This is Starting to get a Bit Odd

A brief word about dunking biscuits. You may or may not have strong views about which biscuit is the best biscuit for dunking purposes. I like digestives, Dexter likes ginger nuts and that says quite a lot, I think.

When I get home from school Mum is sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. She pours me a mug and I take two digestives for double dunking. Mum always asks the same questions.
'How was school?'
And I always give the same answers.
'Fine,' I say, dipping my digestives into the tea, unless you count being called, 'Alan' every two minutes. I suck the biscuit.
'Anything interesting happen?' she asks.
'No,' I mumble, unless you count your ex-best friend claiming to be kidnapped by aliens.
'Good,' she says and gets up. 'It's vegetable medley tonight - got to use up the veg box.' She rummages through the dark spotty remains of the organic carrots and cabbage. Yuk. I take three more biscuits very quickly.Then she pulls out a manky piece of celery and that reminds me.
'Mum, do you like stick insects for example?'
'No,' she says, then adds, 'but Grandpa Jack is outside with his stinky pipe.'
I pocket the illegal biscuits and run out of the back door and into the mysterious world of the garden. One time, we lost our neighbour in here. She went in searching for cats but Dad found her again and put her back in her own garden before she starved to death.
'Grandpa!' I call into the dark trees and bushes.
'I'm here!' comes a voice.
I peer into the gloom and see a faint curl of blue smoke rise up near where Dad's shed is. Luckily I know the path and I plunge into the head-high undergrowth and push my way through to the shack . One of Grandpa's hands is outside the window, holding his smoking pipe. The rest of Grandpa is inside perched on the rusty lawnmower. I lean against a stack of old flowerpots.
'Your mother won't let me smoke in doors,' he says. He pulls at his beard and looks around the tiny space. 'You weren't followed, my boy?' he asks.
I shake my head.
'Because what I have to say is top secret.'
'OK,' I say.
'We are not alone,' he says and nods his head. In his excitement he begins to smoke his pipe inside the shed.
'There's no-one else around, Grandpa, I say - I told you, I wasn't followed.'
'You don't understand, young fella,' he coughs and I can hardly see him now because of the dark and the smoke. 'I've seen it!'
'What?'
'On my way back from the pub, my boy, I took a short cut through Fiddler's Field,' he waves his pipe in the air, 'and I saw it with my own two eyes... a crop circle!'
He said it like I should understand what he was on about. I try and look keenly intelligent.
'Don't look so dim, Wilfred! What are they teaching you in school these days! A crop circle, a perfect pattern created in the long grass!'
I nod wisely.
He tuts. 'Created by inhuman hands!'
Eh?
'Evidence of an alien invasion!!'
Now that I understand. This is starting to get a bit odd. First Dexter, now Grandpa Jack; it is time to go indoors and face the vegetable medley.

You Two are the Odd Ones Out

So, camouflage yourself (bet you cannot see the stick insects on that tree) or run away - aagh! It is a giant ladybird! Well the stick insect can do both which is quite handy for the stick insect not to mention AMAZING but it turns out the parents are NOT impressed with these amazing abilities and are NOT happy about me having Stinky's babies. Miranda says I can keep them at her house for now. So, I will use my incredible powers of persuasion on the Parents and soon they will crumble and beg me to bring in the stick insects. Perhaps I will tell them what the experts say, "This is an easy species to keep and very hardy. They are nice and compact," and I will not tell them, "although they have the ability to run away very fast when you are not looking." - either that or I will just sneak the babies in and they will have to blend in with the furniture.

At school everyone is really interested in my stick insects and I am so excited about my babies I forget I am not talking to Dexter and in the playground I give him a friendly shove.
'You know stick insects?' I say in a casual sort of way as he gets up.
'Yeah, I've got loads but they died,' he says and kicks at me - looks like we are friends again.
'Well, I am getting FIVE!' I kick him back.
'I had about a hundred,' he says getting his football out, 'I couldn't be bothered to count them all.'
'Miranda has about a hundred,' I say, backing away ready to get the ball. 'I am keeping mine at her house.'
He stops and puts the ball away. 'At her house? Huh. They are stupid anyway - just swim around like floating fleas.'
'That's sea monkeys you idiot! Not stick insects! Now give me the ball!'
'I'm playing with Tyson anyway...' he shouts and he runs off.

