swans exploded, cream shot across the mare's shoes. Someone screamed,

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save the trifle. Chaos irrupted. Tilda laughed so hard she

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nearly dropped the pastries. Mister Foss stood frozen in horror

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as icing slid slowly down his expensive waistcoat. Then something

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extraordinary happened. One of Basil's small apricot tarts, sitting quietly

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on the dessert table, began glowing softly. A woman near

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it took a bite. Suddenly she gasped, Oh, she whispered, what,

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asked her husband? I remembered something. Tears filled her eyes.

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My father used to sing while gardening. Another guest tasted

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a pastry, then another, and another. Around the hall, faces changed,

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people smiled unexpectedly, arguments stop, Old friends embraced. One elderly

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man began laughing uncontrollably because his ecklare reminded him of

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falling into a duck pond. In nineteen forty eight, even

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the musicians played more warmly. Tilda stared. The impossible baking

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had spread through the room like sunlight. Not magic, exactly

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something gentler. Mister Voss looked around and in confusion, why

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is everyone happy? Basil handed him a small cinnamon bun.

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Mister Foss frowned suspiciously. I don't want pity pastry. It

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isn't pity pastry. What is it? Perspective reluctantly, mister Foss

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took a bite. Nothing happened at first. Then his expression

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shifted very slightly, almost imperceptibly. Tilda noticed his shoulders relax,

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the angry tightness around his eyes softened. Mister Foss swallowed slowly.

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When I was little, he said, quietly, my mother used

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to bake cinnamon bread every winter. Nobody spoke. I'd completely forgotten.

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Basil nodded. Happens more often than you'd think. Mister Voss

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stared at the ruined golden cake beside him. All this time,

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he muttered, I thought impressive meant enormous. The mare waddled forward,

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covered partly in cream. It doesn't, he declared, proudly. Impressive

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means meaningful. He raised a sticky finger dramatically, and therefore

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Citizen of the Year goes too. Every One leaned forward

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Basil crumb. The hall erupted in applause. Basil looked horrified.

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Oh dear you, one cried Tilda. That sounds exhausting. The

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mare handed him a gold medal shaped like a loaf

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of bread. Basil sighed deeply. I shall have to dust

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this weekly. Later that night, after the gala ended and

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the lanterns dimmed, Basil and Tilda walked home through quiet streets.

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Rain water shimmered on the cobblestones. Inside the bakery, the

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ovens still glowed softly. Tilda sat atop the counter, swinging

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her legs. Can I ask you something dangerous? Start? Why

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do impossible things work better than ordinary ones? Basil considered

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this carefully while feeding crumbs to a pigeon on the

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window sill. Because people expect ordinary things, and they stopped

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noticing them. He lit a small candle beside the till.

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But wonder, he said, softly. Wonder sneaks past the part

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of us that thinks life must always stay the same.

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The bakery creaked warmly around them. Outside, the town slept peacefully.

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Tilda looked at the shelves of cooling pastries. Do you

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think I'll ever learn how to bake impossible things? Basil smiled.

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My dear Tilda, you already are? She frowned, I am.

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You stayed late to help a frightened little boy. Well, yes,

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you laughed when everyone else took themselves too seriously, I suppose,

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And you carried Hope very carefully all evening. Without even realizing,

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Tilda looked down at her flower covered hands. Basil open

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the oven door one final time. Inside sat a single

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small loaf, glowing faintly gold. For tomorrow, asked Tilda. No,

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said Basil, For someone who hasn't yet remembered, they're worth saving.

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The lights dimmed, the bakery settled, and somewhere in the

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sleeping town of Pebblewick Dreams smelled faintly of cinnamon and

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impossible things. The end the Baker of Impossible Things. On

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the corner of Pebluick Street, between a book shop that

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sold only unfinished stories and a clockmaker who distrusted Tuesdays,

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stood a bakery called the Flower and Wonder. It was

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not a large bakery. Its windows were slightly crooked, its

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sign creaked in the wind, and every morning before the

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sun rose over the rooftops. Warm golden light spilled from

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beneath the door, carrying the scent of cinnamon, sugar, oranges,

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and something else entirely impossible to describe. Some said it

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smelt like childhood. Others said it smelled like rainy afternoons

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or long forgotten songs. Old Missus Pettal claimed it smelled

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exactly like the summer of nineteen sixty three. No one

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knew how. The baker himself was equally mysterious. His name

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was Basil Crumb. He had flower in his hair at

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all times, wore stripy socks with holes in the toes,

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and spoke to bread as though it had opinions. Steady now,

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he'd murmur to rising dough, No need to panic. The

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dough often seemed to listen. But the strangest thing about

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Basil Crumb was not his socks, nor his talking bread,

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nor even the fact that pigeons followed him around like

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loyal employees. No, the strangest thing was what he baked.

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Not ordinary things like buns or cakes or pies. Oh,

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he made those too, and they were excellent. But hidden

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among the ordinary pastries were impossible things, croissants that could

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warm cold hands for hours, biscuits that helped shy people

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speak bravely, meringues that tasted like your happiest memory, and once,

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though only once, a lemon tart that made a grumpy

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tax collector laugh so hard he snorted tea through his nose.

