The Party: Jeremy's Day.

Jeremy fondled the crisp fifty euro notes in his left pocket as he stood across the street from the off licence. Sweat poured from his brow and he reached up with his right hand to wipe the coalescing moisture away. He breathed in deeply in an effort to chase the butterflies in his stomach off. It worked, more or less. Now he was merely anxious instead of terrified. He'd been handed the fifty euro notes by his mate Paul thirty minutes earlier. Paul's parents were away so he had the run of the house for the weekend. Being sixteen, they had immediately decided to throw a rager in the free house. The money was to be their beer fund. All Jeremy had to do was work up the courage to cross the road and load up on Dutch Gold, cheap cider, vodka and a six pack of wine coolers for Lisa.

Lisa's pending attendance was the only reason he'd been talked into getting the drinks. If he could show he was cool then she'd definitely go out with him. Maybe.

Paul had been picked for the errand as he had his dead brother's ID card. Mark had died in a car accident a year ago, aged nineteen, but his ID card was still valid. Jeremy looked slightly like Mark had; they shared the same hair colour and gaunt face. Despite this, Jeremy hoped that the cashier wouldn't be too observant.

Traffic was light as Jeremy ran over the road to the shop and entered. He gazed around the Off Licence in wonderment at the range of products on display. He'd never known that there were so many enjoyable ways of killing brain cells! There were Beers and Wines from all over the world. He almost drooled in anticipation. The upper end of the alcohol market didn't interest Jeremy. Fine wines and spirits weren't what he and his friends needed. They required the refreshment equivalent of rocket fuel.

He picked up a basket and wandered over to the cider section. He decided that the best way to make his budget stretch was to avoid the top name brands and anything that advertised on television. Jeremy stuffed a couple of two litre bottles of hard cider into the basket and moved on. Beer was tougher. There were just so many brands! He saw something called "French Beer" on the lowest shelf. It was too cheap to even have a name! That was awesome. He picked up twenty four bottles of it for €18. He also grabbed a few bottles of an actual beer he'd heard of. They were for him; he'd be classy and impress Lisa with his knowledge of world beers.
"I much prefer IPA's to Dunkels or white beers!" he'd inform her.
Girls loved sophisticated men: James Bond films wouldn't just lie about that.
Next Jeremy placed a six pack of wine coolers in the basket for Lisa, along with a dozen of those vodka and lemonade drinks for the other girls who would be attending.

Now was the moment of truth: he had to go up to the cash register and get some bottles of spirits as well as actually pay for the stuff.
The register was manned by a middle aged woman of impressive girth. There was a long queue. Jeremy had been worried that the scale of his purchases would mark him out for suspicion. He needn't have worried: tomorrow was Good Friday. The Bars and Off Licences throughout Ireland would be closed so normally responsible adults were panic buying as if the apocalypse was looming. A woman in front of him had fifteen bottles of wine in her trolley.

Jeremy waited as the others paid for their purchases. His anxiety returned as he moved up the queue. Suddenly, it was his turn.
"D'ya have ID?" asked the whale behind the counter.
Jeremy fumbled in his pocket and produced his deceased brother's ID card. Shamu the Orca studied the card forensically. Jeremy tried his best to look nonchalant. The woman handed the card back.
"Fine. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Could I get two bottles of vodka and one of rum please?"
The shop assistant turned around like an ocean liner and picked the bottles Jeremy had requested off the shelf.
She scanned the pile of bottles and cans and Jeremy began bagging his haul. He paid the denizen of the deep the requested amount and left the shop as quickly as he could. As he exited he noticed a Guard car roll to a stop at the kerb.
No! Thought Jeremy. I was so close!
What would he do? The guards would bring him home and confiscate the booze. He'd be mortified. He'd never get to insert his tongue into Lisa's throat now!
Just as Jeremy was on the verge of breaking down into sobs, the Guards got out of their car and walked into the Off Licence, ignoring him completely.
Jeremy took this as a gift from the gods and ran to Paul's house. This was going to be the greatest party ever.