In the classroom things get interesting and that is not something I say alot. Mrs Trundle is meant to be doing science but she ate too much dinner or something and so Mr Bagnall is here talking about forces and even he sounds bored. We are all falling asleep when suddenly Dexter sticks his hand up. This is weird because, first, Mr Bagnall has not even asked a question and second, Dexter NEVER answers a question even when it is asked.
'What is it, Derek?' asks Mr Bagnall. There is alot of sniggering. Dexter looks behind him.
'I'm called, Dexter,' he says 'and I have something big and important to tell you.'
'Is that so, young man? Then enlighten us, I am all ears.' and he cups both ears with his hands.
We stare at Dexter.
'I have been kidnapped by aliens,' he says.
Everybody gasps.
'Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Well done,' says Mr Bagnall.
'It is true,' says Dexter. 'They took me onto their spaceship.'
'Right,' says Mr Bagnall and he is looking at the door now. 'You don't mean you've been kidnapped by ALANS? Do you Dextrose? Do you? Well done, good joke,' he says and points at his badge.
'No, aliens and that is a fact.' Dexter looks at me. If I did not know better I would say he is being a bit jealous of me and my popular stick insects. But then I did see some strange lights in the sky last night. I am not going to tell him that.
'I saw strange lights in the sky last night,' pipes up Oliver-James.
'Me too,' says Itisham. 'Can I go to the toilet?'
'How many of you saw odd lights?' asks Mr Bagnall.
Mostly everyone puts their hand up. Except me and Miranda. I look at Dexter and fold my arms. I will have to probe him about so-called alien kidnapping...
'Looks like you two are the odd ones out,' says Mr Bagnall. 'Well done.'

Stick Insects are Fantastic

Dad says that people with dogs grow to look like their pets. Well I think you can nearly say the same thing about houses. Our house for example; it is semi-detached and Victorian, just like The Parents. Dexter's house was built by his Dad. It is very grand on the outside with lots of columns and sticking out bits (see left) and inside you cannot move for gadgets to save you doing stuff like flicking a light switch or pulling the curtains or flushing the loo. So, too big and full of itself, just like Dexter. My ideal house is in the shape of a spaceship and I think you will agree, it is a bit special.

Anyway I'm going to Miranda's and her house is tall and thin and rambling just like her dad.
'Come in, come in, come in, Wilfredo,' he rambles and I step into the tiny thin porch full of wellies and big raincoats. We are standing very close together in the porch, not going anywhere. 'Just call me Chas,' he says and he peers up at the ceiling. 'Chas, Chas...'
Miranda decides to join us in the tiny porch, so I move behind one of the big coats to wait for a decision about actually going further into the house.
'HELLO,' she bellows at her father, 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING? '
'If I'm right,' says Chas pointing, 'that is a charming little wasp spider...'
'LET ME CLIMB ON YOUR SHOULDERS!' barks Miranda. 'I'LL TAKE A PHOTO!'
'NO! You'll frighten it! I'll take a photograph!'
And I think they start fighting, I can't really see.
'Just what are you doing in the porch, Charles? Where is your guest, Miranda?' This must be the voice of the fever-struck, one armed mother.
I brave it and stick a hand out through the coats and wave. 'Hello.'
She laughs. It is a nice laugh. Maybe she is normal. She looks normal, even her arm. 'Fantastic camouflage, Wilf. Worthy of a stick insect, I think!' Hmmm.

Turns out Miranda's Mum is quite cool. She keeps a selection of false arms in the kitchen on a sort of rack. At the kitchen table, Miranda and me eat baked beans and fishfingers and fizzy orange. Then we have chocolate cake with ice-cream for pudding - not a weevil or an ant in sight and I am dizzy with fullupness.
'Do you want to have a battle?' asks Miranda in a furtive sort of voice when her Mum has gone out of the room.
I shrug. I am not used to battling with girls. She raises one eyebrow and picks an arm off the rack. 'Go on - if you dare!'
I grab an arm and we sit at the table and lock hands for arm wrestling. Miranda is very good.
'You must practise,' I say, puffing as my false arm flies off the table for the third time.
'Yeah but Mum is the best,'
'Your Mum arm-wrestles?!' I cry. 'With her actual arms?'
Miranda nods. 'All the time, she's a national false-arm-wrestling champion.'
I AM IMPRESSED though I don't tell her that.
'Do you want to see the stick insects?' asks Miranda.
'Could do,' I say.
So we do and that is when I fall in love for the first time. Her name is Stinky and she is a thorny stick insect who has just become a mother and I am going to have her babies. Stick insects are fantastic. Just look at them! I am sure The Parents will love them.

Come and Join us for Tea

It is always a bit odd going to play at someone's house for the first time. You know that person from school and they seem OK when you are with them in the playground. But it can go funny when people are in their own rooms. They can turn in to the world's biggest selfish person and show you their toys but not let you touch them or just sit on the gameboy all day while you go off and play with a football on your own or their Mum takes over and makes you Play Properly (see left). On the other hand I once had Tyson over to play and he didn't show up - turns out he saw someone more interesting down the road and his mum took him to play with them. He didn't even know them. He said he'd forgotten my address. Hmmm.