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People traveled from miles away to visit the flower and wonder.

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Most left smiling, a few left crying happily. One man

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left convinced his hat had become philosophical. Basil considered that

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an unfortunate side effect. Now in the room above the

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bakery lived Basil's apprentice, a fourteen year old girl named

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Tilda Reed. Tilda had sharp eyes, ink stained fingers, and

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absolutely no patience for nonsense. This made apprenticing under Basil

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extremely exhausting. Why is the dough glowing, she asked one morning, Confidence,

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said Basil. That is not an answer. It's a bread answer.

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Tilda side the sigh of someone who had long ago

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accepted that reality was no longer reliable. She carried trays

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downstairs while Basil hummed beside the ovens. Outside, rain pattered

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softly against the windows. The bakery bell jingled in swept

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Mister Foss, Mister Foss, was the richest man in Pebblewick.

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He owned factories, warehouses, six waistcoats, and an expression suggest

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he had never enjoyed anything voluntarily. Morning, said Basil cheerfully.

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Mister Foss sniffed. Your sign is crooked. It's artistic. It's

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loose that too. Mister Foss adjusted his gloves carefully. I

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require a cake. Splendid birthdays are very important. It is

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not for a birthday anniversary, no secret pirate ceremony. Mister

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Foss stared. Basil brightened. Ah, so it's private. Tilda hid

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a smile behind a tray. Mister Foss leaned closer. I

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need a cake for the Mayor's Garla tonight. Chocolate or vanilla. Impressed,

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that's not a flavor, it is if you charge enough.

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Basil nodded, thoughtfully, very true, mister Foss lowered his voice.

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The mayor plans to name someone Citizen of the Year tonight,

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and I intend for that someone to be me. Tilda frowned.

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You can't win awards by ordering fancy cakes. Mister Foss

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gave her the look adults reserve for children who accidentally

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say correct things. I want a cake. Nobody can forget

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Basil rubbed flour from his chin. I see for a moment,

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the bakery felt oddly quiet. Then Basil smiled gently, I'm

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afraid I cannot make that cake. Mister Foss blinked. What

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I only bake impossible things. Vanity is perfectly ordinary. The

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silence that followed was magnificent. Mister Voss went red, then purple,

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then a worrying shade, resembling boiled beetroot. You refuse me,

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I politely decline you. There's a difference, a very important one.

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Mister Voss slammed coins on to the counter. You'll regret this.

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I regret many things, said Basil, mostly hair cuts. Mister

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Voss stormed out so furiously he walked straight into the

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bread display. A baguette hit him on the shoulder. Tilda

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burst out laughing. The moment the door closed, Basil sighed

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00:31:00,160 --> 00:31:05,000
that baguette has terrible timing. You could have just baked

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the cake. No, why not? Basil looked toward the ovens.

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The firelight danced strangely in his eyes. Because baking changes people,

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Tilda folded her arms. That sounds dramatic. It is dramatic.

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It's baking. He opened one oven door. Carefully inside sat

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twelve golden buns, glowing faintly blue. Tilda pointed, those are

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glowing again. Yes, why there for the lighthousekeeper. That explains nothing.

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Basil shut the oven. Some people come here hungry for food.

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Others come hungry for courage, or hope, or forgiveness. You

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can't bake forgiveness, Basil looked offended. Of course, you can

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terribly difficult recipe. Though, before Tilda could argue, the bakery

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bell jingled again. This time a small boy entered carrying

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a broken umbrella. He couldn't have been older than nine.

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Rain dripped from his coat sleeves. Excuse me, he whispered,

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Are you the impossible baker? Basil bowed slightly. On weekdays?

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The boy stepped closer. My sister's sick. Tilda's smile faded.

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She's been asleep for days, the boy continued. She won't

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wake up properly anymore. Mamma, he says, she's just tired,

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00:33:01,480 --> 00:33:07,359
but his voice wobbled. I think she's drifting away. Basil's

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00:33:07,359 --> 00:33:16,480
expression softened. What's your name, Oliver Humm. Basil walked slowly

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to the pantry at the back of the bakery. He

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00:33:20,960 --> 00:33:27,480
examined jars, spices, sacs of flour, and little silver tins

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labeled things like moon sugar and Thursday jam. Finally, he

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nodded Tilda, Yes, we're closing early. We are we have

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something important to bake For the next three hours, the

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bakery transformed completely. Basil moved faster than Tilda had ever seen.

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He mixed strange silver powder into batter. He stirred chocolate

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clockwise exactly thirteen times. He added cinnamon, honey, and one

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tiny glowing orange peel that smelled like sunlight after rain.

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What are we making, whispered Tilda. Basil smiled faintly. A

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waking cake. That's not real. Most good things aren't until

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someone makes them. The kitchen filled with warmth and light.

