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!

Some of my Best Friends are Aliens

North Wenshire County Times
11th December 2006
'Some of my Best Friends are Aliens' claims, Jack Marshall.

The Sun
12th December 2006
'Purple Aliens Ate My Mobile' says Dave Dooney

The Times
13th December 2006
Close Encounters with Alien Rivals - Is this War?


It is not exactly comfortable in Grandpa Jack's tent but it is quite exciting. The Parents have actually let me stay with him for a whole night so that I can experience the great outdoors. I have my favourite stars and planets duvet and Grandpa has a old hairy blanket from his army days. The tent flaps are open to let out the stinky pipe smell and I have my special 360 degree beam torch with us.
'When I worked for the special ops, Wilfred,' says Grandpa Jack, 'I was privy to a great deal of secret information about aliens.' I shuffle as close as I dare to the pipe. Outside it is black as black and a breeze is making the tent flip and flap. 'You must understand that young Dexter does not know what he is dealing with...' he snorts. 'Purple blobs! Kidnap! My aliens are just like you or me or your father or...' he seems stuck.
'...or Mr Bagnall, or Mrs Trundle?'
'Yes, yes, until they turn green and push out those extra arms and start that unfortunate brain sucking thing...'
Definitely, Mrs Trundle, I think.
'Young Dexter is INVITING trouble but I think I can talk to them...persuade them that he means no harm...' He puffs furiously and scratches his stringy hair. 'Should give 'em a call...it's Christmas after all...'
I blink and realise that Grandpa Jack actually means what he is saying. I wonder how to ask him. 'Are you a bit mad, Grandpa Jack? Or do you really know some aliens?'
He looks at me all poppy eyed. 'Who do you think made this crop circle, Wilfred?'
'Not the farmer, then?'
'I knew they'd come back one day,' he says and now I don't know who he is talking to.
He shuffles forwards and sticks his head out into the night. The wind blows his hat off but he just shakes his fist at it.
'That's right! Take my hat! Call it a token of trust, my friends!'
'Um, Grandpa? There is no-one there.' He takes no notice, just keeps shouting.
'Yes, that's right - put my pipe out! Why don't you come and talk to me?'
'Um Grandpa?'
A blinkingly white light appears outside the tent. Grandpa Jack shields his eyes with his hand. 'That's it!' he cries, 'take me, not the boy!' I watch him struggle out of the tent, stand up, arms held high. The light burns his outline onto the tent wall. I shrink into my duvet. Unlike Dexter I do not fancy being captured and tortured by aliens. A grey furry hand extends into the tent. I squeak. I wait for the brain sucking to begin.This is it.
'Hello, BBC Look Northwards, you must be Wilfred?'
A human hand appears from behind the furry microphone, followed by a tall man in a puffy jacket. I nod. 'Do you mind if we just wait for the aliens with you?' He pulls a face. 'Bit cold out there!' He rummages inside a rucksack. 'Your Grandpa is speaking to the aliens right now, I believe - fancy some hot chocolate?'

This Means Alien War!

Greater Wenbury Gazette 2nd December 2007
LOCAL BOY STOPS ALIEN INVASION OF EARTH!!
Following on from numerous reports of balls of light, this reporter can exclusively reveal that local boy, Dexter Dooney, aged 9, has made contact with alien life forms. He made this sensational claim at his local school, Greater Wenbury Primary. Fellow pupils looked on in amazement as young Dexter documented the trauma and heroism of his kidnap by, 'weird looking purple blobs'.
Dexter telephoned this reporter to relate the incredible EXCLUSIVE story.

'I was walking home from school and it was dark. I had to walk because the school bus had left without me which is a bit typical. Anyway, I bought a load of sweets from Mr Patel and then walked down the High St. I got to the library and that's when I saw the spaceship. It was like a whirling plate, hovering over the road and then this ramp thing came out of a really big bright light and a purple blob waved at me. I waved back, trying to be friendly but it stuck out an arm and grabbed me. 'Course I punched it like mad but suddenly there were ten of them all blobbing round me. So I said, alright then and I went into the spaceship. They wanted to invade the earth so they tortured me for a bit but I didn't tell them anything so they said, 'you must be really really strong, we will not invade the earth.' They gave me a cup of tea and let me go. I will be talking to them again when I am ready.'

Newly qualified teacher Mr Bagnall, who was teaching the class at the time, refused to comment at first but then said, 'We did go on a trip to the Science Museum recently and I know the boys and girls have been having fun with forming their own alien club...so perhaps this is just a story, a bit of fun...and why not?!' he added.
Dexter's father, local builder, Dave Dooney(35) slammed the school for its unsympathetic attitude. 'If my son says he has been kidnapped by aliens then he has and I for one am fully behind him.' Donna Dooney (34), has kept her son away from school in protest,' it's just plain bullying,' she shouted from the front door of the family home. 'My child needs support, not negative comments! AND I shall want to know about the bus as well!'
Meanwhile the hero of the hour, the saviour of the earth, is keeping a low profile and only giving autographs after tea. His sister, Trixie (14) said, 'he's lying,' before being pulled back into the house.
No further witnesses to this fantastic event could be found. Mrs Batley from Greater Wenbury Library would only reveal that Dexter had four library books outstanding. 'They'll be a hefty fine,' she said, 'even if he did save the world.'
Dexter's friend, Tyler Watson, said he thought the aliens were probably not purple but refused to speculate on the correct colour.


