Have Space Suit-Will Travel

Just take a look at this man in his spacesuit-ready for action and space and probably handy with a lawnmower as well. This looks like an old style space suit, the sort Granpa Jack would have chosen becuase there is room inside the helmut to smoke his smelly pipe. I would choose the space suit on the right. It's a bit more up-to-date and probably a bit safer in the big vacuum of space. Here's an interesting thought. Perhaps space is like a giant vacuum cleaner and the earth is in a constant state of being sucked up but because it's big- like those bits of lego and cat-food that get caught in the household cleaner- it actually just stays where it is.

Some day someone is going to work out how to unclog us from the vacuum innards and we'll probably go flying off into another cleaner universe. And all without the aid of a space suit.

Last Bit of Christmas Stuff

Below are some people trying to look good in boiler suits. I say don't bother. Boiler suits used to be for tough grimy jobs to do with boiling stuff - not for looking cool. Now you can wear them for anything messy which to my mind is just about everything that you do in the world. The best type of suit is of course a space-suit. ANYONE can look good in that. I'll show you a picture later to prove it.

So, I promise this is the last bit of Christmas stuff-for now.

The doorbell rings.
'Why don't you answer it, Wilfred?' says Mum. 'It might be for you.'
'It's a bit early for Dexter,' I say.
'Maybe it's not Dexter,' says Dad.
'But who else would come round this early on Christmas morning?' I am thoroughly confused.
The doorbell rings again. 'Maybe you should answer it, Dad, it might be a stranger.'
'Just answer it, Wilfred,' says Dad, pushing me towards the door.
I open it. Granpa Jack is standing in the snow with a blue scarf wrapped around something that is making his arms sag.
'Let me in, my boy,' he says, 'please.'
I let in in but don't say a word about how nice his old people's home is at, 'The Pit of Despair' and how awful he was to lie about it; I don't say anything mainly because I am not meant to be speaking to him. He heaves himself inside and underneath his coat he has an old boiler suit on. He winks at me. Then unwraps his scarf and out pops a small but powerful looking motor.
'Maybe I can help you put these two together?' He points at the sleigh and the engine. 'If you'll let a miserable old fool like me help you that is?'
I can't help it. I start grinning like a baby-child. I've got snow, a sleigh and now Grandpa Jack has come back to FIX A MOTOR TO IT. Dad has another drink in his hand but this time he's smiling.
'Thanks, Dad,' I say.
'Better get on with this, young Wilfred!' says Grandpa Jack, 'just bring that oilcan in here will you...'
Mum's eyes are going poppy as she looks at the engine on her hand-crafted fair-traded rug in the sitting room.
'Perhaps we should do that outside, Grandpa Jack,' I say quickly.
Dad claps me on the shoulder. 'Wilfred,' he says, 'I think you're finally getting it.'
I have no idea what he's talking about.

What a Wonderful Present!

So this is it. The sleigh of my dreams, except for the dream where it has a motor attached to it and goes REALLY fast. It is the best.

I throw on my dressing gown and race downstairs. Mum is in the hall, humming happily to the vacuum cleaner, classic FM top tunes. Dad is bent over the hall floor. He is cleaning up some cat sick.
'Happy Christmas, Mum, Dad!'
Mum smiles. 'This is a wonderful present, Wilfred,' she says, patting the cleaner and her eyes are happy. 'Thankyou, dear.' Then I have to fight off her kisses.
'Father Christmas did come last night, didn't he?' and she's waves the pretend Father Christmas note at me.
'But I saw him!' I say. 'He's real! Really!'
'I know,' says Mum, 'don't we Dad?'
Dad nods. 'We had to open your present, Wilfred. We sort of guessed what it might be and then Father Christmas left crumbs all over the sitting room and the cat wasn't very well...'
I thought of the food mixture I' d given her. 'Ah, well, hmm,' I say.
Dad gives me a big hug. 'Come on, Wilfred we've got something to show you.'
In the sitting room the fire is burning, the radio is churning out gloomy carols and outside the snow is falling. It is perfect.
'Can I just go outside and play for a little while, before breakfast, please!'
'You might want to open this first,' says Dad and he drags a large parcel out from behind the tree. 'Then, when you are dressed you might want to take it outside with you.'
I stare. I gape. My heart thumps. It is wrapped in winking snowmen.
'Open it then,' says Mum.
I rip off the paper. Underneath it there is a wooden sleigh. It has iron runners and curved ends. And it is beautiful. I read the label.

'To Wilf, sorry it's not motorised. Love, Father Christmas'

IT'S SNOWING!