Anyway when I got home there is a man standing in the sitting room as though he owns it. He has one beefy hand on the mantlepiece and the other sausagey fingers are waggling about in the air as he spouts on about beetles. He has dark floppy hair and a face which juts out at you. On the end of his chin is a beard so small and pointy you wonder why he bothers. And I know him from somwhere, I just cannot remember where. The Parents are both sitting down, nodding their heads as though he is actually interesting to them. Mum is also grinning in a soppy way and Dad is stroking his bushy crumbcrusty beard.
He finally sees me and says, 'Wilfred, this is Dr Morten. He has come over to ask you something...'
Pointy beard chortles and says, 'Oh, call me Chas, please!' Mum giggles.
That's it! Chas Morten, the Bug Man off the TV! Mum LOVES him. I think he is rubbish. The man who tracks dangerous predators is much better. Chas puts a hand through his hair.
'Good to meet you, Wilfred. Miranda has told me all about you!'
'HELLO WILF,' Miranda calls from somewhere in the house, could be down the road with her voice. Right now it feels like an invasion.
'Miranda makes friends so easily,' says Chas as she strolls into the room and stands beside him, 'comes from having such a cosmopolitan upbringing I suppose. We've travelled all over the world with my job.'
'And your wife?' asks Mum, smiling, 'are we going to meet her?'
He tuts. 'Malaria - again.' It's her own fault, forgot to take the tablets. Still she manages.'
Mum stops smiling and gulps. 'Has she seen the doctor?'
'Oh, we saw a doctor a couple of years ago when she caught yellow fever down the Zambezi.'
'No, Daddy,' pipes up Miranda, 'that was lassa fever and it was a year ago; she lost an arm after a pirahna attack two years ago!'
And they both laugh at their silly mistake. Dad pulls at his beard and some hair comes out.
'Then there's the food poisoning on top of the malaria, daddy.' Miranda makes a serious face. 'The doctor said you're not allowed to keep those fungus eating woodlice in the kitchen...'
'Can't eat them anymore either, I suppose,' says Chas and he sighs.
They both sigh. The Parents look at one another.
'When are you off bug hunting again?' asks Dad. 'Soon?'
'No!' says Chas, 'I'm on weevil watch!' As though that explains anything.
'Right,' says Dad.
'Weevils!' laughs Chas, 'Don't you just love them?'
'Especially on toast,' nods Miranda.
'I'll say! Anyway,' says Chas, 'maybe young Wilfred like to come and join us for tea? Can't eat the weevils though - sorry.'
I have never seen my Mum's eyes wider. 'Aren't you playing football with, Dexter?'
'I think Dexter is coming over here, Wilf,' Dad is nodding fiercely at me.
That does it. 'If he's coming, I'm going,' I say.

I Don't Care

If you talk to Grandpa Jack about football victory moves, he tuts and says that you should be in the game for the playing . He believes that football should be played in long trousers, that pipesmoking is OK while you are on the pitch and that the best move you can do is a 'plucky move'. See left - titchy boy tackles boy twice his size.

Not once or twice in our rough island story
The path of duty was the way to glory
He that walks it, only thirsting
For the right, and learns to deaden
Love of self, before his journey closes...'

From Young England for 1912, p237

So, I am not talking to Dexter. He walks to the bus queue with Tyson, not me and I can see them practising their football scoring victory things; Dexter does a jump with two fists in the air (he copied that off me) and Tyson does a knee slide and gets a telling off from The Trundle. Meanwhile Oliver-James follows me like a giant annoying puppy,

'Why aren't you wearing your Alan badge, Wilf? When's the first meeting, Wilf? Can I bring my Uncle Alan, Wilf?'
Dexter is at the head of the bus queue and is laughing his head off with the others.
I don't care.
'IT'S ALIEN!' I bellow up at Oliver-James (he is too tall) , 'A-L-I-E-N - ALIEN!'
'It says Alan,' Oliver-James shrugs. 'I don't want to be an alien - that's just weird.'
He chucks the badge on the concrete.
'Aliens aren't weird!' I call after him, 'they are really interesting and they are really here! There might even be some in the school! You could be one!'
'I'd rather be an Alan,' Oliver-James calls back. 'I bet Alans have more fun.'

Miranda gets on the bus as well. She walks all the way to the back of the bus and squeezes next to me and Itisham. This is where Dexter normally sits but today Dexter is sitting with Tyson in front of me.
I don't care.
Itisham has his mini-gameboy from McDonalds and is trying to make it work by stamping on it.
I have a go and use my conker and it actually goes 'beep' before it dies.
'That's rubbish,' says Dexter twisting round. 'I've got a proper gameboy at home - it's really good.'
I know about this because I have played for a long time on Dexter's really good gameboy.
I just say, 'humph.' Dexter gives me a look.
'SO WHAT?' butts in Miranda with her very loud voice. 'SOME PEOPLE ARE POOR AND DON'T HAVE PROPER GAMETOYS!'
'We're not poor!' says Itisham.
'It's Gameboys!' I laugh. She knows nothing.
'Shut up,' says Dexter, looking at me. 'You didn't mind playing with my gameboy!'
'SOME PEOPLE DON'T KNOW HOW TO COOK AND ONLY EAT IN MACDONALDS!' Miranda just carries on shouting about what she thinks.
'We know how to cook!' Itisham stands up and barges past her.
'Dexter only eats in MacDonalds,' I sigh. He is so lucky.
'I like MacDonalds!' snarls Dexter. 'But I don't like you.' He moves down the bus with Tyson.
'What?' I turn to Miranda. 'What is his problem?'
'SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST SO TOUCHY,' says Miranda.
And for once I agree with her. I shrug.
I don't care.

