Fascinating Inventions No.10 - The Remote Control

Wallace and Gromit and the Patent Office are doing an invention competition for primary schools. I will be taking all the information into Mrs Trundle, the head-teacher and part-time assassin, tomorrow. Apparantly someone has already thought of a tiny ladder to let spiders climb out of the bath. Hmm, I say the drain is good enough for them. Grandpa Jack invented the horse-flap which is a bit like the cat-flap but bigger. He is mad on horses. The winning invention will be turned into a model for Aardman studios - Cool!

Talking of brilliant inventions, here's one - the TV remote control. Robert Adler was the fantastic inventor of the TV remote control. The Parents would probably say that this invention was one of the crimes against humanity because:
a. it makes watching the TV easier and so you watch even more of it than is good for you; in fact you watch it until you develope strange shaped eyes and all your brains are sucked out
b. it makes you lazier and fatter and unfit until one day you cannot move from the sofa to do anything, even when you lose the remote control through no fault of your own and have to endure hours of watching stuff you are not keen on, like The News and Gardening is Really Interesting or Schools Programme - Granny TimeTraveller reports from the Battle of Hastings

Anyway, Robert Adler would have said a and b were just silly because,
"It seems reasonable and rational to control the TV from where you normally sit and watch television."
Precisely. IF you have a choice of more than 4 channels that is - guess how many we have in our house. Imagine the huge strain involved in forever getting up and down to change the channels when (if you live in Dexter's house) you have 4 million channels to choose from. Nightmare.

In 1950 Zenith came up with the first TV remote called 'Lazy Bones'. It managed to change channels OK but was still attached to the TV by a cord. This was a bit mad because people kept tripping over it and breaking bits of themselves and their sitting rooms. So in 1955, Adler came up with the 'Flashmatic'. This had nothing attached to it and used photocells to flash at the TV. The problem was that when the sun came out it sort of stopped the light commands working. People complained that you could not watch TV in the daytime without having to get up with their legs and switch over by bending their bodies. So daytime TV did not really take off until a bit later after Robert Adler came up with the 'Space Command' remote, 'nothing between You and the Set but space!!!'
That is not to say that he spent his whole actual life inventing just the one gadget. Oh no. He worked for an American company called Zenith and actually made 180 new patents, mostly to do with TV, even though he did not even like the TV. He would have got on well with The Parents.
"I hardly ever turn the TV on," he said. His wife said he was "more of a reader."
I think that this could be because he just kept losing the remote control in the s p a c e between himself and the TV set. So it is left to me to invent the next greatest gadget -
'The Remote Control Detectormatic'

Phase 3 of The Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge

A duel would be one way of sorting out me and Miranda but actually I think she might be quite fast and I do not want to risk losing any more bits than I have to.