I fling down the copy of the newspaper and trample into the muddy ground. I am OUTRAGED. Dexter told me nothing about this, my so-called best friend. Grandpa Jack pokes his head out from between the tent flaps.
'This means alien war!' I declare.
'Righto,' says Grandpa and he puffs at his stinky pipe. 'Righto.'

Fascinating Inventor No.1 - Sir Goldsworthy Gurney 1793-1875

Sir Goldsworthy Gurney had a truely brilliant name, and he was actually a brilliant but not very well known Victoran inventor. He was born in Cornwall in 1793 and first of all became a surgeon (obviously a bit after being a baby) before he became an inventor full time. His family had a lot of money which was quite useful in Victorian times because it meant he did not have to go down a mine when he was 8 or up a chimney when he was 6, just to earn enough to actually eat some mouldy bread. So, he was able to muck about with things, in the days when health and safety had not been thought of which is a good job for us.
One of his first inventions was the oxy-hydrogen blowpipe. I don't know what he used this for apart from burning things over long distances which is fair enough but it did lead to him finding out about lime and how it could be used as a light. This may sound crazy to you because fruit is not generally known as a source of light but I am not talking citrus. Lime is a mineral that can be burnt and gives off a really powerful light called limelight and this was used in theatres and even lighthouses.
A quite big invention was the steam carriage. He built lots of them around the same time that Stephenson built The Rocket. In 1829, one of them ran from London to Bath at 15 miles per hour (phew). As you can see the steam carriage used to blow up alot and did not really catch on.
If you go to a heating and ventilation engineer party ever, you will find that Sir GG is a big name. He invented giant machines for heating large spaces like cathedrals. These machines did in fact look like early space rockets should have looked like. There are still some of them left, probably because they are far to heavy to actually get out of the building. Anyway, Sir GG did very nearly invent the first space rocket completely by accident. Here is the story. In Victorian times the poor people were a bit stinky. The rich people knew this and tried to keep away from them by living in the country or in huge houses or both. But in London, in the summer of 1858, the sewers were so smelly and the Thames so stinky that THE BIG STINK happened. The Members of Parliament gave Sir GG money to deal with the problem. He thought he could burn off the stinky gases. So he connected the main Victorian sewer to the chimney in the Clock Tower of the Houses of Parliament.
Christopher Jones in his book, 'The Great Palace of Westminster' takes up the story.

"Unfortunately the gases would not light. Next, Gurney put a coal fire at the base of the Clock Tower and tried again; this time the gases burned. One day though when Mr Joseph Bazalgette, the chief engineer at the Metropolitan Board of Works, was examining the pipe that led from the main sewer to the Clock Tower, he discovered that there was a leak from a fractured coal-gas pipe into the sewer, and only a trap-door in the sewer was stopping the coal-gas from reaching the furnace at the bottom of the Clock Tower. There had already been one small explosion, although no one was hurt and no damage done. If the full blast of coal-gas and sewer gas had reached the furnace, then the chances are that the Clock Tower would have taken off for the moon, and the rest of the Palace would have been destroyed with it. Gurney, who so nearly blew up the Palace of Westminster, died knighted and respected in his bed. Guy Fawkes, a bumbling plotter of ludicrous incompetence, died in excruciating agony on the scaffold not far away, in Old Palace Yard."

Tee-hee.

Grandpa Jack's Crop Circle Needs Probing

A word about crop circles. Granpa Jack believes that crop circles are created by aliens and he is not alone in thinking this. You see what happens, according to Granpa Jack, is that the aliens come down in their spaceships and make interesting patterns in the nearest farmer's field. Nobody knows what the patterns mean. Maybe:

- 'Greetings, we come in peace' or
- 'Don't bother with this planet - they can't understand the interesting patterns we make in their fields' or
- 'zxxxihg435000q!!!

There are some really big patterns with loads of detail and actually the crop circles have become less like plain circles and more like some weird painting by Escher. It is like the aliens are trying to outdo one another in their crop circleness.
It strikes me that it would be easier if aliens used another way to talk to human beings, especially as making a crop circle can only be done when there is an actual crop; so communicating with the human race has to be done for about three weeks a year. It sounds a bit limiting. It is also probably a bit annoying to the farmer that half of his crop has gone into make a pretty pattern and he cannot actually sue the aliens can he?

So, Granpa Jack's crop circle needs probing. The next day I walk with him to the farmer's field.
'I am convinced of the existence of ailens, Wilfred,' says Grandpa Jack and he puffs at his pipe very fast. 'Crop circles, BOLS...'
'BOLS?' I ask.
'Balls Of Light, my boy, been seen since before time began.'
'Was there a time before time?' I ponder. 'Was that the dinosaurs or the stone age?'
'Never mind that! Your friend, Dexter has seen these phenomena - he's in the local newspaper!'
I am stunned. He never told me. 'What?! Dexter is in the newspaper? With BOLS?!'
'BOLS,' nods Grandpa Jack. He prods me with his walking stick. 'This is our big chance, young Wilfred. Soon we'll be able to call the local rag with the latest evidence of aliens amongst us.' I am not listening much because I am still trying not to think about Dexter and his phenomena. We finally stop in the middle of a grass field.
'Behold!' cries Grandpa Jack and he sweeps his stick around him.
I look. We are standing inside a flat grass circle. 'Are you sure this wasn't just the farmer turning his tractor round or something?' I ask. I actually think this is a rubbish crop circle.
'We must make camp!' says Grandpa Jack. 'Keep watch for the visitors and welcome them to our world!' He drags a bin liner out of his pocket and sits down on it. 'Got any whisky, Wilfred?'

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.'