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Even the rain outside seemed quieter. At last, Basil removed

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a small golden cake from the oven. Steam curled upward

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in shimmering ribbons. The scent made Tilda's chest ache Unexpectedly,

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it smelled like safety. Basil wrapped the cake carefully and

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handed it to Oliver. One slice only, he warned, and

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make sure she eats it while someone tells her a

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happy story. Oliver held the cake like treasure. Will it work,

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Basil adjusted the boy's crooked umbrella. Love usually does. After

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he left, Tilda sat heavily on a flower sack. You

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really think cake can help people, Basil looked, surprised. My

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00:35:35,800 --> 00:35:41,800
dear girl, cake has saved humanity dozens of times. That evening,

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the Mayre's gala began. Lanterns glowed across Pebblewick Town Hall.

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Music drifted through the square. Rich guests swept through the doors,

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wearing velvet coats and expressions of great importance. Tilda carried

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a basket of pastries beside Basil as they entered. Why

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are we here, she asked? The mayor invited us. Why

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he enjoys my apricot tarts and fears my opinions. Inside

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the grand hall stood a towering cake at the center

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of the room, four layers tall, covered in gold icing,

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decorated with spun sugar swans. Mister Foss stood proudly beside it,

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accepting compliments like a king receiving tribute. There you are

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boomed the mare. Upon spotting Basil, the mare was round, cheerful,

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and permanently out of breath. You simply must judge the

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Garla cake competition. I thought this was a charity event.

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It's both, whispered the mayor. People behave better when trophies

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are involved. A bell rang, the crowd gathered. The Mayor

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00:37:12,079 --> 00:37:19,920
raised his hands dramatically. Citizens of Pebblewick, Tonight we celebrate generosity,

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community and expensive desserts. Applause thundered. Mister Voss smiled smugly

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beside his enormous cake. Then the hall doors burst open.

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Everyone turned. Oliver stood there, soaked by rain, breathing hard.

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She woke up, he shouted. The room fell silent. My

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00:37:48,960 --> 00:37:55,000
sister woke up. He ran straight toward Basil. She ate

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the cake and laughed at my pirate story and asked

353
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for soup, and Mamma I cried. He stopped, suddenly, noticing

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00:38:04,440 --> 00:38:10,840
the enormous crowd. Basil crouched beside him gently. She's all right,

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Oliver nodded fiercely. The mare dabbed his eyes with a napkin.

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Several guests sniffed emotionally. Mister Foss rolled his eyes. Oh, honestly,

357
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it's just coincidence. At that exact moment, his gigantic cake

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collapsed sideways with a noise like a sleepy avalanche. The

359
00:38:37,239 --> 00:38:44,719
sugar swans exploded, cream shot across the mare's shoes. Someone screamed,

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00:38:45,320 --> 00:38:52,559
save the trifle. Chaos irrupted. Tilda laughed so hard she

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nearly dropped the pastries. Mister Foss stood frozen in horror

362
00:38:58,199 --> 00:39:04,159
as icing slid slowly down his expensive waistcoat. Then something

363
00:39:04,280 --> 00:39:10,840
extraordinary happened. One of Basil's small apricot tarts, sitting quietly

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00:39:10,880 --> 00:39:16,119
on the dessert table, began glowing softly. A woman near

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00:39:16,159 --> 00:39:24,119
it took a bite. Suddenly, she gasped, oh, she whispered, What,

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00:39:24,719 --> 00:39:31,119
asked her husband? I remembered something. Tears filled her eyes.

367
00:39:32,320 --> 00:39:37,159
My father used to sing while gardening. Another guest tasted

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a pastry, then another and another. Around the hall, faces changed,

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people smiled unexpectedly, arguments stop, Old friends embraced. One elderly

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00:39:56,079 --> 00:40:01,320
man began laughing uncontrollably because his ecklaar reminded him of

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falling into a duck pond in nineteen forty eight. Even

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00:40:06,280 --> 00:40:12,840
the musicians played more warmly. Tilda stared the impossible baking

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00:40:13,280 --> 00:40:18,119
had spread through the room like sunlight, not magic, exactly

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00:40:19,360 --> 00:40:25,840
something gentler. Mister Foss looked around in confusion. Why is

375
00:40:25,880 --> 00:40:32,320
everyone happy? Basil handed him a small cinnamon bun. Mister

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00:40:32,400 --> 00:40:38,559
Foss frowned suspiciously. I don't want pity pastry. It isn't

377
00:40:38,599 --> 00:40:46,599
pity pastry. What is it? Perspective reluctantly, mister Foss took

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a bite. Nothing happened at first. Then his expression shifted

379
00:40:54,480 --> 00:41:01,760
very slightly, almost imperceptibly. Tilda not tissed his shoulders relax.

380
00:41:03,039 --> 00:41:09,760
The angry tightness around his eyes softened. Mister Foss swallowed slowly.

381
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When I was little, he said, quietly, my mother used

382
00:41:15,480 --> 00:41:22,480
to bake cinnamon bread every winter. Nobody spoke. I'd completely forgotten.