So, we have cunningly lured Miranda back into her own mega-rainforest jungle bedroom. She stands, feet apart, hands on hips and narrows her eyes. I keep my worry that she has seen through my Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge under control with some on-the-spot-running.
'My bedroom is the biggest in the house,' boasts Miranda and I can see she wants us to go, 'ooo' and 'aaah'.
I decide to play along. 'Not bad,' I say, doing an extra- athletic jump.
Dexter looks at me.
'You see, I have my Princess Bed,' she points to a giant pink blancmange thing beneath the window smothered with matching pink blancmange curtains. 'Everybody wants one.'
'Quite good,' I am lavishing praise now and practically leaping.
'It is DISGUSTING,' Dexter points out. 'Can we just see the sticks before I'm sick.'
Luckily, she is too carried away to listen. I budge Dexter and give him the secret sign about our mission but I am leaping too much and we both fall down next to the mini-fridge.
'And then of course there are all my photos that I took going round the world.'
Then she waits. Dexter and me get up and look at one another all shifty eyes. Finally Dexter asks.
'What photos?'
She sighs and points to the wall and we suddenly see that what I thought was dingy, blurry random wall paper is actually a wall of truely awful photos.
'Very...very,' one wrong word and I sense we will have to leave before our mission is complete.
'Nice,' supplies Dexter. 'Very nice.'
'Yes, I have been everywhere and I did take all of them.' She smirks.
Here is our chance. I wink and say. 'Take a closer look, Dexter - maybe you can find your Dad's semi-detached villa in Spain...' I try and sidle to the stick cages.
'Oh right,' says Dexter. 'I really want a fizzy orange from your mini-fridge, Miranda - then you can tell me all about your photos.'
She is so desperate to show off she cannot see the totally blatant bribery involved here. He takes the can and pulls the ring. SQUOOOOSH! Shot!
'It's all over my Princess Bed!' she squeals and runs out.
'Brilliant, Dexter!' I tell him.
He shrugs. 'It was an accident.'
'No, I mean it really is brilliant!'
I run to the cage of sticks in the shady corner of the room and peer in at the sticks clambering very slowly up the branches. I carefully carefully take out my old ice-cream carton and reach in and yank the sticks off the branches. That's the great thing about sticks, they do not complain at all and for all I know they quite like being sticknapped.
I glance at Dexter. 'Give me the supplies!' I snap.
He fumbles around inside his coat and pulls out the family pack of twiglets. I place the twiglets carefully on the branches.
'There!' I say.
'What?' asks Miranda, returning with a dripping cloth the size of our tablecloth.
'Miranda,' I say, 'we've had enough of your stick insect jokes! So watch this!
'What are you doing?' she says and there is panic in her voice as I raise the lid. 'Ciao, sticks, nice knowing ya!' And I sweep a load of twiglet sticks out of the cage and into my mouth.
She drops the cloth and screams - alot.
'Your turn, Dexter.'
'Yum yum,' says Dexter and he rummages around and picks up some more and crunches down hard.
'YOU MURDERERS!!!' she screeches, and tears out of the door, 'CHAS! CHAS! THEY'RE EATING THE STICKS!!!!'
'I think I actually ate one,' says Dexter pulling a face.
We put the sticks Dexter has not actually eaten back in the cage and decide it is time to find the back door.
Mission accomplished, I think. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-Ha and HA

Phase 2 - The Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge

Some sensible people might know that it is National Science and Engineering week, all week. They are doing quite interesting experiments and asking us to vote for their favourite. Mine is of course - 'THIS IS ROCKET SCIENCE!'


So, I have to go home first and collect the necessaries for the completion of Phase 2 of the Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge - evil cackle. Dexter trails behind as we go into the kitchen.
'Is your Mum around?' he asks, looking around as though she might spring out from behind the fridge and force him to eat some of her vegetable medley.
I shrug. 'Somewhere. Why?'
'Nothing,' he says. 'Just wondered.'
I concentrate on emptying the cupboard in order to get at the top secret revenge stash. Serena, the cat, meanders over and miaows like this, "meeeoooow!"
'That means she wants something to eat,' I tell Dexter, 'you had better feed her before she turns nasty.' I point at the catfood cupboard. 'There is cat food somewhere about.'
Dexter rootles around while I put the secret stash into my two zippy inside coat pockets. By the time we have both finished there is a fair amount of stuff we do not need spread about the floor and Serena is tucking into a plate of baked beans and organic plum tomatos.
'Let's go!' I say.
Dexter's eyes are huge and he is gibbering.
'WHAT IS ALL THIS MESS?' Mum is standing in the doorway, looking like a scary creature form the crypt. 'I JUST CAN'T STAND IT!'
Then she bursts into tears.
Very, VERY odd. I look sideways at Dexter to confirm the oddness of Mum but of course, he has scarpered.