One Conker to Rule them All

The thing is that about now everyone goes bonkers about conkers. So a pause for a bit of conker stuff. Conkers is an ancient game played by kings and peasants and arch- bishops for all I know. It is actually fantastically violent and was nearly banned in our school a few years ago when an unknown hero actually managed to break the headteacher's wrist. You must understand, the idea is to break your opponent's conker and not their wrist but this can be a nice bonus. Other hazards when playing conkers are conker splinters flying into your face, loss of one or both eyes, bits of conker innard in your mouth and severe bruising on any exposed part of your upper body bits. Apart from that it's perfectly harmless and even Mrs Trundle, our teacher has a go (the rumour is that's how she lost her eye - cool).
Roald Dahl was a big conker fan and he tells us in his book, 'Roald Dahl, My Year' that,
'...a great conker is one that has been stored in a dry place for at least a year. This matures it and makes it rock hard and therefore formidable.'
It's true. Dexter tried soaking his in vinegar for a week and Tyson baked his in the oven at a very low temperature for six hours. Useless - they went for looks and not inner toughness. Typical.

Top tips
- choose a conker with a sharp edge (not the big round ones)
- the shinier it is the less likely it is too win (thin and soft inside)
- keep it for one year or more before use (tough dull shell)
- keep your eye on the conker when aiming
- keep your head still when firing
- practise

For the full low down on how to play, follow the link. It's not just bashing (unless you are Dexter) it is like science, seriously.

The world conker championships have just begun at Ashton in Cambridgeshire. This has been going since the olden days or 1965. The grown-ups have taken over, it's The Alan Club all over again.

I Know a Dog Called Alan

If I ever get a dog it will not be so titchy you can plop it in a waterbowl or so big you need an entire beach just so's it can turn its head. And it will not be called ALAN. It will be called Dave.


So now I am having to go round the school being called Alan and although I have an Uncle Alan and I know a dog called Alan, I do not want to be called, Alan. It is somehow even less exciting than Wilfred.
Outside the classroom, Dexter says, 'Why d'you make me get all these stupid badges? You can keep them, I'm off to the loo.'
And he dumps the bulging Spar bag full of useless Alan badges on me and runs off before I can punch him. I have to get into class pretty sharpish because we are having a big spelling test and I haven't written all of the words on my arm yet but then Mr Bagnall, the new teacher, saunters past me in the corridor; this time without baby-children attached to his legs.
'Oh, badges! Let me see!' He picks one out of the bulging Spar bag, '"The Alen Club,"' he reads. 'I see.' He doesn't of course but he does not want to ask what it means because that would be insulting to me. I tell him
'It's meant to be The Alien Club,' I say, 'but there's a letter missing and nobody will join only Oliver-James and he joins everything.'
Mr Bagnall nods wisely and pushes his multi-coloured glasses up his beaky nose. 'I'll join,' he says and pins a badge on the middle of his tie with all the smiley faces on it. 'In fact I'll pass them round the staff room and who knows by lunchtime you could have a whole gang of us in your club!'
I am open-mouthed with horror. Me, Oliver-James and a big bunch of teachers - what kind of a club is that?!
He puts up a hand and shakes his long hair. 'No, don't thank me, I'm here to help you, William.'
He takes the bag from my nerveless fingers and leaves. I go into the classroom and get 3 out 12 in my spelling test - not bad considering.

The horror of The Alan Club teachers

The Alan Club

So we are in the playground a few days after the school visit. Everybody is excited because the Trundle is going to do an assembly on 'being old' and she has asked for old things - Dexter is taking in a photo of his parents, Miranda is bringing in a fossilised bug and Grandpa Jack is being a bit annoying because he will not come in to do the assembly, he says he is not old, even when he is. More later.

You could ask, who will join The Aliens Club? Well, after the fantastic triumph of The Science Museum - just about EVERYBODY. Dexter and me have never been so popular!
So we are all clotted together in a bunch and Dexter is giving out big badges which say, 'The Alen Club'. And Miranda comes over. She' s alright but she is a bit off since I won the trophy for her - don't know why.
'They' re rubbish,' says Miranda, picking at the plastic covering. 'AND alien is spellt wrong.'
I do think she has a point but I keep quiet.
'Dad would only pay for 11 letters, so I told him to miss one letter out,' says Dexter.
'The Alen Club,' she says and sniggers. 'The Alan Club. A club full of Alans!'
She starts snorting with laughter and Dexter is going to start a big argument. I decide in my new role as class trophy winner to be the peacemaker; so I give Miranda a friendly shove and tell her to, 'shut up'.
The Bug Club is in uproar.
'I'm telling!'
'I'm getting you done! ALAN!'
'ALAN! ALAN! ALAN!'
Mr Bagnall has come out with his whistle. Some of the baby-children run over and cling to his knees. He walks around pretending he can't see them. They are shrieking. I sigh, life was so easy then, I think.