Cloudseeding-that's what it reminded me of (see right).When scientists wanted to make rain they could put chemicals in the clouds and whoosh! Rain. So when I woke up it was like a scientist had been really busy outside making snow, instant snow. And I know there are snow machines but this would have to have been a giant machine because the snow was EVERYWHERE and really deep. I think it is especially thick because Mrs Next-Door has chucked all her snow into our garden. And now the four million cats from our garden have all gone into Mrs Next-Door's garden. She won't like that.

There is something wrong. My eyes are open but all I can see is white. There is white falling outside the window. It's snowing. I suddenly remember last night and all those bright sparks falling from his fingers. White sparks like snow. . . It's snowing!
'IT'S SNOWING!' I yell and I sit up in bed.
'Jin-gle bells, jin-gle bells, jin-gle al the way,' sings Dexter the computer, except it does not sound much like singing but I don't like to tell him this.
'Happy Christmas, Dexter! The garden's full of SNOW!' I can't even see where Mrs Next-Door's specially reinforced concrete wall is.
'Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse o-pen sleigh-heh,' Dexter makes it sound about as much fun as eating cabbage. But I don't care-last night I saw Father Christmas.
I hear the noise of the vacuum cleaner singing. It's tuned to a classical radio station-Mum and Dad have opened their Christmas present already! And it works! YIPPEE!!

I Dream of Small Grey Sheep

You may wonder about the small grey sheep. My screen saver is meant to be a 'magical Christmas scene' with LOADS of snow falling. But something has gone wrong and the falling snow just looks like grey sheep. It piles up at the bottom of the screen like a big sheep mountain-not very magical at all really.

'Happy Christmas, Wilf!' says Father Christmas and he turns to leave. 'I hope you get what you want!'
I panic. He can't go now, I have so many questions that need answering, questions like, 'how do you build an igloo big enough to fit an entire toy factory in?' and 'How do you manage to deliver billions of presents to billions of children in under 12 hours and where does Einstein fit into all that?'
But all I can manage is,
'Wait a mo! Where's your sack?'
He is quiet for a second and then he winks. 'Who needs a sack when you've got magic kiddo?'
And he waves a long, thin hand and white sparks appear all around him. They pop like bubbles and he is gone. Just like that. For a moment I cannot move. The room is back as it was, the tree, the lights, the cat licking her bottom. But nothing is normal, not now.
'I've just seen, Father Christmas, Serena. I'VE JUST SEEN FATHER CHRISTMAS!' Serena is disturbed mid-lick and stalks out of the room and I fly upstairs. I want to tell Mum and Dad, I want to tell Granpa Jack, I want to fling open my bedroom window and shout out the news! Father Christmas is alive! But Dad accidentally painted my window shut last summer so I have to just stare very hard out at the night sky, hoping for a glimpse of him.
'I've just seen, Father Christmas,' I say to Dexter, the computer.
'Does not com-pute,' says Dexter.
'Oh, yes it does,' I whisper.
And in my sleep, I dream of small, grey sheep falling from the sky.

Fascinating Invention No. 5-The Vacuum Cleaner

The vacuum cleaner is an especially interesting invention to me as I am making a musical one for The Parents as a Christmas present. It is another amazing machine invented by the Victorians. Hubert Booth made the first vacuum cleaner after he saw an American machine in action. The inventor was trying to clean railway carriages by BLOWING the dust off the seats and Hubert decided it would be better if the dust was SUCKED. So, he tried out his theory - not at home, not in a laboratory but in a posh restaurant. He took out his hanky and sucked at the seat of his chair and nearly choked to death. This might seem a bit mad but when he turned the hanky over it was covered in trapped dust. He went on to make giant vacuum cleaners which rich people hired and made their servants use. They were so big they had to use really long hoses to snake in through the windows, after clearing away all aspidistras and small children. Luckily they were able to make smaller cleaners.

I Believe That Mincepie Was Meant For Me

(right) This is Gizmo from a film called 'Gremlins' that I am not allowed to watch. He reminds me of my friend, Dexter, especially about the ears.
(below) This is just like the gizmo, Father Christmas carried with him. How cool are those flashing lights.