'So, did you like your stick babies, Wilf?' asks Miranda over the fishfingers. She is smirking. 'Did they behave themselves?'
I glance at Dexter. This has been a tough assignment so far. Getting the target to take the bait in the playground; avoiding torture by The Trundle and then dealing with the Oddness of Mum. I am going to play her like Bond plays blackjack -coolly.
'I did not realise they would be so small, like cress seeds,' I say, flicking my food in a suave sort of way. I lean forward and stab a fishfinger. 'You know,' I say, 'The Parents nearly ate them.' Miranda pulls a face. 'Tiny baby sticks gone in one mouthful.' She frowns. I can see she is disturbed.'You could have made my parents kill them - like this.' I swallow the fishfinger whole which is quite impressive. Then I choke and sick some of it back up. Chas, Miranda's Dad comes in with his stupid beard, just at that moment.
After Chas has told me that being sick is actually the way some animals feed and actually he is thinking of writing a paper on it and maybe he could start with me (ha-ha, not funny), and then finally goes; I give Dexter the secret sign (I can't tell you what it is obviously).
He ignores me until I smoothly get up and jog his elbow, giving him a LOOK at the same time.
'Oh right,' says Dexter. 'Can I see your sticks? Looking at Wilf's cress seeds is a bit boring. They don't do much.'
So we go upstairs to Mirnanda's mini-Amazon-rainforest-bedroom and this is where Phase 3 kicks in and things start to get a little bit interesting.

HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA and HA.

Fascinating Inventions No. 9 – Night vision goggles

If soldiers had to fight in the nightime, things got difficult because they could not see much. So, maybe someone would light a fire or switch on a torch and OOOPS! Bit of a giveaway. Night-vision goggles developed out of second world war technology and became the brilliantly useful bits of kit they are today
- Look! I can see my yacht!
- Look! There's an owl!
- Look! Watch out for that wild cat!

Course, somewhere in Dexter's bedroom is a pair of night-vision goggles. The trouble is, he cannot find them because of all the other high-tech toys he has lying around. If he could find them, he would have no trouble getting to the loo at night or spying on his tankful of exotic fish in the dark or even reading a book without the light on because night vision goggles take all the hassle out of darkness. The way they work is like this:
They boost up the light already around and collect it to focus on an image intensifier. This is amazing because then inside this intensifier the light particles get over-excited and bump into a sort of green TV screen and then give you an image.
BUT I hear you shout. What happens when I go caving or need to have a quick spy round a derelict warehouse where there is no light at all? The answer is get an infra-red illuminator as this will generate enough light to give you an image. During world war two when infrared sight was a baby, the army made an infrared sniper scope BUT it needed an infrared searchlight that was so big it had to be carried on a flatbed truck. Luckily things have got a lot smaller since then.

I have my doubts about using night-vision goggles during the day (see picture) because

a. It makes you look a bit mad e.g. like you might just have run away from having your eyes tested/you could just have had major brain surgery and should still actually be in hospital/ somebody is testing the latest scaffolding technique on your face. None of the above looks cool.
AND then there is
b. if you are doing a bit of spying it sort of gives the game away

On the plus side you do get to look like a human-robot-cyborg, so maybe it is not all bad.

Anyway, the greatest place in the universe is having a science of spying exhibtion until September. I am definitely off to get some tips.

The Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge

During the second world war there was a lot of worry about Britain being invaded by German spies. Someone came up with a grand plan to identify the German secret agents. This was to make them believe that British secret agents always painted one foot blue (which of course they did not). So all anyone had to do to trap a German spy was to casually try and get their socks off. It did not catch on.

My plan is much simpler than the blue-foot plan which would have taken alot of time and effort and paint.
Here is phase one of my Grand Plan for Dreadful Revenge.
TARGET: Miranda.
OBJECTIVE: With the application of cool cunning get her to agree to a meeting.

