The room was full of objects that had over the years been discarded by their owners - old umbrellas, items of clothing, toys and, strangely, a box of old photographs, one of which seemed considerably older than the rest. It showed a group of children playing in the street, while a man with a curiously blank face watched them.

Around the room, other forgotten objects lay scattered. In one corner, the Professor sat surrounded by old friends and even older things. He was telling stories of the items and the people whose life they were once a part of.

The first of these unusual things was a ring with a blue gemstone. The ring had once belonged to a very old man who was much younger back then. It had been said that the ring was as old as time itself, and that it contained an entire universe.

The second item was an old, faded and much fingered recorder that had once been much loved, and much played although never very well. It had been owned by a scruffy little man who managed to hide his vast knowledge behind a veil of slapstick and tomfoolery.

Next, the Professor picked up a ruffled shirt and smoking jacket in the style of Oscar Wilde, or Jimi Hendrix. The man who once wore these clothes cut a dashing figure, with his mane of white hair. This was a man who could face his greatest fear.

The fourth item was an incredibly long scarf made up of many colours. Rumour had it that the scarf had been knitted by Madame Nostradamus herself. It was said that it had saved its owner from many a tight scrape. The fellow that owned this would not have looked out of place sitting in a Parisian street cafe reading something by Orwell or Kerouac.

The Professor picked up a rather battered and worn old cricket ball. It had belonged to a young man, who was much older by then and who had once bowled 100 not out against The Master ... W.G. Grace. The young man always gave the impression of being both the hero and the martyr.

The next item was a small, rather insignificant badge in the shape of a cat. It was said that this particular cat could see round a few corners. The owner of the cat had been a large man who was boisterous and loud, but also capable of great compassion and serenity.

And so the Professor came to the final item in his collection. "Aah...the trusty old brolly" he said, gazing at it fondly. It was just like many others in the room, except that its handle formed the shape of a question mark. Like the scarf, it had also saved its owner from a few cliff-hangers. The small man who had owned it was different from the other men. He was darker and more foreboding, but he did have traces of the others' personalities. The best description of him came from an ancient Hindi poem - "..I am become Death, Destroyer of worlds.."

Seven men, all very different yet all the same ...

The Professor looked up at his friends. They all looked tired. His friends took each item in turn, and carefully placed them in the window in case any of the men should one day return. He then looked over to his companion, who gave a big yawn, and settled down to sleep.

And, of course, when Bagpuss goes to sleep, all his friends go to sleep too. The mice were ornaments on the Mouse Organ, Gabriel and Madeline were just dolls, and the Professor was a carved wooden book-end in the shape of a woodpecker. Even Bagpuss himself, once he was asleep was just an old, saggy cloth cat, baggy and a bit loose at the seams...

...but Dorothy loved him.