'Hem hem!' coughs a quiet voice.
I jump and spin all in one go. A tall man in a metallic red jumpsuit stands next to the Christmas tree. In his hand is some sort of gizmo with flashing lights on it.
'I believe that mincepie was meant for me,' he says, sounding a bit American.
I'm not worried; he looks more like a hairy Buzz Aldrin than a burglar. I want to ask how the gizmo works but my mouth is stuck.
'In case you're wondering,' smiles the man. 'I'm Father Christmas! Santa Claus! St Nicholas! Take your pick!' His gizmo beeps and he punches a button. 'And I should have been in France nanoseconds ago.'
My mouth unglues. 'But, but you're not fat and where's your sack!?' I blurt out these crushing facts in a weird high voice.
He laughs and pats his flat stomach. 'We're all more streamlined these days, pardner!' He bends lower. 'Still got the beard though and I bet you can't pull this one off!'
'How do you know about that?' I ask.
'Didn't your parents tell you? I know everything, Wilf. Everything. I even know about Granpa Jack. Two naughty boys.'
That made me think.

Happy Christmas Serena

Apart from cream tea, the most disgusting thing in the universe to eat is a mincepie. Read on.
"Three centuries ago, a mince pie was a huge dish called “Christmas pye” and described as “a most learned mixture of Neats-tongues (ox tongue), chicken, eggs, sugar, raisins, lemon and orange peel, various kinds of spicery, etc.”
This is of course DISGUSTING but Dad (see right) thinks mince-pies are what beards were made for which is also DISGUSTING.

'Miaow!'
Serena is hungry, I can tell, so I crumble most of the mince pie onto a plate for her and leave a few crumbs on another plate. I pick out a glass and fill it with some of Dad's red drink.
'Miaow!'
She's really hungry. I pour most of Dad's red drink onto her plate and mush it up together with the mince pie.
'Happy Christmas, Serena,' I say, as she tucks into it.
I bite a carrot in half and leave that on the mantlepiece; I throw the other half in the bin. The cat's not really interested in healthy food. Finally I leave a note I typed out all ready. It says:

"Thankyou for the mintspie and the drink. It was kind. Bye.
From Father Christmas.
P.S. Your super son, Wilf let me borrow his computer to write this note. Get him a motorised toboggan next year"

There, that should do it. Mum and Dad can believe in Father Christmas again and also think that I believe in him as well! Sorted!

Keep your Wig On

A little known fact about my Dad is that he wears a wig. When I was little I quite liked his wig; I called it his big hair and he would pretend to make it bark at me. Underneath his big hair is a smattering of microscopic hair and to make up for this he likes to grow an enormous beard. He catches food and insects in it and last Christmas I bought him a special beard brush. Now he likes to weave his beard into a plait which quite frankly is a bit embarrassing.


'A-larm! Midnight! A-larm! Midnight! A-larm! Midnight!'
I wake up with a start. Dexter is flashing blue and green at me.
'Shut up!' I say. 'You'll wake Mum and Dad!'
'You programmed me,' Dexter intones in his annoying way, 'keep your wig on.'
I slip out of bed and put on my dressing gown. It's time for me to make it up to The Parents. I'm getting to be quite an expert at creeping round dark houses, so no need for Granpa Jack's stupid torch. Downstairs in the silvery sitting room the Christmas tree twinkles. I heave the musical vacuum cleaner from behind the sofa and leave it with the rest of the presents beneath the tree. Pity I didn't have a box, underneath the wrapping paper it does look pretty much like what it is but without the music. Good job I've got this extra present. But first there's a job to do. Serena is curled up in front of the fireplace. I find a plate of mince pies and carry them through. Serena must be hungry because she trips me up and the pies go flying. I avoid treading on most of them and pick up one for the plate. I hate mince pies but it has to be done-a mince pie has to be eaten. More tomorrow. feeling too sick to continue.

But What about my Sock?

This is the carrot house. How amazing would it be to live in a house designed around carrots? Unless there are really big rabbits on the loose and that would just be plain scary. The carrots on the mantlepiece are just normal-sized for the reindeer. The port on the mantlepiece was meant to be for Father Christmas but since I told the Parents, 'the truth about Christmas' Dad has decided that he should finish it off himself.

Everything is really quiet up until bedtime. I stay in my bedroom after tea and look at the snow on the screensaver. It looks less like snow and more like small grey sheep falling from the sky - I suppose it's better than no snow at all.
'Bedtime, Wilfred!' Mum calls from downstairs.
I run down to the sitting room. The Parents are slumped in chairs in front of the fire. They are burning the last of Mum's Christmas present.
'That's a good fire!' I say, trying to cheer them up because I do feel bad about the chairs.
But then I feel worse about telling them the truth about Father Christmas. They had to find out sometime but they have taken it very badly. Still, I stand there waiting for the usual Christmas Eve speeches.
'Goodnight, Wilfred dear,' says Mum and she sighs.
'Goodnight,' says Dad.
'What about my sock?' I ask, 'or a carrot for the reindeer?'
'What's the use?' asks Dad, clutching a large glass of something red.
'But what about a mince pie and some port for Father Christmas?'
'I've drunk it,' says Dad.
'You said he wasn't real, Wilfred,' says Mum. 'So what's the point?'
'I know,' I say and I feel sad because I like to put out the carrots and the mince pies, even if there is no point. 'I'll just go to bed then, shall I?'
This very bad, usually by now they would be busy cooking and singing and smiling.
'Just as you like,' says Dad and he takes a giant swig from his glass.
Oh dear.