'Have you seen James Bond?' I ask Dexter as we step out of the jet-black Aston Martin going undercover as a bus.
'Where?' asks Dexter, looking around the playground.
'No! I mean the film, James Bond! The spy one.'
He shrugs. 'Yeah. Got it at home; it's all right - not enough action.'
I goggle for a bit and then turn my eagle-eyed attention to the target. Miranda. Double crosser, double agent. She is mooching around near Mrs Trundle's office. I can see Mrs Trundle is even now on the phone, probably agreeing to more work in her role as part-time government assassin. The Bug Club girls gaggle round Miranda. They make me uncomfortable with their talk of wasp spiders and pink stuff.
'You know what to do then,' I tell Dexter. I put one hand in my dinner jacket (school coat) pocket and we stroll in a casual sort of way in their direction. 'Just play it cool.'
I smile to myself. She will not suspect a thing.
'Oi!' shouts Dexter at Miranda and he waves his arms about as though he is drowning. 'I WANT TO SEE YOUR STICK INSECTS!'
Oh smooth.
I slip out of Bond mode and punch him. 'Phase one!'
He punches me back, quite hard.
I notice Miranda and the Bug Club sniggering at us. I push him. He pushes me back.
'STOP FIGHTING!' Mrs Trundle, the headteacher and part-time assassin, has spotted our delinquent behaviour. She has somehow apparated out of her office and clean into the playground and is bearing down on us like a guided missile.
'That was your fault! How are we supposed to get her to agree to a meeting now!' I tell Dexter. 'You've blown Phase One!'
'Do you want to come over after school then?' bellows Miranda. 'You can see some BIG stick insects!' They are outright laughing now.
At a distance of one metre, The Trundle has her killer whistle up to her thin lips. This could be the end.
Dexter nudges me. 'Phase one complete.'
I want to reply but I am thrown off my feet by the force of The Trundle's explosive whistling.

On the Whole I Think That Went Rather Well

There may be an infinite number of parallel universes, and we just happen to live in one of them. These other universes contain space, time and some of them may even contain me, in a slightly different form. What is fantastic is that these parallel universes may exist less than one millimetre away from us, milling about like loads of bubbles.
In the parallel universe where The Parents live, stick insects do not exist and every family eats organic vegetables and bedrooms are always a joy to walk into. Children wash everyday, have nice tidy converstaions with their chums and do homework, just for fun; the trouble with bubbles is the high danger of popping.

Right, so we come to the ruction I was talking about. When The Parents find out about the cress seeds actually being stick insect babies they are VERY DISAPPOINTED. This is because:
a. they were ultra-keen to help me with some actual homework and now there is none
b. they are not ultra-keen on stick insects and now there are some
c. I lied to them
Out of all of these disappointing things, c is the worst, the absolute horror and the total work of the devil. It makes them put on their Very Droopy faces and loll about over mugs of tea in the kitchen, wondering where they have gone wrong with me. I try and make them feel better by pointing out that I never lied to them, I just did not tell them the whole truth. This only makes them sigh more.
'We must make sure this doesn't happen again,' says Dad.
'No, it definitely will not,' I assure them, 'Miranda is not giving me anymore stick insects, I know that.'
'Your father means - no more lying , Wilfred.'
I do not think I can agree to this, since that could be another big fat lie.
I try distraction. 'Can I keep them, then?'
Mum puts her head in her hands. 'Never mind that now, we have something important to tell you, Wilfred.'
What - more important than stick insects? More important than being Very Disappointed with me?
'I can keep them?' I venture.
Dad starts puffing up like a gorilla about to attack. 'Yes! You can keep the stick insects as long as they stay in your room and inside a cage...COME BACK!'
I am half way out of the room, ready to find a cosy spot for the tiny babies. 'Oh, yes,' I remember, 'thankyou. Bye.' I run.
'WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY, WILFRED!' bellows Dad.
It is at this point that I think I went to some parallel universe where ancient disappointed people shout at you about babies. Very weird. Anyway, I ignore this impossible happening and take my little sticky children up to my bedroom.
On the whole I think that went rather well.

'DON'T! YOU'LL DROWN THEM!'

Homework is something that should be avoided. It is tedious and makes me feel rather peculiar. The Parents are very keen on homework (they are welcome to it) and would like me to be like an eager bookworm, racing home to get my hands on even more work and really enjoy it. They are mad. I say, how come teachers get paid to do work and we do not?