383
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Basil nodded. Happens more often than you'd think. Mister Foss

384
00:41:29,320 --> 00:41:34,519
stared at the ruined golden cake beside him. All this time,

385
00:41:35,079 --> 00:41:41,639
he muttered, I thought impressive meant enormous. The mare waddled forward,

386
00:41:42,000 --> 00:41:49,000
covered partly in cream. It doesn't, he declared proudly. Impressive

387
00:41:49,599 --> 00:41:56,480
means meaningful. He raised a sticky finger dramatically. And therefore

388
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Citizen of the Year goes too. Everyone leaned forward Basil crumb.

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The hall erupted in applause. Basil looked horrified. Oh dear you, one,

390
00:42:13,960 --> 00:42:19,719
cried Tilda. That sounds exhausting. The mare handed him a

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00:42:19,760 --> 00:42:25,719
gold medal shaped like a loaf of bread. Basil sighed deeply,

392
00:42:26,920 --> 00:42:31,159
I shall have to dust this weekly. Later that night,

393
00:42:31,639 --> 00:42:35,239
after the gala ended and the lanterns dimmed, Basil and

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00:42:35,320 --> 00:42:40,840
Tilda walked home through quiet streets. Rain water shimmered on

395
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the cobblestones. Inside the bakery, the ovens still glowed softly.

396
00:42:48,360 --> 00:42:52,960
Tilda sat atop the counter, swinging her legs. Can I

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ask you something dangerous? Start? Why do impossible things work

398
00:42:59,639 --> 00:43:05,639
better than ordinary ones? Basil considered this carefully while feeding

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00:43:05,719 --> 00:43:10,760
crumbs to a pigeon on the windowsill. Because people expect

400
00:43:11,039 --> 00:43:17,519
ordinary things, and they stopped noticing them, He lit a

401
00:43:17,559 --> 00:43:23,199
small candle beside the till. But wonder, he said softly.

402
00:43:23,960 --> 00:43:27,559
Wonder sneaks past the part of us that thinks life

403
00:43:27,639 --> 00:43:34,960
must always stay the same. The bakery creaked warmly around them. Outside,

404
00:43:35,440 --> 00:43:40,360
the town slept peacefully. Tilda looked at the shelves of

405
00:43:40,440 --> 00:43:44,840
cooling pastries. Do you think I'll ever learn how to

406
00:43:44,920 --> 00:43:52,039
bake impossible things? Basil smiled, My dear Tilda, you already

407
00:43:52,119 --> 00:43:58,920
are She frowned, I am? You stayed late to help

408
00:43:58,960 --> 00:44:06,039
a frightened little boy. Well, yes, you laughed when everyone

409
00:44:06,079 --> 00:44:12,199
else took themselves too seriously, I suppose, and you carried

410
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Hope very carefully all evening. Without even realizing, Tilda looked

411
00:44:18,920 --> 00:44:23,639
down at her flower covered hands, Basil opened the oven

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00:44:23,719 --> 00:44:30,039
door one final time. Inside sat a single small loaf,

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glowing faintly gold. For tomorrow, asked Tilda. No, said Basil,

414
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For someone who hasn't yet remembered, they're worth saving. The

415
00:44:44,239 --> 00:44:50,719
lights dimmed, the bakery settled, and somewhere in the sleeping

416
00:44:50,800 --> 00:44:56,920
town of Pebblewick Dreams smelled faintly of cinnamon and impossible things.

417
00:44:58,159 --> 00:45:24,599
The end the Baker of Impossible Things. On the corner

418
00:45:24,639 --> 00:45:28,960
of Pebluick Street, between a book shop that sold only

419
00:45:29,119 --> 00:45:34,960
unfinished stories and a clockmaker who distrusted Tuesdays, stood a

420
00:45:34,960 --> 00:45:40,440
bakery called the Flower and Wonder. It was not a

421
00:45:40,559 --> 00:45:47,079
large bakery. Its windows were slightly crooked, its sign creaked

422
00:45:47,079 --> 00:45:51,639
in the wind, and every morning, before the sun rose

423
00:45:51,719 --> 00:45:56,719
over the rooftops, warm golden light spilled from beneath the door,

424
00:45:57,519 --> 00:46:03,400
carrying the scent of cinnamon, sugar, oranges, and something else

425
00:46:03,599 --> 00:46:08,639
entirely impossible to describe. Some said it smelt like childhood.

426
00:46:09,719 --> 00:46:15,239
Others said it smelled like rainy afternoons or long forgotten songs.

427
00:46:16,760 --> 00:46:21,800
Old Missus Petal claimed it smelled exactly like the summer

428
00:46:21,920 --> 00:46:27,719
of nineteen sixty three. No one knew how The baker

429
00:46:27,840 --> 00:46:34,840
himself was equally mysterious. His name was Basil Crumb. He

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00:46:34,920 --> 00:46:38,880
had flower in his hair at all times, wore stripy

431
00:46:39,039 --> 00:46:42,519
socks with holes in the toes, and spoke to bread

432
00:46:42,920 --> 00:46:47,639
as though it had opinions. Steady, Now, he'd murmur to

433
00:46:47,800 --> 00:46:52,760
rising dough, No need to panic. The dough often seemed

434
00:46:52,840 --> 00:46:57,360
to listen. But the strangest thing about Basil Crumb was