Fascinating Invention No. 7 - The Bra

If you look closely you can see one of the statue women is using a half-bra arrangement. There were lots of ways of supporting bosoms before Mary Phelps Jacobs came along but in 1913 she nabbed the patent for the brassiere.
If you say bra properly it can get a bit muddly. The long name is brassiere which is french for 'upper arm' - hmm. Anyway, because this is French some people end up saying brasserie or brazier or even brassica. The idea of Mum wearing a lovely little bar/restaurant or a flaming outdoor fire or even a piece of broccoli is quite funny to me. In fact I am not even sure she wears an actual bra - and I am not going to ask because believe me, she would tell me. And that is because she is convinced that children who ask questions should be given Proper Answers and while a simple 'yes' or 'no' would do for me, it would not do for Mum and I can see her calling in Dad for a man-to-man chat about women's bits.

Anyway the real bra is probably more complicated than any of these things. Before Mary Phelps Jacobs, people (women) used all sorts of stuff like whalebones (big womenI think) and steel rods (strong women) to hold their bosoms up. Mary Phelps Jacobs used silk hankys, ribbon and a maid. I do not think you need to use a maid nowadays but I cannot be sure. I am glad I am not a girl.

The Bit with the Astronaut who is not Buzz Aldrin

Ok, so I am going to stay with Dexter for a week. I still have to go to school but I will be too busy with Dexter and all his toys to post anything until 25th September. So I will just tell you the last bit of the school trip story...the bit with the astronaut who is not Buzz Aldrin.


It is quiet, like everyone is holding their breath and they have stopped looking at the rocket and are now staring at Mrs Trundle. You could cook raw meat on Mrs Trundle's face. I mean she is RED and her mouth is a straight line and her good eye is bulging. She is nearly running across the hall, closely followed by Mr Chuckle and the cleaner. The cleaner is odd and she is now dressed in some sort of white boiler suit but I have no time to think abput this before Mrs Trundle is on me. Oh flip.
'YOU!!' she says.
I nod. 'Wilf,' I prompt.
'I KNOW YOUR NAME!'
Oops. Mr Chuckle is pointing upwards and the cleaner is grinning. I am glad she is happy.
'Perhaps it would be better if we moved...Mrs er, Trundle?'
She continues to explode. 'WHEN WE GET HOME YOU ARE IN SERIOUS TROUBLE...'
'Mrs Trundle...'
'SERIOUS TROUBLE...'
It is at that moment, the rocket comes back to earth, or rather to Mrs Trundle's head. The bottle bounces briefly on her hairdo and water trickles down her face.
The silence in the hall is horrible. I hear Mr Chuckle gulp. This is it, I think. I am going to die. Dexter knows it too. For once he sticks by me but the rest move away, waiting for the killer blow.
'Brilliant!!' says the cleaner, clapping her hands and laughing. She hands Mrs Trundle a hanky.
'You think so?' asks Mrs Trundle weakly as she daubs at her face.
'A clear winner!' she says.
I take a good look at the cleaner. She is someone I have seen before, on the TV, in the papers...and I realise - she is not wearing a boiler suit, it is a spacesuit!
'Well Helen, ' says Mr Chuckle, 'I think you're right. Would you like to do the honours?'
'Gather round, Wilf and his crew, come on!'
So Miranda, the Bug Club and Dexter and me shuffle together in front of Helen Sharman, the actual British astronaut and I can hardly take it in because I thought she was the cleaner. I blush.
'This prize goes to Wilf and his team, for great inventiveness under difficult conditions!'
She hands me a replica of the Apollo 10 command module. And then all of us grab an edge and hold it up for everyone to see.
'See you in space, Wilf,' says Helen and she winks at me.
And the hall erupts with noise.

Water Rocket Man

This bloke is a bonkers about water rockets and I thought afew folk might like to see just how far you can go with one. Follow the link if you want to take off.

'Wilf is Building a Rocket!'

This rocket is what the baby-children in the rest of the class were doing. They were screaming and jumping and throwing cardboard tubes in the air and generally not making a proper rocket. NO-ONE can see that propulsion is the key, like the cleaner said. If you get enough pressure you can WHOOSH yourself over the surface of the moon! What a dream!

Mr Chuckle has NOT come back and it is nearly the time to meet the astronaut. I AM NOT MISSING HIM. I decide no-one will notice me if I sneak back and don't touch any buttons or savage any insects and I make my way back to the basement. And there they all are, shouting and screaming in little groups dotted round a big white hall. Dexter is nearest to me and has been forced to make his rocket with Miranda and her Bug Club buddies. They are in a huddle on the floor, prodding at rocket bits; all except for Dexter who is pretending to read a book.
'Ten minutes to go!' yells Mrs Trundle from the far end. Good, she is busy with the Stupid Group. I remain undetected.
'Hello,' I say and bob down.
Dexter takes an interest again and picks up the plastic rocket bottle.
'You need to use this bicycle pump,' I say, picking it up.
'I knew that,' says Miranda and The Bug Club nods.
'Then you can put on this tube...'
'Yeah, that's right,' says Miranda.
'...And stick it to your bottle...'
Miranda opens his mouth. 'Shut up, Miranda,' says Dexter, 'Wilf is building the rocket!'
The Bug Club gapes. I wait for her to use her BIG voice but then she does not.
Instead she says. 'So, you escaped,' and she grins.
The Bug Club grin as well. I decide I have nothing to lose and I give grinning a go too. Soon we are all grinning like lunatics. I decide grinning is all very well but it will not win the rocket competition. I start pumping and the pressure inside the bottle is building up.
'Two minutes!' cries The Trundle.
'Stand clear!' I shout and the rocket flies, zooms, powers upwards.
And the rest of the class goes quiet and the only sound you can hear is the whoosh of the air and the pop of the plastic bottle hitting the ceiling.
'I could have done that,' says Miranda.
Yeah right.
Buzztastic.