After tea at Miranda's house (double chips, meatballs and peas) I take my precious stick insect babies back home. As instructed by Miranda, the stick queen, I have not opened the lid of the shoebox; this is to make sure they do not leap out in a frenzy and attack. I have to say, I had not quite realised how vicious they could be until Miranda informed me of the unfortunate cat-mauling incident; I will have to keep my cat, Serena, out of their way. In front of the house, I check for curtain twitching from Mrs Next-Door. Nothing. She must be busy with her new dog. He is minute, noisy and she carries around under her arm. He is an armpit yap-dog and his name is Smoochy - urgh and shudder. The Parents are in. I know this because I can hear them arguing with Tony Blair in the kitchen (on the radio). So, this is a lucky break because it means I can sneak up the stairs...
'Wilfred, is that you?!' shouts Dad. 'Come and see my new tooth!'
He sounds a bit thrilled and this could mean an excting addition to his Big Teeth collection but I resist.
'Got some homework!' I yell.
Quick as a blink, Mum's head pops round the door. Too late, I realise my fatal error of judgement.
'Super!' she says. 'Do you want some help?'
'No, it's fine...'
Dad's head appears on top of hers. 'Homework eh? Come on, let's see it! Is that it?'
He points to my shoebox and they almost fall over each other trying to reach me. It is actually quite horrible, they are like some form of homework zombie types, feeding on the horror that is homework. Their clutching hands reach me and grasp...the shoebox!!!
'Not that!' I say, reaching for it. 'Don't open that!'
I can see the disgruntled sticks flying for them, stamping their little sticky feet in their hair and clothes; biting them...too late.
'Oh lovely, 'says Mum, 'you're growing cress!'
'What?' I ask and my mouth drops open as I stare at the matchbox wedged inside the shoebox.
'Look, you've already got the seeds on some cotton wool - we just add water and watch it grow!'
Tiny little dark brown dots lie in the box - these are eggs not babies! Some dribble plops out of my mouth.
'We'll water them,' says Dad and they dash back to the kitchen with the stick insect eggs.
Oops.
'D'ONT!' I cry, 'YOU'LL DROWN THEM!'
I can almost hear Miranda laughing her fluffy pink socks off at her little joke. Oh ha. I think about Miranda and pitcure her covered in stick insects and all of them biting her very hard indeed.

Fascinating Invention No. 8 - The Bee Plane

with a length under 9.5 ft (2.9 m) and a wingspan of just 6.5 ft (2 m) the Guinness Book of World Records considered the Bumble Bee to be the smallest plane in the world following its first successful flight on 28 January 1984 but STOP PRESS that is nothing. Just read what the excited Professor Gursal, a mechanical engineer at the University of Bath, has just said-

"Our work will make the goal of tiny aircraft, perhaps eventually the size of bees, a step closer."

Everyone would like a plane the size of a bee, that is what he is saying and I can absolutely see why. I think this is completely brilliant and I really really want one of these little planes. Apparantly the big important difference which makes it all possible is, NOT having fixed wings, like on ordinary aeroplanes. The smaller you go, the better it is to copy nature and make the wings flap up and down; so the team studied insects' wings as part of a programme to develop tidgy aircraft with cameras and sensors built in.
What can you do with these teeny tiny aircraft? You have to ask???

-spyplane. It could whizz into secret meetings and find stuff out although the danger of swatting is high
-scout. I am not talking about Baden-Powell's boy scouts because he did not send his scouts ahead into battles to find out military information for the army commanders. That sort of scout would be killed on a regular basis, unlike the boy scouts, hopefully. Actually Baden-Powell was a scout in the Boer war as well as being chief scout of the world and he survived until he was 90.
-fire and rescue operations. Apart from Hollywood film stars or mad delinquents, if you ask for volunteers to go into places which are on fire or falling down, not many hands will go up. The bee plane would go in, no problem.
-transport for really tiny insects; air ambulance for injured or elderly insects, luxury aircraft for rich insects or just plain transport for lazy insects.
Beeline - let the plane take the strain.

It makes me ponder, that maybe stick insects could be adapted to make excellent spies. Not only can they climb like James Bond but they would be invisible; attach a motor to them and they would be perfect. Hmmm...

The Brilliant Blog Panel Interview

The SCBWI Webgoddess, Candy asked the Writers Day Blog Panel some interesting questions...