435
00:46:57,400 --> 00:47:01,519
not his socks, nor his talking breath, nor even the

436
00:47:01,599 --> 00:47:06,679
fact that pigeons followed him around like loyal employees. No,

437
00:47:08,119 --> 00:47:13,199
the strangest thing was what he baked. Not ordinary things

438
00:47:13,360 --> 00:47:19,239
like buns or cakes or pies. Oh, he made those two,

439
00:47:19,920 --> 00:47:25,000
and they were excellent. But hidden among the ordinary pastries

440
00:47:25,360 --> 00:47:31,280
were impossible things. Croissants that could warm cold hands for hours,

441
00:47:32,400 --> 00:47:38,320
biscuits that helped shy people speak bravely, merangues that tasted

442
00:47:39,000 --> 00:47:44,599
like your happiest memory, and once, though only once, a

443
00:47:44,679 --> 00:47:48,079
lemon tart that made a grumpy tax collector laugh so

444
00:47:48,320 --> 00:47:53,440
hard he snorted tea through his nose. People traveled from

445
00:47:53,519 --> 00:48:00,199
miles away to visit the flower and wonder. Most left smiling,

446
00:48:01,320 --> 00:48:06,880
a few left crying happily. One man left convinced his

447
00:48:07,079 --> 00:48:14,000
hat had become philosophical. Basil considered that an unfortunate side effect.

448
00:48:15,199 --> 00:48:20,159
Now in the room above the bakery lived Basil's apprentice,

449
00:48:20,800 --> 00:48:25,880
a fourteen year old girl named Tilda Red. Tilda had

450
00:48:25,960 --> 00:48:32,000
sharp eyes, ink stained fingers, and absolutely no patience for nonsense.

451
00:48:33,239 --> 00:48:39,280
This made apprenticing under Basil extremely exhausting. Why is the

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00:48:39,360 --> 00:48:46,440
dough glowing, she asked one morning, confidence, said Basil. That

453
00:48:46,760 --> 00:48:52,400
is not an answer, it's a bread answer. Tilda sighed,

454
00:48:52,440 --> 00:48:56,239
the sigh of someone who had long ago accepted that

455
00:48:56,360 --> 00:49:02,360
reality was no longer reliable. She carried trays downstairs while

456
00:49:02,400 --> 00:49:08,559
Basil hummed beside the ovens. Outside, rain pattered softly against

457
00:49:08,599 --> 00:49:14,719
the windows. The bakery bell jingled in swept mister Foss.

458
00:49:15,880 --> 00:49:22,559
Mister Foss was the richest man in Pebblewick. He owned factories, warehouses,

459
00:49:23,039 --> 00:49:28,639
six waistcoats, and an expression suggesting he had never enjoyed

460
00:49:28,840 --> 00:49:37,480
anything voluntarily. Morning, said Basil, cheerfully. Mister Foss sniffed. Your

461
00:49:37,559 --> 00:49:45,880
sign is crooked. It's artistic. It's loose that too. Mister

462
00:49:46,000 --> 00:49:53,000
Foss adjusted his gloves carefully. I require a cake. Splendid.

463
00:49:53,480 --> 00:49:58,400
Birthdays are very important. It is not for a birthday

464
00:49:59,480 --> 00:50:07,639
an averse nursery, no secret, pirate ceremony. Mister Foss stared.

465
00:50:08,800 --> 00:50:14,880
Basil brightened. Ah, so it's private. Tilda hid a smile

466
00:50:15,000 --> 00:50:20,239
behind a tray. Mister Foss leaned closer. I need a

467
00:50:20,280 --> 00:50:26,840
cake for the Mayor's gala tonight. Chocolate or vanilla. Impressive.

468
00:50:28,039 --> 00:50:32,440
That's not a flavor, it is if you charge enough.

469
00:50:33,480 --> 00:50:40,719
Basil nodded thoughtfully. Very true, mister Foss lowered his voice.

470
00:50:41,159 --> 00:50:45,039
The Mayor plans to name someone's Citizen of the Year tonight,

471
00:50:46,280 --> 00:50:52,440
and I intend for that someone to be me. Tilda frowned.

472
00:50:53,559 --> 00:50:58,599
You can't win awards by ordering fancy cakes. Mister Foss

473
00:50:58,639 --> 00:51:02,639
gave her the look adults reserve for children who accidentally

474
00:51:02,679 --> 00:51:07,679
say correct things. I want a cake. Nobody can forget.

475
00:51:08,840 --> 00:51:14,639
Basil rubbed flour from his chin. I see. For a moment,

476
00:51:15,119 --> 00:51:21,519
the bakery felt oddly quiet. Then Basil smiled gently. I'm

477
00:51:21,559 --> 00:51:27,320
afraid I cannot make that cake. Mister Foss blinked. What

478
00:51:28,760 --> 00:51:34,760
I only bake impossible things. Vanity is perfectly ordinary. The

479
00:51:34,800 --> 00:51:41,880
silence that followed was magnificent. Mister Foss went red, then purple,

480
00:51:43,159 --> 00:51:49,360
then a worrying shade, resembling boiled beetroot. You refuse me,

481
00:51:50,599 --> 00:51:58,159
I politely decline you. There's a difference, a very important one.