'Streuth! What's Out There?!'

I know what my new club will be, 'The Aliens'.
It will be for believers only and I will be the leader.

'If the cleaner comes in here,' says Mr Chuckle. 'please ask her to go to the basement area, we'll need to clear away the rest of your insects.' I nod because that way my toungue stays in my mouth. 'I'll collect you later,' he says and closes the door, leaving me alone. Foolish mortal.
Mr Chuckle's office walls have lots of NASA photos of the moon and astronauts and I wonder which astronaut will be presenting the flight-competition prize to my class while I am stuck in here. I felt big coming in, like a hero but now I am just cheesed off. I look around for something interesting to do; there is all the usual officy stuff - shelves stuffed with boring-looking files, a computer and actually some nifty little fiddle toys for the desk. I pick up the nearest one, it is a spongy alien spaceship, with the words 'Streuth! What's out there?' printed on it; three tiny alien heads are pressed up against a window and they look a bit sick at what they are seeing, especially when you squeeze them. Then I fiddle with the pumpy-type rocket next which is a bad move as I pump it so hard it jumps off its stand and into the opening door. The rocket falls to earth with a nasty crack. A woman with spiky hair and large glasses comes in. She is carrying an odd looking vacuum cleaner - it is a box with tubes wibbling out of it.
'Have you seen Mr Chuckle... oh, is that your rocket?' she asks, 'I'm so sorry.' She bends down and hands it to me, grinning. 'Here, you'll have to work on its propulsion, I'm afraid. '
'I like your vacuum cleaner,' I say, taking the rocket remains. She says nothing just laughs as though I have made a big joke. I hate myself for noticing she has really white teeth. 'You have really white teeth,' I say. Bother, I said it out loud. 'And, it's not my rocket, I broke it.'
'Ah,' she says and looks at her watch. 'Well, I'm meant to be somewhere else...'
'Oh yes Mr Chuckle wants you to suck up some insects,' I am pleased I remember that.
She purses her lips. 'Does he? How bizarre...well, maybe I could help you, just for a minute or two.' She puts down her box. 'Why are you here anyway?'
So I tell her about Miranda and the insects and the rocket competition I am missing. And because her teeth are so white I somehow let her know how much I want to meet Buzz Aldrin. and before I know it we have mended the fiddle toy in a clever way. And she winks and says.
See you later, maybe.'
I hope so. Even the cleaners are brilliant at The Science Museum.



'

Bug Killer

Who can honestly love a fly?
Mum gets very upset if I kill bugs. She does not like to hurt any living thing, even flies. I am not mad, I do not sit and take wings and legs off like Sad Joshua Johnston but I will squash them if they bother me. Dad once bought a can of fly spray and Mum turned purple because not only was he destroying lives but he was also destroying the ozone layer.

'KILLER!!' yells someone and I have a fair idea of who is doing the yelling because she is scraping at my head with the plastic lid from the bug-prison box. 'You've let them all go, they won't survive here - you stupid, stupid bug KILLER!'
'Get off me!' I am not sure who I am shouting at, the bugs or Miranda. I do know it is very uncomfortable in the t-shirt area.
'Stop scratching, you'll squash them!' And she starts lifting my t-shirt. Everyone says, 'ooh!'.
Enough is enough.
I push her away and she falls back onto the ground. I notice Dexter has retreated to a safe distance and is busy doing nothing with his clipboard. The crowd steps back. Mrs Trundle steps forward. I swear the veins in her good eye are bulging.
'I do NOT believe this! You again! Can't I trust you for ONE SINGLE MOMENT?' and she definitely says that last bit in capitals. 'Did you bring these insects?'
I scratch at my arm. I look at Miranda. I am going to dob her in now and it feels sweet.
'I've squashed my centipede,' says Miranda and she is actually crying as she scrapes the insect remains off her skirt. 'He was my favourite.'
Or maybe it does not feel so sweet. I think about what Buzz would do in this situation. The crowd is holding its breath and I say.
'I brought them in, Mrs Trundle. I did not want them to be lonely without me.'
I am not even sure why I said this but there is a gasp from everyone and I suddenly feel very tall.
'Well now it is you who will be lonely, Wilfred. You are to go to Mr Chuckle's office and wait there until we go home.'
I stand. Miranda's mouth droops open. Dexter salutes me and I feel the eyes of the class on me as I march off with an unsmiling Mr Chuckle.

Miranda is Really for it Now

Mrs Trundle is not a pirate but she does have two things in common with the evil villain on the right. She has an eyepatch and she has a moustache. OK, her moustache is not a ginormous batlike thing but it is there and sort of wafts a bit when she moves her mouth alot (which is alot). Also her eyepatch is quite superior and has pretend diamonds on it. You may want to know how she came to have an eyepatch but at this moment you just need to know it had nothing much to do with me.