Why blog fiction?
Hmm. I suppose some cynical folk would say that most blogs are a work of fiction and they may be correct but a 9 year old boy called Wilf, who is into inventions, stick insects and Buzz Aldrin, I am not.
But there are reasons for it - honest.
Firstly, in the olden days when I lived in storyland, I believed the following: all editors took long lunch hours and to relieve the boredom they trawled through the internet, searching, actually searching for new work because obviously their slush piles just weren't painful enough. As they meandered across the net one day, they would stumble upon my fiction blog and just stop right there, floored by its brilliance. Then there would be a big fight for it etc. I understand now that editors do not do that.
Secondly, I wanted the freedom of not having said editor telling me to cross my i's and dot my t's. I can write as I wish, in the way I like and not according to any market dictat. Annoyingly, I now have a sort of bossy internal editor who is quite strict about the i's and t's thing.
Thirdly (there's always a third thing), I wanted to be part of a community and by putting Wilf out there and through making links and forming the fictional bloggers group, I have found a bunch of similar minded folk I might never have known (ah).

What is your readership?
I average 20 hits a day which is a bit rubbish actually. I have a solidly interested group of 6 (return when I blog once a week), mildly amused, 3 (pop back every so often) and a,' what the heck is this about?' contingent of maybe 12 or so. The latter are usually as a result of google seaches like these I found:
"how do you draw a dead sheep?" or "interesting places in Bracknell" or even "my friends are aliens".
Oh dear. Not quite the thousands I was after and certainly not the 8-12 age range the book of Wilf will be targetted at. I knew that I would never have the young readership on the blog but I am inspired by Candy's talk and aim to explore ways and means of doing that.

How did you find a publisher?
I heard about a publisher called, 'The Friday Project' who publish blogs as books. They are medium sized and independent (bit like me) and importantly, their sales, marketting and distribution is handled by Macmillan. I submitted my blog to the commercial director, Scott Pack. He liked it and made suggestions for how it could be formatted which I liked. Basically, there is a 15 000 word story seamlessly blended with facts and inventions. After a year of slog I signed the contract and 'Wilf and the Big Cat' comes out in August 2008! Why don't you give it a go?

What will happen to your blog after publication?
Assuming I retain my sanity, Wilf's Blog will continue. It is not a huge slog to do because I only blog once a week and it is fun to write! The idea is to develop the readership through the books (I hope to write a series) . I would like to make the blog more exciting with maybe games and forums and I want to learn to muck about with the format and create a more interesting look (thanks, Candy). And maybe take over the world.

Here's to my fellow panelists!
Anita
writes education books as well as fiction and is a fanatsic and generous children's writing informant.
Sue
is an artist, an actor and soon to be pulished author with her first picture book, 'The Quiet Woman and the Noisy Dog' coming out with Andersen Press.
Sarah
is a wonderful artist with a brilliantly orange jacket

Check out what they have to say!

Rules for Keeping Stick Insects

Here are my Newish Year Resolutions:
-to be more helpful around the kitchen and try out some recipes
-to be more vegetarian, except for bacon
-to be more interested in Dad's teeth collection
Mum does not approve of resolutions because she says they are never kept. Dad says he will shave off his beard for charity which is a funny kind of resolution but then he is a funny kind of person. Grandpa Jack has threatened to get married to someone unsuitable and I really have no idea what THAT means.

Anyway, it is time I made a move on the stick insects. We are well into the New Year now and Miranda says that Stinky's babies are no longer babies and more like teenagers and that I had better collect them soon before they all start getting really angry for no apparent reason (I think that was a joke).
Miranda has given me all sorts of warnings about the do's and don't of looking after sticks (as we in the know call them). Here they are:
-Thorny stick insects are happy at normal room temperature but keep windows shut as they are unhappy in a draught
-Sticks need tall cages with mesh sides as they like to climb. If you put little pics of other sticks on the walls it will encourage your sticks to climb and be sociable
-Sticks are generally clean but give off Phasmid Exusions which can be fatal to furniture
-Sticks do not like cats, so make sure your feline is kept well away from them - the sticks will attack.
-Sticks are not keen on telephones and it is wise to either muffle your phone or make tiny earnuffs for your sticks
-Clean your sticks by placing them in the dishwasher on a low temp setting. Follow up with a polish
-Don't answer them back - the sticks will attack

Hmmm. I am not sure about some of these rules. And I still have to think of 10 good names for them. Sticky, Stocky or maybe they respond to the more classic , Hazel, Rowan. I just don't know. I am abit afraid, if I get it wrong - the sticks will attack.