482
00:51:58,320 --> 00:52:03,079
Mister Foss slammed coin on to the counter. You'll regret this.

483
00:52:04,400 --> 00:52:10,840
I regret many things, said Basil, mostly haircuts. Mister Voss

484
00:52:10,960 --> 00:52:15,639
stormed out so furiously. He walked straight into the bread display.

485
00:52:16,760 --> 00:52:21,960
A baguette hit him on the shoulder. Tilda burst out laughing.

486
00:52:22,079 --> 00:52:27,880
The moment the door closed, Basil sighed, that bagguette has

487
00:52:28,159 --> 00:52:33,400
terrible timing. You could have just baked the cake. No,

488
00:52:34,840 --> 00:52:41,239
why not? Basil looked toward the ovens. The firelight danced

489
00:52:41,239 --> 00:52:47,920
strangely in his eyes. Because baking changes people, Tilda folded

490
00:52:47,960 --> 00:52:55,599
her arms. That sounds dramatic. It is dramatic. It's baking.

491
00:52:56,840 --> 00:53:03,800
He opened one oven door carefully. Inside sat twelve golden buns,

492
00:53:04,320 --> 00:53:12,079
glowing faintly blue. Tilda pointed, those are glowing again, Yes,

493
00:53:13,480 --> 00:53:21,639
why there for the lighthousekeeper. That explains nothing. Basil shut

494
00:53:21,719 --> 00:53:27,400
the oven. Some people come here hungry for food. Others

495
00:53:27,599 --> 00:53:32,880
come hungry for courage, or hope or forgiveness. You can't

496
00:53:32,880 --> 00:53:39,960
bake forgiveness, Basil looked offended. Of course, you can terribly

497
00:53:40,000 --> 00:53:45,599
difficult recipe. Though, before Tilda could argue, the bakery bell

498
00:53:45,880 --> 00:53:51,679
jingled again. This time a small boy entered carrying a

499
00:53:51,719 --> 00:53:57,920
broken umbrella. He couldn't have been older than nine. Rain

500
00:53:58,159 --> 00:54:04,320
dripped from his coat sleeves. Excuse me, he whispered, Are

501
00:54:04,440 --> 00:54:12,400
you the impossible baker? Basil bowed slightly. On weekdays? The

502
00:54:12,480 --> 00:54:20,320
boy stepped closer. My sister's sick. Tilda's smile faded. She's

503
00:54:20,360 --> 00:54:24,639
been asleep for days, the boy continued. She won't wake

504
00:54:24,760 --> 00:54:29,079
up properly anymore. Mamma says she's just tired, but his

505
00:54:29,239 --> 00:54:36,039
voice wobbled. I think she's drifting away. Basil's expression softened.

506
00:54:36,320 --> 00:54:43,719
What's your name, Oliver Humm? Basil walked slowly to the

507
00:54:43,760 --> 00:54:50,119
pantry at the back of the bakery. He examined jars, spices,

508
00:54:50,719 --> 00:54:55,840
sacks of flour, and little silver tins labeled things like

509
00:54:56,400 --> 00:55:04,639
moon sugar and Thursday jam. Finally, he nodded Tilda. Yes,

510
00:55:06,000 --> 00:55:12,280
we're closing early. We are we have something important to bake.

511
00:55:13,440 --> 00:55:19,079
For the next three hours, the bakery transformed completely. Basil

512
00:55:19,239 --> 00:55:24,840
moved faster than Tilda had ever seen. He mixed strange

513
00:55:24,880 --> 00:55:32,519
silver powder into batter. He stirred chocolate clockwise exactly thirteen times.

514
00:55:33,000 --> 00:55:39,000
He added cinnamon, honey, and one tiny glowing orange peel

515
00:55:39,320 --> 00:55:43,800
that smelled like sunlight. After rain, What are we making,

516
00:55:44,599 --> 00:55:52,559
whispered Tilda. Basil smiled faintly. A waking cake. That's not real.

517
00:55:53,880 --> 00:55:59,239
Most good things aren't until someone makes them. The kitchen

518
00:55:59,440 --> 00:56:05,800
filled with warmth and light. Even the rain outside seemed quieter.

519
00:56:07,079 --> 00:56:11,719
At last, Basil removed a small golden cake from the oven.

520
00:56:12,960 --> 00:56:18,800
Steam curled upward in shimmering ribbons. The scent made Tilda's

521
00:56:18,880 --> 00:56:25,760
chest ache unexpectedly, it smelled like safety. Basil wrapped the

522
00:56:25,800 --> 00:56:30,599
cake carefully and handed it to Oliver. One slice only,

523
00:56:31,360 --> 00:56:35,320
he warned, and make sure she eats it while someone

524
00:56:35,400 --> 00:56:40,440
tells her a happy story. Oliver held the cake like treasure.