Miranda is really for it now. We are just waiting for the right moment. And this could be difficult because after the utter and complete disaster of the button pressing incident, Mr Chuckle and Mrs Trundle went into a huddle and Dexter and me are now under museum arrest (it is like house arrest but in a museum). Mrs Trundle is making it her total duty to make mine and Dexter's life a button free MISERY.
'Just look at the triangular window the astronauts looked through, Wilfred,' she says, pushing me and Dexter into the nearly real space capsule.
I make the mistake of not instantly looking at the window. I am too excited by the acres of sparkling silver foil.
'Look at it, then!' she says. Dexter goes to touch it. 'DON'T TOUCH IT!' she roars. 'Just mark it off on your worksheet, Wilfred and you Dexter! Now why was the capsule this shape?'
I move out to get a better look.
'Come back here!'
And it goes on and on like this so that one interesting thing after another is ticked off but not touched. It gets to the point when I don't know who I hate more, Mrs Trundle or Miranda and her smug bug club buddies. They are allowed to go wherever they like and touch whatever they want.
And then it is lunchtime and Mrs Trundle is forced to swivel her bulging eye (did I mention the eyepatch?) over other victims. We are force-marched down to a big space, near some toilets, where we cannot make any mess and everyone grabs a table and takes out what is left of their lunch.
And I spot our chance for revenge. Miranda has gone to the toilet with a swarm of girls. On the next table her pink fluffy backpack is open. Her precious lunchbox is there.
'I think she needs a few extras in it,' I say. I reach in and grab the little plastic box.
'Give it here,' says Dexter and he has a handful of earth from a ginormous potplant. 'Look at this,' he prods the dirt, ' there are ants here! big-uns!'
'Yeah,' I say, 'and they look hungry...tell me if she comes,' and I pull at the corner of the lunchbox.
It peels back a millimetre and gets stuck.
'Hurry up!' says Dexter.
I pull some more. The lid gives a little, I tug harder and it flies off and the box sort of jumps and 4 trillion creepy crawlies land on my face. Someone screams. I think it is me.

It Goes Round and Round and Round...

Fascinating Invention No. 6 - The Falkirk Wheel in Scotland

Strictly speaking (which is how The Parents speak ALL the time) The Falkirk Wheel is actually a big, huge piece of engineering but then someone had to sit down and invent it. Or stand up. Or maybe they were on one of those whirly teacup fairground rides and thought it would be fun to make lots of people go round and round in a boat. It was probably therefore invented by someone my age and his mum or dad just snatched away the doodle-drawing, saying,
'Oh that's a terrible idea! Nobody would want to spin round and round in a BOAT! How childish! Ha-ha-ha!'

And all the while they are thinking how they can rub out this bit and add a line or two here and a nice picture there and BOOM! There you have them impressing the boss with their idea for 'the world's one and only rotating boat lift'.
Or something like that. Anyway it is extreme. How it works is, it turns like the sails of a windmill and lifts and lowers boats in the gondolas at either end from one level to another, joining two canals called the Union Canal and the Forth and Clyde Canal.

It is one up on the whirly teacup ride but it could go alot faster for my liking.

See, it is REALLY big and curvy with giant cogs!

I created a Slide Show! Check it out!

My Summer Holiday - Part 1, Scottish Stuff

THIS is the approach to Fingal's Cave on the Island of Staffa. As you can see a number of us wore yellow oilskins because there was more water flying into the boat than going under it. One man is being sick inside the boat. The other man is about to be sick outside the boat.

So, Scotland is excellent on the whole. It has a good lot of bridges and boatrides and caves and an altogether buzztastic boatlift called, The Falkirk Wheel (more of which later). On the down side it has way too many old churches and gardens you pay to go into (how mad is that) and bagpipes of course.
You might be excited to know that we stayed in youth hostels. I was definitely excited because this meant I got to sleep in a bunk bed and The Parents did too. Dad moaned about not sleeping properly and then moaned about someone pinching his Special K cereal from the communal kitchen and then moaned and groaned on the coachdrive across Mull (mind you he was sitting next to a baby-child who threw up at least three times into a see through plastic bag). The driver took 1 hour and twenty minutes to reach the port on the far side of the island. After the second lot of sick Dad asked for the windows to be opened but the driver refused because he said, 'it will rain and there are cattle about'. Were the cattle going to poke their heads in through the open windows and feed on us? That's what my dad asked but the driver said something back in a foreign language and even I could tell he was not being nice to his customers. By the time we got to Fionnport it was actually pouring with rain and the driver said 'told you so' to dad as he stepped out of the bus and into a cowpat.
The journey across to Staffa was like the best water ride at Alton Towers and then some more. We actually BOUNCED all the way. The captain told anyone who was not a good sailor to sit ouside. There were even some giant yellow capes called oilskins to put on, so it was just like being inside my own little room for me but Dad does not like getting his beard wet so he stayed in the fume filled cabin and missed all the bouncing fun. I leapt off at the tiny island wanting to look inside Fingal's Cave but had to wait for Mum to help Dad off the boat. He looked greyer than normal and refused to run or even get up for a good ten minutes. This was very frustrating as the other people on the boat raced ahead along the basalt cliffs to get in the cave before we did. It was worth the wait. The cave is extreme, formed fast from volcanic rock it is tall and thin with bashing waves echoing inside the cliffs and visitors having to cling to the rocky sides because there is no barrier between a the narrow slippery ledge and a long drop to a watery death. Cool.
Nobody fell off the edge and the trip to Iona was less bouncy and dad spent less time in the in the toilet and more time telling me what fun I was having. So back to normal.