Facinating Invention - No. 8 The Game of Rugby

In the books I got for Christmas, one of the games you MUST play is rugby. Emily, at my school, is rugby-mad and she is the smallest year 5 I know; the ball is almost as big as she is. My godmother is also rugby-mad or probably just mad but she likes rugby ALOT. On the other hand, Dad, who is a dentist and big on teeth, gets mad at rugby because he reckons they do not look after their gnashers. Mum says she doen not understand rugby but quite likes the look of it.

Above is a picture of William Webb Ellis. He was supposed to have invented the game of rugby when he was a schoolboy at a school called Rugby (that is quite a co-incidence!) In 1823 he is said to have been so cheesed off with playing with just his feet that he picked up the ball and ran with it. Hmmm. What do we know about William Webb Ellis? Not much. What we do know is that the boys (definitley no girls then) used to play football at Rugby and they liked to make up their own rules as they went along which sounds excellent.







-Let's have 100 players on Team A and 4 players on Team B and see who wins!
-Let's have a pitch with no boundaries!
-Let's NOT have a referee!

So, I do not think that someone picking up the ball would have been a. unusual or b. against the rules -since there weren't any.
William Webb Ellis's name was probably picked out of a top hat. Anyway, what is true is that rugby was invented by boys (yeh!) and soon loads of schools and even adults started playing it.

This stone says that William Webb Ellis, "...with a fine disregard for the rules...
first took the ball in his arms and ran with it thus originating the distinctive
feature of the rugby game"

Thing is, nobody asked William about it.

About a Boy's Christmas

So, I got books and books and more books for Christmas and ALL of them telling me how to behave like a boy. I got , 'The Dangerous Book for Boys', 'The Boys' Book - How to be the Best at Everything', and 'Girls Are Rubbish' or something. These are the essential boy rules:

1. You must be interested in facts.
2. You must like making stuff.
3. You must like getting wet , dirty or both.
4. You must enjoy injuring yourself.

Otherwise you are a girl. And that is a bit boring to be frank.
So now I know how to shave, how to warm my feet up using cayenne pepper and socks and how to survive a volcanic eruption (basically run for the hills) amongst other useful things.
None of my books make any mention of MP3 players or portable playstations or IPODS which is what Dexter got for Christmas. And surprisingly there is no mention of stick insects either which is a pity because Miranda is bringing Stinky's babies round in an old ice-cream tub soon. This is top secret information by the way, so no blabbing.
The nearest I got to a bit of technology was a CD of 'Just William'. The Parents bought it for me so we could play it in the car on the way to visit my Disturbed Aunt Harry. More of her later, I am afraid. Anyway, 'Just William' had The Parents laughing greatly. The best story was the one when Ginger's Uncle Cedric came to stay for Christmas and would insist on a boy behaving in a 'manly fashion'.
This seems to be what all the boy books are about anyway, 'Just William' is just funnier.

They Always Think They're Right

So here is my first Christmas card to you. And actually it is the first ever Christmas card. It was made in 1843 by John Callcott Horsley
He only did 100 so he must have been a bit sad and lonely because The Parents send out about 3000. If you want to make your own Christmas card you can click on the Christmas trees for some festive fun - honest.