525
00:56:41,559 --> 00:56:47,639
Will it work? Basil adjusted the boy's crooked umbrella. Love

526
00:56:48,159 --> 00:56:54,000
usually does. After he left, Tilda sat heavily on a

527
00:56:54,039 --> 00:56:59,760
flower sack. You really think cake can help people. Basil

528
00:56:59,800 --> 00:57:05,880
look surprised. My dear girl, cake has saved humanity dozens

529
00:57:05,920 --> 00:57:13,119
of times. That evening, the Mare's gala began. Lanterns glowed

530
00:57:13,280 --> 00:57:19,480
across Pebblewick Town Hall. Music drifted through the square. Rich

531
00:57:19,599 --> 00:57:24,199
guests swept through the doors, wearing velvet coats and expressions

532
00:57:24,199 --> 00:57:29,679
of great importance. Tilda carried a basket of pastries beside

533
00:57:29,719 --> 00:57:34,239
Basil as they entered. Why are we here, she asked.

534
00:57:35,320 --> 00:57:42,079
The Mare invited us. Why he enjoys my apricot tarts

535
00:57:42,519 --> 00:57:47,480
and fears my opinions. Inside the grand hall stood a

536
00:57:47,559 --> 00:57:52,480
towering cake at the center of the room, four layers tall,

537
00:57:53,760 --> 00:58:00,360
covered in gold icing, decorated with spunge sugar swans. Mister

538
00:58:00,480 --> 00:58:05,239
Foss stood proudly beside it, accepting compliments like a king

539
00:58:05,400 --> 00:58:11,800
receiving tribute. There you are boomed the mayor. Upon spotting Basil.

540
00:58:12,960 --> 00:58:17,840
The Mayor was round, cheerful, and permanently out of breath.

541
00:58:18,800 --> 00:58:24,079
You simply must judge the garala cake competition. I thought

542
00:58:24,119 --> 00:58:28,800
this was a charity event. It's both whispered the mayor.

543
00:58:29,599 --> 00:58:34,599
People behave better when trophies are involved. A bell rang

544
00:58:35,840 --> 00:58:42,320
the crowd gathered. The mayor raised his hands dramatically. Citizens

545
00:58:42,360 --> 00:58:50,119
of Pebblewick, Tonight we celebrate generosity, community and expensive desserts.

546
00:58:51,400 --> 00:58:57,599
Applause thundered. Mister Foss smiled smugly beside his enormous cake.

547
00:58:58,760 --> 00:59:05,719
Then the hall door burst open. Everyone turned. Oliver stood there,

548
00:59:05,800 --> 00:59:11,280
soaked by rain, breathing hard. She woke up, he shouted.

549
00:59:12,400 --> 00:59:18,239
The room fell silent. My sister woke up. He ran

550
00:59:18,400 --> 00:59:22,960
straight toward Basil. She ate the cake and laughed at

551
00:59:22,960 --> 00:59:27,159
my pirate story and asked for soup, and Mamma cried.

552
00:59:28,360 --> 00:59:34,760
He stopped, suddenly, noticing the enormous crowd. Basil crouched beside

553
00:59:34,880 --> 00:59:41,880
him gently. She's all right, Oliver nodded fiercely. The Mayor

554
00:59:42,039 --> 00:59:47,159
dabbed his eyes with a napkin. Several guests sniffed emotionally.

555
00:59:48,320 --> 00:59:54,159
Mister Foss rolled his eyes. Oh, honestly, it's just coincidence.

556
00:59:55,360 --> 01:00:00,199
At that exact moment, his gigantic cake collapsed sideways, with

557
01:00:00,239 --> 01:00:05,480
a noise like a sleepy avalanche. The sugar swans exploded,

558
01:00:06,559 --> 01:00:13,199
cream shot across the mare's shoes. Someone screamed, save the trifle.

559
01:00:14,519 --> 01:00:20,920
Chaos irrupted. Tilda laughed so hard she nearly dropped the pastries.

560
01:00:22,079 --> 01:00:26,519
Mister Foss stood frozen in horror as icing slid slowly

561
01:00:26,639 --> 01:00:33,679
down his expensive waistcoat. Then something extraordinary happened. One of

562
01:00:33,760 --> 01:00:38,639
Basil's small apricot tarts, sitting quietly on the dessert table,

563
01:00:39,039 --> 01:00:44,519
began glowing softly. A woman near it took a bite.

564
01:00:45,000 --> 01:00:52,239
Suddenly she gasped, oh, she whispered, what, asked her husband?

565
01:00:53,360 --> 01:00:59,760
I remembered something. Tears filled her eyes. My father used

566
01:00:59,760 --> 01:01:05,840
to seeing while gardening. Another guest tasted a pastry, then

567
01:01:05,880 --> 01:01:15,320
another and another. Around the hall, faces changed, People smiled unexpectedly,

568
01:01:16,599 --> 01:01:23,920
arguments stop, Old friends embraced. One elderly man began laughing

569
01:01:24,000 --> 01:01:28,800
uncontrollably because his ecklaar reminded him of falling into a

570
01:01:28,880 --> 01:01:34,199
duck pond in nineteen forty eight. Even the musicians played

571
01:01:34,239 --> 01:01:40,800
more warmly. Tilda stared. The impossible baking had spread through

572
01:01:40,800 --> 01:01:48,599
the room like sunlight, not magic, exactly something gentler. Mister

573
01:01:48,719 --> 01:01:55,000
Foss looked around in confusion. Why is everyone happy? Basil

574
01:01:55,119 --> 01:02:00,559
handed him a small cinnamon bun. Mister Foss frowns suspiciously.