Dad Explodes

Dad doesn't explode very often but when he does things get messy. The last time he exploded was in Tesco. He had just read something political in the newspaper of the woman standing in the queue in front of us. He told Mum about it very loudly and she told him to speak quietly. But he just got very cross about the state of things today and woke the woman's baby up. She called him something rude and he EXPLODED. He was even more embarrassing than normal.


So to continue. Dad is looking fit to explode because we've done him a favour.
'Don't tell me that wood,' he points a trembling finger at the neat pile of sticks at his feet. 'Don't tell me that's the antique chair I've been restoring for Mum!'
'There were two of them,' I say but not very loud.
Dad puts a hand through what's left of his hair. This isn't looking good.
'Dexter did one of them,' I say, turning round but Dexter has run off-again.
Don't tell me you've chopped up both of them!' groans Dad.
So I don't-tell him that is.
'Speak then, Wilfred!'
'You told me not to.'
'Don't be cheeky!' he's shouting again. 'Or...or Father Christmas won't be coming!!'
Mum appears in the doorway. She has her disappointed face on. 'Oh, Wilfred, Father Christmas will be unhappy with you.'
I think carefully about how I am going to tell them that Father Christmas is not an actual person. Because right now-
I'm fed up with them.
I'm fed up with Granpa Jack.
I'm fed up with the whole magic of Christmas.
'Well, Father Christmas isn't real anyway! So there! Ha-ha!'
I didn't mean to add the end bits but I couldn't help it.
There is a long pause before Mum says in a really quiet voice. 'We believe in him.'
Her nose turns red and her eyes are leaking.
'I need a drink,' says Dad.

Fascinating Invention No 4-The Tempest Prognosticator

Back to Barometer World. Barometers are all about the weather. This is something the Parents talk about ALOT. Not in an interesting, 'this how clouds are formed and rain is made', kind of way but in a, 'blah blah it's hot' or 'blah blah it's cold', kind of way. The Parents do have a barometer. It is in the hall and Dad likes to tap at it and say stuff like, 'looks like rain' when actually I have read the instructions on the Barometer World website and our barometer is not even set for the correct altitude. I ask you.
The Tempest Prognosticator was invented by Dr Merryweather-seriously, that was his name and he invented it to predict when thunderstorms would come. In 1851, he studied leeches and noticed how they got overexcited when the weather turned nasty. So he stuck them inside a glass dome and when a storm was coming they would rush up the glass and tinkle a little bell. He also got a bit overexcited and called his invention, 'one of the grandest ideas that ever emanated from the mind of man.'
It didn't catch on.

Something Interesting in the Woodshed

These are a bit like the chairs we found in the woodshed. You can see why we chopped them up.

'What are those over there?' says Dexter, pointing at two spindly old chairs in the corner. They are covered in newspaper.
I shrug.
'Dad maybe. They're probably going to the dump...I know! We can chop them up for firewood!' I say.
So we start chopping, one chair each. It's great fun and by the time we are finished, I am quite warm. The chairs are gone and in their place is a satisfying pile of wood for the fire.
'They'll be really pleased,' I say, as we begin lugging it into the kitchen.
'Hello, Wilfred,' says Dad as he fills the kettle. 'Hello, Dexter-what have you two boys been up to?'
Then he drops the kettle in the sink and turns as red as Father Christmas' coat.
'Where did you get that wood?' he asks very, very quietly.
'Your shed,' says Dexter, 'they chopped up really easily.'
'Shed...they...chops,' repeats Dad and his eyes are all poppy.
Something is wrong, I can tell. 'I was just doing what you asked me to,' I say, all the same I'm glad I haven't brought the axe in as well. Dad looks as though he's about to explode. Now what?

Now we can be real jungle explorers

The jungle. It's a fiercesome place, filled with oversized disease carrying insects, lost neighbours and heaps of cat poo-our garden actually. Mum and Dad saw Mrs Next-Door sneaking through the broken fence once. She was carrying an air rifle. Dad thought she was hunting for cats to shoot and he went out to find her but he got lost. Mum went out to search for him and found Mrs Next-Door. She was hopping about, swatting at flies with the barrel of her gun. She had trodden in cat poo and was a bit unhappy. Mum said she'd lost it which was quite funny for Mum.