Holiday in Scotland

We are off to Scotland and then somewhere else for a holiday. We are coming back on 23rd August and I hope to report LIVE on an audioblog. Listen to this space.

Don't Press That Button!

Buttons are tempting things. Especially if they are big and red and say 'DO NOT PRESS EXCEPT IN EMERGENCIES'. I cannot imagine being one of those soldiers who guard nuclear buttons. I would just HAVE to press it.


Back to the trip. We have sorted out which alien we are and now Mrs Trundle is standing next to a very tall man who is nodding alot.
'I bet he's the astronaut!' I say, nudging Dexter. 'I wanted Buzz Aldrin of course but...'
'There are so many buttons to press!' says Dexter interrupting. He is making a little blue alien creature shoot back into his spaceship over and over again.
I am about to say I don't care when Mrs Trundle blows her whistle and the tall man sort of bounces and then tries to look as though he is not shocked at all. We all stand to attention.
'Class! This is Mr Chuckle...' (lots of sniggering) She glares and and death rays beam from her eyes. The sniggering stops. 'Thankyou. As I was saying, Mr Chuckle, one of the senior curators, will show us to the spaceflight exhibition and will be judging the rocket competiton.'
Not an astronaut then. We follow Mr Chuckle. He drones on about how much fun science is and how we are all scientists and he does not seem to notice the buzz as everyone talks about the type of rocket they are going to build and who they are going to build it with.
'We're not having her,' says Dexter, pointing at Miranda. She is bossing some bug club mates, clutching her plastic lunchbox and trying not to be with us. 'We should get Tom, he's got four packets of crisps for his lunch - he'll give us some.'
It is tempting. My lunchbox has a carrot, a wholemeal cheese sandwich and two apples. I could do with some crisps. But I wonder about Miranda with her own cool club and mostly bs in the quiz; maybe she's not such an alien after all, she could even be good at building rockets.
'She might be OK,' I say, 'a bit, anyway.'
'Bet she doesn't have crisps in that tiny lunchbox,' says Dexter.
Mr Chuckle moves to one side and there it is - Apollo 10. I stop, my mouth drops open, I put my hand out to steady myself. Someone crashes into me.
'You're in the way!' says Miranda, shoving me into the wall and the big square fire alarm panel.
I put up my arms to stop myself.
'Don't press that button!' I hear Mr Chuckle shout. 'Not that button!'
Too late. I feel the glass crack beneath my elbow. The alarm is deafening. Mrs Trundle's mouth is very wide and angry. Mr Chuckle is running and waving his arms. I decide then that I don't care if Miranda has a space module stuffed with crisps. It would not be enough.

What Kind of Alien Are You?

The Americans encounter loads and loads of aliens and get really good photos of them (see left) . In the UK we have seen a couple but maybe they are from a planet in a poor part of the galaxy and cannot afford such good spaceships. The Wilmslow spaceship (see below) was shaped like a dustbin lid and was a bit rubbish compared to the American one.
I have to talk to the only half-way friendly alien I know, Atyllah the Hen.



So we walk into the Science Museum as though we are glued together and...awe and wonder! You can almost smell the science in here. I turn to make Dexter have a sniff but he is busy pocketing the free leaflets. I look around at the others for signs of awe and wonder but they are all busy sharpening their pencils or swapping Yu-Gi-Oh cards. So, who apart from me is the only one with her mouth open, gawping? It's Miranda or maybe she's just spotted a very interesting fly on the ceiling.
First stop on our voyage through the Science Museum is, 'Alien Encounter'. Normally I would think, 'cool' but when it's written on a worksheet everybody thinks it must be rubbish. As it turns out we are wrong. In the, 'Alien Fiction' bit we see some really gruesome close ups of the actual Roswell alien autopsy. Miranda makes us look at ET.
'He's so sweet!' she says.
Then we look at alien creatures right here on earth and Dexter writes, "Miranda" on the worksheet list. But she does not take much notice as she is looking carefully at blow-up photos of evil looking bugs and saying,
'They're so sweet!'
The final part is the best. There is a quiz called, 'What Kind of Alien are You?' There are questions like -
You're thinking of visiting another planet. You choose your destination because:
a. It's a lovely colour
b. Its inhabitants are weak and poorly defended
c. Its culture, though inferior, is of some interest to your anthropologists
or
What do you call your spaceship?
a. Primrose
b. Destroyer of worlds
c. E=mc2

You get the idea. So Dexter and me end up with mostly bs. And Miranda, not girly a (what Dexter thought), not know-it-all c (what I thought) .
No, she is a b. Just like me.