Dragonfarce: The Pet Dragon Band That Set the Town on Fire

On the edge of a sleepy seaside town, in a garden where wind-chimes rattled like distant cymbals, three pet dragons lived very different lives.

Angus Searstrings liked to sit on the roof at dusk and pluck at the loose tiles until they sang. Dozy Powell practiced delicate flame-work on tin cans and could coax a single perfect note from a scorched bottle. Elton Firefingers napped through thunderstorms but

woke with a rumbling snore that sounded suspiciously like a bass line.

None of them were ordinary pets, and none of them were content to stay small.

How They Met

A summer fair brought them together.

Angus had wandered down from his rooftop to chase a moth. Elton had been drawn by the smell of frying doughnuts and the chance to warm his claws. Dozy had been rolled out of his owner’s caravan in a blanket and left to snooze under a stall.

When a busker’s guitar snapped mid-song, the crowd fell silent—until Angus, bored and curious, tapped a tile and produced a bright, ringing tone. Elton answered with a tiny plume of flame that made the vendor’s frying pan sing. Dozy, startled awake, let out a sleepy, resonant hum that filled the space between them.

The sound was accidental and ridiculous and utterly irresistible.

The First Jam

They tried it again the next day.

Angus found rhythm in scraping his tail along the fence.Elton learned to shape his fire into short, percussive pops.Dozy discovered that if he yawned on cue he could hold a low note for ages.

Their first jam was messy—strings singed, a hat melted, and a few startled pigeons fled—but people stopped to listen. Laughter turned into applause, and applause turned into requests for more.

The three dragons realised they had something that made the world tilt a little brighter.

Choosing a Name

Names were important.

They wanted something that sounded grand but also a little ridiculous, because that was the truth of them: fierce and theatrical, but prone to pratfalls.

Angus suggested something noble.Elton wanted something flamboyant.Dozy, still half-asleep, mumbled a name that made them all snort.

They settled on Dragonfarce — a name that promised fire and spectacle and didn’t take itself too seriously. It fit them perfectly.

The First Gig and the Band’s Rise

Their first proper gig was in the town hall, where the mayor had booked a charity night and, after seeing the dragons on the pier, insisted they perform.

Angus played a battered banjo he’d found in a skip.Elton used a row of glass bottles and a carefully aimed puff of flame.Dozy supplied the low end with a series of contented rumbles amplified by a sympathetic radiator.

The audience left with singed scarves and grins that wouldn’t quit.

Word spread.

Dragonfarce played everywhere from garden parties to barn dances, always leaving behind a trail of melted spoons and delighted chaos.

Dancers Arrived

Word travels fast in a seaside town, especially when it involves dragons making music out of roof tiles and yawns.

By the time Dragonfarce finished their third song at the town hall, something unusual began to happen.

From the back doors, the windowsills, and even the rafters, other pet dragons started to appear — dragons who had never met each other, dragons who had never dared to dance in public, dragons who usually hid behind their owners’ legs at the vet.

They came in all shapes and colours:

• Confident, tiny and round, who jingled like pocketfuls of coins when they moved

  
  

• Angry, a small orange/brown dragon who smelled faintly of toast and wiggled with unstoppable enthusiasm

  
  

• Blazey, whose scales caught the stage lights and threw glittery sparks across the hall

  
  

• ZZ Flop, shy but determined, who shuffled forward with a nervous little hop that somehow matched Angus’s guitar work

  
  

At first, they hovered at the edges, unsure if they were allowed.

But Angus gave them a nod — one of those quiet, encouraging nods that said go on, the world is kinder than you think.

ZZ let out a warm, rumbling bass note that rolled across the floor like an invitation.Confident flicked a flame that burst into a harmless shower of purple sparks.

That was all it took.

The dragons surged forward, forming a swirling, clumsy, joyful dance circle. Some flapped too hard and spun themselves into chairs. Others bounced in time with Angus’s rhythm, their feet tapping like mismatched drums. A few tried to harmonize with Dozy’s high beats and ended up sounding like kettles about to boil.

The humans didn’t mind.

They cheered louder.

For the first time, the town saw what dragon music could really do: it didn’t just entertain — it gathered. It made the shy brave, the small mighty, and the ordinary night unforgettable.

Later, people would say that was the moment Dragonfarce stopped being a band and became a phenomenon.

Because when dragons dance, the whole world feels like it might lift off the ground.

What They Left Behind

Dragonfarce never wanted fame for fame’s sake.

They wanted to make noise that made people forget their troubles for a while, to turn ordinary evenings into small, combustible miracles.

Angus, Elton, and Dozy taught their town that music could be made from anything — tiles, tins, yawns — and that the best bands are the ones that laugh at themselves.

Years later, children would still tap the roof tiles and try to imitate a sleepy bass hum. And somewhere, when the tide was right and the wind carried a certain kind of warmth, you could swear you heard a distant, imperfect chord and the faint, happy cackle of three dragons who had once decided to play together.

This is the first ever pet dragon band to reach No. 1.