575
01:02:01,840 --> 01:02:07,320
I don't want pity pastry. It isn't pity pastry, What

576
01:02:07,559 --> 01:02:15,280
is it? Perspective? Reluctantly, mister Foss took a bite. Nothing

577
01:02:15,400 --> 01:02:24,800
happened at first. Then his expression shifted very slightly, almost imperceptibly.

578
01:02:25,960 --> 01:02:31,320
Tilda noticed his shoulders relax, the angry tightness around his

579
01:02:31,440 --> 01:02:38,440
eyes softened. Mister Foss swallowed slowly. When I was little,

580
01:02:39,239 --> 01:02:43,360
he said, quietly, my mother used to bake cinnamon bread

581
01:02:43,440 --> 01:02:52,559
every winter. Nobody spoke. I'd completely forgotten. Basil nodded. Happens

582
01:02:52,599 --> 01:02:56,679
more often than you'd think. Mister Foss stared at the

583
01:02:56,760 --> 01:03:02,239
ruined golden cake beside him. All this time, he muttered,

584
01:03:03,159 --> 01:03:08,960
I thought impressive meant enormous. The Mare waddled forward, covered

585
01:03:09,000 --> 01:03:17,519
partly in cream. It doesn't, he declared proudly. Impressive means meaningful.

586
01:03:18,679 --> 01:03:24,199
He raised a sticky finger dramatically. And therefore Citizen of

587
01:03:24,239 --> 01:03:31,760
the Year goes too. Everyone leaned forward Basil crumb. The

588
01:03:31,800 --> 01:03:40,039
hall erupted in applause. Basil looked horrified. Oh dear you, one,

589
01:03:40,519 --> 01:03:46,320
cried Tilda. That sounds exhausting. The Mare handed him a

590
01:03:46,360 --> 01:03:52,320
gold medal shaped like a loaf of bread. Basil sighed deeply,

591
01:03:53,519 --> 01:03:57,760
I shall have to dust this weekly later that night.

592
01:03:58,239 --> 01:04:01,840
After the gala ended and the Santons dimmed, Basil and

593
01:04:01,880 --> 01:04:07,400
Tilda walked home through quiet streets. Rain water shimmered on

594
01:04:07,480 --> 01:04:13,760
the cobblestones. Inside the bakery, the ovens still glowed softly.

595
01:04:14,960 --> 01:04:19,519
Tilda sat atop the counter, swinging her legs. Can I

596
01:04:19,599 --> 01:04:26,119
ask you something dangerous? Start? Why do impossible things work

597
01:04:26,239 --> 01:04:32,199
better than ordinary ones? Basil considered this carefully while feeding

598
01:04:32,280 --> 01:04:36,800
crumbs to a pigeon on the window sill. Because people

599
01:04:36,880 --> 01:04:43,960
expect ordinary things, and they stopped noticing them, he lit

600
01:04:44,000 --> 01:04:49,760
a small candle beside the till. But wonder, he said, softly.

601
01:04:50,559 --> 01:04:54,079
Wonder sneaks past the part of us that thinks life

602
01:04:54,239 --> 01:05:00,800
must always stay the same. The bakery creaked warmly around them.

603
01:05:00,840 --> 01:05:06,840
Outside the town slept peacefully. Tilda looked at the shelves

604
01:05:06,880 --> 01:05:11,239
of cooling pastries. Do you think I'll ever learn how

605
01:05:11,320 --> 01:05:18,039
to bake impossible things? Basil smiled, My dear Tilda, you

606
01:05:18,159 --> 01:05:25,199
already are, She frowned. I am. You stayed late to

607
01:05:25,280 --> 01:05:32,199
help a frightened little boy. Well, yes, you laughed when

608
01:05:32,199 --> 01:05:38,239
everyone else took themselves too seriously, I suppose, And you

609
01:05:38,400 --> 01:05:45,079
carried hope very carefully all evening Without even realizing, Tilda

610
01:05:45,159 --> 01:05:49,880
looked down at her flower covered hands. Basil opened the

611
01:05:49,920 --> 01:05:56,639
oven door one final time. Inside sat a single small loaf,

612
01:05:56,920 --> 01:06:04,800
glowing faintly gold. For tomorrow, asked Tilda. No, said Basil,

613
01:06:05,880 --> 01:06:10,719
for someone who hasn't yet remembered. They're worth saving. The

614
01:06:10,840 --> 01:06:17,320
lights dimmed, the bakery settled, and somewhere in the sleeping

615
01:06:17,400 --> 01:06:23,519
town of Pebblewick Dreams smelled faintly of cinnamon and impossible things.

616
01:06:24,760 --> 01:08:19,199
The end u.

617
01:11:13,560 --> 01:21:13,319
Speaker 1: It a D B