So Dexter and me are going to chop up some logs for The Parents. Dexter is amazed when I tell him.
'Will your Mum and Dad let you do that?' he asks, as we crunch along the drive to the garage.
'Oh yes,' I say, airily; although I know The Parents would NOT let me near an axe really. 'There're some axes in the garage. They need some logs for the fire. They told me.'
We squeeze past the car and come to the workbench. There are two small axes hanging from nails. Dexter accidentally scratches the car but it's not much. We run into the back garden-jungle, whooping and waving the axes. Now we can be real jungle explorers. Some of the weeds and bushes are over my head. I hack them down and startle two cats out into the open. We spend forever looking for branches low enough to hack off. There are none. I only find a few weedy twigs lying on the ground.
'Can you burn cat poo?' asks Dexter. 'I've found loads of it.'
'I tried setting fire to it once,' I say, 'it's a bit smelly. Let's go to the clubhouse and try out your ears in the dark.'
We race to Dad's tumbledown shed, leaning against the garden wall. And inside is just what we've been looking for.

Back to the Story

Dexter is supremely keen on Rudolph and his sleigh pulling ability. He thinks he looks so great in his flashing Rudolph ears but he actually does not. This is a picture done by a baby-child and this is about as clever as Dexter looks in his flashing Rudolph ears. I, on the other hand, am very interested in Santa's sleigh because it is a remarkable invention. I would truely like a toboggan that could fly but I'll settle for one with a motor. Strapping Dexter and his flashing Rudolph ears on the front might be an interesting idea though.

Back to the story and back in time to Christmas! Remember-the Parents were trying to fob me off with collecting firewood with Dexter.
Dexter is standing outside looking up at the sky.
'I'm getting an x-track for Christmas,' he says, flashing his Rudolph ears on and off. 'I'll let you play with it if you want.'
'Could do,' I say, trying not to be bothered.
'Yeah, it's really good. It's the one on TV and I bet I'm getting the super-x car to go with it!'
'I expect I'll be a bit busy,' I say wanting him to be quiet and listen to me for a change.
'And it'll be the red one,' he says.
'I'll be too busy,' I shout, 'playing with my MOTORISED TOBOGGAN!'
Dexter's Rudolph ears stop flashing. 'Can't see the point-when there's no snow.'
I decide to change the subject.

Spoilt Boy

Dexter is a spoilt boy-that's what the parents said. I heard them muttering about him after a visit from Dexter's Mum. That party his sister had, got just a teeny weeny bit wild and the house burnt down. It's supremely brilliant because it means that Dexter and all his games will live with us until they build the house back up. Dexter's Dad is a builder so it shouldn't be too difficult. Dexter is going to move in with us tomorrow and can sleep on a mattress on my floor. When Dexter's Mum asked if this was OK, Mum and Dad put on their solemn faces and said, 'is this acceptable to you, Wilfred?'
So I pretended to think about it and pulled a tummy-ache face. 'I suppose it will be acceptable,' I said sadly but my feet couldn't help doing a little jig. 'And I suppose he'll be bringing all his toys with him, I'll just have to clear some space...'
'Oh, everything was burnt in the fire!' shrieked Dexter's Mum. 'We'll have to buy him a whole truckload of new games and toys-I hope you've got the room, Wilf...'
'No!' shouted Mum and Dad.
'YES!' I shouted at the same time but even louder.
'That's all settled then!' said Dexter's Mum.
The Parents were too busy doing goldfish impressions to reply.

The Family Holiday

I have been quiet because I was forced to go on holiday with the parents. They wouldn't listen to me when I said that I could stay with Dexter and his big sister. His mum and dad were going away AND they were letting Trixy and Dexter have a party! Anyway we had to travel about 50 million light years in the car to get to Cornwall where the only thing you can eat is cream tea. This is supremely disgusting and what with all the marching about to stare at places and having no food, my ribs now poke out alot. The cottage was fab (see picture) although the parents thought it was a miserable shack. There was running water-coming down the walls and electricity-from 9pm-9.30pm and an open fire-but no chimney. We didn't spend much time there for some reason but we did spend too much time going to see crumbling buildings and big gardens where I had to fill out little forms to make sure I enjoyed myself. The supreme place to visit in Cornwall is, 'Barometer World'.
www.barometerworld.co.uk
If only more places were as interesting as this place.