So, I am squished in between two people who both have puffy jackets on. They look like two blown up lifeboats with tiny people peeping out from inside. They are mostly silent and keep their beady eyes on the tent doorway.
'I can tell you about crop circles, if you like...' I say.
Silence.
'I think we should go and set up the camera,' says Pinhead 1 to Pinhead 2. 'We don't want to miss anything.'
'...Or balls of light?' I say.
'Let's just finish the drinks first- it's cold out there,' says Pinhead 2 to Pinhead 1.
So, I am not wanted. I am just a talking duvet. Grandpa Jack comes into the tent on his knees, beard first. He wafts whisky fumes over the crew. Now I know why his stinky pipe is so useful.
'I've read the alien signs - they'll be back later,' he puffs and flops over, shoving me against the side of the tent. 'I've met Buzz Aldrin, you know!' he says.
Yeah, I have heard that one before, I think.
The director raises his head above his neckline. 'How very interesting,' he says and he really is. 'And do you think Buzz believes in alien life?'
'Oh, I should think so,' says Grandpa Jack, settling into remaining free space. 'When you've been in space, there is no end to what you can believe. '
What does Grandpa Jack know how Buzz Aldrin feels? I shuffle out of my duvet. I am heating up with annoyance.
The Pinheads are nodding inside their coats, their eyes all fascinated. 'Have you actually been in space Dr Marshall?'
Doctor? Doctor Marshall? In space? I look at Grandpa Jack and he grasps my shoulder very hard.
'Agh!' I say.
'Space is nothing to me,' says Grandpa. 'Any spare hot chocolate?
'I'm going home,' I say to anyone who is listening but nobody is. I worm my way to the flaps and come face to face with Dexter. His mouth is a bit droopy.
'Oh it's you,' I say. 'You can't come in - there's no room.'
'I don't want to come in,' says Dexter, 'but my dad does and there's some other bloke as well...'
He is shoved aside by his Dad. 'Hi! I'm Dave Dooney, alien-kidnap-boy's father and I am prepared to give you exclusive televisual rights to an interview with me...'
Pinhead 1 tries to get to his feet and then remembers where he is and sort of scrunches to his knees. 'I think we should talk Mr Dooney - would you like some hot chocolate?'
'I'd like some hot chocolate,' says Dexter.
Dave Dooney waves him away. 'Go home, son - we don't need you.'
Dexter looks at me and shrugs. I understand exactly how he feels. I shrug back and give him a friendly arm punch. We wriggle out of the tent and into the dark of the flattened field. Miranda's Dad, Chas is lying face down on the ground. Miranda holds a torch for him. She waves. Chas jumps up and runs to the tent.
'Out of my way, boys,' he cries, 'I need WORDS.'
He bobs down and leaves his bottom sticking out of the tent doorway while he shouts inside. 'I think you should know that this field is about to be declared a site of special scientific interest. I have discovered an interesting little nest of wasp spider and it is being DESTROYED by these so called alien landings...'
'What d'you mean so-called...' Dexter smirks as he hears his Dad shouting back.
'Let me in!' bellows Chas. 'It's this sort of hysterical moronic behaviour that endangers the entire planet! I think...'
We don't get to hear what he thinks because his bottom and legs disappear in a rush through the doorway. The tent starts rocking and bulging out all over the place. There are shouts and oofs.
'That is pathetic,' says Miranda. 'They always think they're right.'
'Adults,' I sigh.
'They take over,' says Dexter and we all nod in agreement.
'Do you want to come and see the stick insects?' asks Miranda. 'There are millions of them now.'
I look at Dexter.
'Could do,' says Dexter. We glance at the tent. It seems almost alive, most of its pegs are flying about and it is listing dangerously.
'I think they're going to be busy for a while,' I say.

We set off out onto the little lane. A bright orange light appears above our heads. It flashes and pulses. Gradually it takes the shape of a long tube. We stop and wait. My mouth is open and I cannot stop the dribble coming out. A little door slide opens on the underside. A large yellow head with a funny green beak pops out.
'Bit lost,' says the alien creature. 'Can you tell us the way to London? Got some leaders to eat, I mean meet. Baa-aak!'
I raise a trembling hand and point somewhere or other. Just my luck, we get to meet the aliens and they turn out to be giant chickens.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS! SEE YOU IN THE NEW YEAR!