The Magic-get-out-clause

On Planet Parent they believe in the power of the 'coat' . The 'coat' will stop you catching cold, flu, pnuemonia, kidney ailments and any number of nasty diseases. I believe the 'coat' is a nuisance-it gives me heat burn and stops me running faster than Dexter. His parents never make him wear a coat. But that's not the worst of it-I also have to wear a vest. In my opinion that and a coat could be fatal. Will they listen? I wouldn't mind too much but it's still not even snowing.

I've had enough of pretending to believe in Santa and being nice because it's Christmas. I turn at the door and look at them happily unwrapping their little Christmassy tree toys. The fire is flaming and it's getting a bit hot what with it being like Summer outside. They look so cheerful-it's almost a shame to say it but...
'Father Christmas will burn his bum if he comes down on top of that fire!'
But Dad's prepared. 'I expect he'll come in through the window then, Wilfred. And it's 'bottom' not, not the other word.'
Oh no you don't, I think. 'But you always lock the windows before you go to bed, don't you?'
Dad looks at Mum. 'Put your coat on before you go out, Wilfred,' she says.
That old ploy. Distraction. 'And if he can't come in through the windows he won't be able to being me any presents!'
Dad gets up and rubs his hands together over the fire. I bet he's really sweating in this heat now.
'And Dexter's house has two burglar alarms,' I point out.
'He'll just have to use magic then!' Dad almost shouts this out.
Now I know he's desperate, he's using the magic-get-out-clause. I spot Dexter through the window and decide to let them off the hook.
'I suppose so,' I say and try to run off.
'Coat!' they both shout.
'But it's not snowing!'
'COAT!'
There's no arguing with them sometimes.

Good King Wenceslas

I need hardly point out Mum's terrible mistake here. She expects me to go and get sticks for the fire and that's alright BUT the snow is not lying, 'deep and crisp and even' like in the sad carol, 'Good King Wenceslas'. It's not lying at all, it's not even falling-nightmare.

I hope my story isn't too confusing for you. Basically you need to know how difficult the life of a nine year old can be-especially at Christmas. Carrying on then...
In the sitting room there are some sad carols playing on Radio Dinosaur. I would like to watch the TV but my Unspeakable Parents won't let me. They have decided it is time to decorate the tree. Mum stands on a tall and exciting ladder. She puts lots of little wooden toys and heavy glass balls on the tree. These decorations are mostly as old as my parents and make the branches bend.
'Just hand them up to me, Wilfred,' says Mum, with her hand sticking out.
'Can't I just put one on?' I ask, juggling two of them very carefully.
'NO!' my parents say together.
I try something else.
'Can't we have a tree which sings when you shout at it?' I ask. 'Dexter has one.'
My Dad pats me on the head.
'Look, son, why don't you listen to the carols or go and find Dexter? You two could find lots of sticks for the fire!'
Mum beams at me. 'Oh yes! That would be so helpful, dear.'
I decide to give the carols a miss-they're making me want to kill something.
'I'll find the sticks,' I say. 'Sticks, logs, branches, trees...'
'Just sticks, Wilf,' Mum jumps in. 'You know kindling. Like the poor peasant collected in this carol, 'Good King Wenceslas'.'
She's babbling rubbish now-time to scoot.

John Harrison-inventor of the sea clock

A plaque to John Harrison was opened by Prince Philip at Westminster today. Prince Philip is like the Queen's back-up and so it shows that he was quite interesting.
http://www.thisisscunthorpe.co.uk

John Harrison was born in 1693 which is alot before the Victorians and alot after the Romans-we've done the Romans at school and the Victorians just invented one thing after another so they are quite interesting too. John Harrison was brilliant and invented the sea clock. This was a way of tracking time and speed at sea, so sailors knew where they were. Before that, they had no way of knowing exactly where they were-they were actually 'all at sea', at sea.

Being disappointed

This is the Christmas my unspeakable parents are celebrating-the one with well behaved children having lots of jolly fun all dressed up in scratchy clothes and definitely not being arrested by the police. Mum and Dad do not like 'being disappointed' especially when police are involved. Dad points to the painting of this old bloke we used to keep in the downstairs loo until Mum took it to the antiques roadshow and found it was worth lots of money. He looks like he has spent one hundred and fifty seven years waiting for a decent Christmas and has always been disappointed. 'He's not happy,' says Dad ' and neither are we.'

The next morning it's Christmas Eve day. It's ten o'clock and Grandpa Jack has telephoned three times already but I do not want to speak to him. I do not know why he said he was miserable in the 'Pit of Despair', when he was definitely not. I think the police should have arrested him for being a liar but they didn't and then they didn't even handcuff me which was a bit of a disappointment. Mum and Dad have got over me being brought home by a vanload of police and after a load of telling off and talk of being 'disappointed', they have returned to being beamy and cheerful about Father Christmas.
I am sick of it.
I can't tell you how disappointed I am with Grandpa Jack. And it's still, still not snowing. Mum is right about one thing-this is a very difficult time of year.

I Want to Confess

Dexter has a pair of handcuffs with a real key. He wanted to be the policeman first because they were his handcuffs and he put the cuffs on me and locked me in the rabbit hutch. Then he ran off. Alan the rabbit was not very happy especially when I tried his food-how do they eat that stuff?
I watch the police car swirl around on the gravel in front of the house, its blue lights flashing and the siren wailing. I've been rumbled. I'm not the only one I think, as I look around the luxurious room again-Granpa Jack has a bit of explaining to do. Thunderous footsteps are even now pounding along the corridor. I wonder if I can safely jump from the second story window. Maybe not. Then I think about hiding in Grandpa Jack's vast wardrobe but it's stuffed full of tweed jackets. I can't even crawl under his bed because it has a beneath that goes right down to the thick carpet. Just as I decide, 'it's a fair cop', Grandpa Jack bursts into the room. His face is very red and he has a party hat falling off his head.
'Wilfred!' he cries. 'What...what!'
'I came to rescue you from, 'The Pit of Despair',' I say 'but I think you don't need to be rescued.'
Five police people push passed him.
'Where is he then?' shouts the first one. 'Whoah!' he trips over me.
The one behind trips over him. Now I'll be done for a salt and smashing the place down.
'Wilfred?' Grandpa Jack is swaying a little.
I turn back to the police people. They are shouting a bit and trying to look as though they meant to fall on the ground.
'I want to confess,' I say and stick my hands out ready for the cuffs.

Not a Cockroach in Sight

Grandpa Jack has made several studies of the cockroach. he told me that he had at least two different species infesting his bedroom alone and BELIEVE ME you don't want to live with either of them. The only good cockroach, according to Grandpa Jack, is a dead cockroach.


I take my chance and slip into the hall closing the door quickly behind me. Not a guard in sight. I turn the key in the lock-that should give me some more time. I turn round and gasp. The hall has a a ceiling twice the height of the giant twinkling, Christmas tree. Mounds of bright presents spill over the foot of a marble staircase. This is worse than I thought-the evil workers must buy themselves very nice presents as well. The sooner I rescue Grandpa Jack the better. There is a lot of noise and music coming from a room down the hallway but I run up the wide sweeping stairs. It is gone teatime and Grandpa Jack says that all the inhabitants are forced into their cockroach infested rooms by six o'clock. Upstairs, I creep silently along the thickly carpetted hall way. There are doors all along the hall. Each door has a little brass plaque with a name on it. I come to Jack Bagshot-that's Grandpa Jack's name. I knock. Nothing. I try the handle and psuh at the door. It opens onto a huge room with a cream carpet and a double bed and table lamps and piles of books and magazines and a wide-screen TV. He's even got a fridge.
And not a cockroach in sight.

Fascinating Invention No.3-The Earmuff

You may not think they are fascinating but Dexter likes them. He likes wearing stuff on his head and he's quite keen on his dog, Dave wearing them as well.
The earmuff was invented by a child-an actual child called Chester Greenwood. He came from a place called, Farmington Maine in America and when he was 15 he wanted to stop his ears getting cold. He made two ear shaped loops from wire and asked his granny to sew fur on them. Farmington Maine is now the Earmuff Capital of the World which is pretty amazing but even more amazing is the fact that there is a parade every year when police cars dress up as giant earmuffs.

I Shall Set Them Free

Grandpa Jack calls his fellow prisoners, the great unwashed. This is because they cannot have running water in the 'Pit of Despair' except for the walls where the damp runs in little green rivers down the peeling plaster.


So, I drop down into a dark, damp space. It can only be a cellar. It's probably filled with tiny cells and their miserable inhabitants-I shall set them free. When my eyes have adjusted to the gloom, I realise that the cells are actually racks and racks of bottles. So this is where all the money goes, I think, into expensive drink for all the evil workers. I spot the stairs in the corner and charge towards them. Unfortunately, my coat catches on the end of a sticky-out-rack and before I know it, a tall shelf of wine is tottering towards me. I save my own life by leaping up the stairs just as the bottles crash to the floor. I put my hands over my ears and my back against the wall. The cellar door flies open and three people fly in.
'Who's there?'
'What's going on?'
'The wine!'
The evil workers have arrived.

The Black Hole

I doubt that even Buzz would want to fly his spacecraft near a real black hole. These are like lurking monsters in space waiting to gobble up anything that comes near them- spaceships, really big trees, even planets. And once you're sucked in, there's no turning back. Not even Dexter could run away from this. Nobody knows what's on the other side or even if there is another side. It's a big mystery. Like the inside of the, 'Pit of Despair'.

'Round here!' Dexter is skulking in the shadows of the tall bushes at tthe side of the house. 'I've found something!'
As I crouch down next to Dexter, I hear the front door open.
'Who's there?' calls a voice.
I hesitate. Should I go back? I am on the verge when the voice says. 'Anymore nonsense and I'll call the police! You hear me?!'
The door slams shut.
Bother. It's really cold now. My nose feels as though it has left my body and my fingers are stinging. It's all Dexter's fault. He points at a small window at ground level. It is a black hole.
'It's open,' he whispers. 'I pushed it.'
I nod wisely. I look at the uninviting black hole. I think about Grandpa Jack and his sufferings.
'I'm going in,' I say.
'Good luck,' says Dexter. 'It's my teatime.'
'It's my Grandpa,' I say.
'Exactly,' he says, 'see you.'
And Dexter the ratfink runs off-again.

Fascinating Invention-No. 2 Lobbing machines-The Trebuchet and The Catapult

The trebuchet was an Italian invention of the fifteenth century (see right). It was made of wood and iron and stood fifteen metres high. What's really brilliant is that this fantastic weapon could chuck rocks and animals and probably dead bodies quite a long way. Imagine a cow landing on top of you! That would hurt. Of course, the best use for it I can think of is lobbing snowballs, just like the catapult. I'd love to see Dexter's face if I wheeled either of these out. Need some snow first.http://www.smith.edu/hsc/museum/ancient_inventions/

Dexter Runs Off-Again

OK, so the Pit of Despair is not quite so despairish close up. In fact it's not at all like the dark prison, Granpa Jack described and more like a really grand house with electricity and running water and probably food. Hmmm...

We stand in the yellow pool of the porch light. I can hear the sounds quite clearly now. Music, happy voices. I was expecting rattling chains and low groans. We give them a blast of, 'Once in Royal David's City'. Our voices rise into the winter air in puffy white clouds. We finish. Nobody comes. Dexter starts making the antlers flash in time with the music and I am becoming peeved.
'You're shouting,' I say. 'That's why they won't come to the door!'
'I'm not shouting, I'm singing-Gran says I have a lovely voice.'
'Your Gran is deaf!'
I can barely knock on the door because the gaint gold door knocker in the shape of a fox is so heavy.
'Just 'cos you can't sing!' says Dexter and he begins shouting, 'Silent Night'.
He only stops when I punch him. 'You're going to make them angry!'
'What are they going to do then? Come and kidnap us?' shouts Dexter.
'Shut up! Maybe they will. Maybe they'll cut the rations for the old people! This is the, 'Pit of Despair' you know!'
I begin hammering on the door. 'Help me, Dexter!'
I look round. Dexter has run off-again.

Listen Out for the Hounds!

Do not be alarmed-this is NOT an actual picture of the hound patrolling the 'Pit of Despair'. However it does look a bit mean and unlikely to be happy with a bowl of Doggy Crunchies. Probably drools as well.

I've never been to 'The Pit of Despair' before. It's near to our house but Granpa Jack won't let anyone come-in case they catch some nasty disease.
'Must be gone tea-time now,' says Dexter, 'I'm starving.'
'You're always starving,' I say. 'I think you've got worms. Anyway, we're here now.'
We stare up at the big posh house. It is lighting up the cold night with lamps from the olden days and twinkling fairy lights. It looks like a royal Christmas grotto.
'Are you sure about this?' asks Dexter. 'I mean it looks alright, really.'
I look again at the address on the piece of paper.
'Yes, this is it-maybe it's scabby inside,' I say. 'You know, so it fools all those people who think they're sending their relatives to somewhere really nice, so they pay their money and then it's too late!'
'Maybe,' says Dexter and he's fiddling with his reindeer antlers.
'Let's listen out for the hounds-they'll try and kill you,' I remind him.
'Cool.'
We listen hard. We hear something but it's not the hounds, more like hyenas.
'Hmm,' says Dexter, 'and maybe that noise we can hear is actually the evil cackling of the workers as they lock the old people in for the night.'
I nod but the music and laughter doesn't sound evil at all to my mind.
'Come on!' I say 'we'd better put our plan into action!'