Convention report: Children’s Books Ireland Conference 2013. May 18th.

In a break from my trawl through the seedy underbelly of Comic conventioneering, (that’s not a real word, don’t use it), I attended the first day of the CBI Children’s Books conference in the Lighthouse Cinema.

If you live in Dublin and haven’t been to the Lighthouse then I recommend it. The Cinema was built underground over three levels. It’s spacious and well kept. It regularly hosts special screenings of classic movies as well as your usual fare.  Just don’t go there when the horse sales are held outside twice a year.  As a conference location it’s actually pretty good with good transport links and a couple of decent places to eat and drink nearby. It’s actually be a really good place to organise a comic or science fiction themed convention due to the large amounts of free space and the screens which could be used for panels.

As you can probably guess, the conference dealt with the growing area of Children’s books in Ireland. Ireland appears to punch above its weight in this field. Possibly because there’s nothing else to do in this rainy nation other than make up stuff to keep the children from tearing the curtains from the windows because they can’t go outside.  Bray is full of writers for similar reasons: basically you have to create your own entertainment out here.

Guests at the conference on Saturday included Sarah Ardizzone, (Translator) Hervé Tullet, (Illustrator) John Boyne (bestselling author) and  Sarah McIntyre, Alan Nolan and Rory McConville (comic book writers and Artists).

The panels were pretty good, particularly those with Sarah Ardizonne as she discussed the challenges of translating slang, which a lot of kid’s books make use of and the interview with John Boyne (Dublin native and writer of “The boy in the striped pajamas.”)

The guests were all willing to answer questions and were engaging. I don’t think the conference would be for everybody as it is most suited to those who are actively working in the field or want to break in, such as myself. I can’t imagine it would be of much interest to the general public and it’s also pretty pricey at €100 for a weekend pass.

So, in a nutshell, it was enjoyable and informative but very specific to that small group of people who want to entertain the young with words and pictures, which is fine. Dublin has plenty of opportunities for you to meet and talk to writers such as the upcoming writers’ week.

Back to the short stories next week.

Through the woods.

Laura stuck her hands deeper into the pockets of her fleece in the hope that this would keep the cold out a little longer. It was freezing and dark. She’d stayed late at school to study in the library and finish her biology presentation for next week. She had a tendency to use organisation and routines to stop degrading into a crazy person. Now she had the presentation finished she could relax, or, at least, what passed for “relaxed” in her world. There was always the Spanish exam to study for. It was only two weeks away! Where had the time gone?

Laura wanted to get home and out of the cold as quickly as possible. The road around the hill to her parents’ house was long and winded around the landscape like a snake: cutting across the fields and through the forest would save fifteen precious minutes. She changed direction and reached the fence that separated the paved road from the dirt forest track. She hopped over the fence and splashed into a small puddle on the other side. She thought about the forest as she walked. She used to hate coming here when she was a kid. It was spooky. In winter the bare trees cast threatening shadows in the moonlight, the branches looking like grasping arms. In summer the leaves on the trees were so thick and intertwined that all the sunlight was blocked out, leaving the forest unnaturally cold.

Laura shivered. Her breath misted in the air in front of her mouth. She wondered whether she should turn back but she decided to press on. She was already nearly half way there and besides she wasn’t eight anymore, she was fifteen. She was almost an adult. She had nothing to fear she said to herself. She plodded on, as the muddier patches of the dirt track sucked at her boots. As she reached the forest an owl hooted loudly, Laura’s heart jumped inside her chest. She recovered from the shock and composed herself. It was only an owl, she’d live.

She trudged forward into the forest; the full moon lit her way. In a way it was safer than taking the road: the road had no streetlights and drivers sometimes took chances that they shouldn’t. More than one person had lost their lives on dark evenings when their cars had skidded off the road or someone out walking had been hit by some city dweller trying out their new SUV on the country roads.

It got colder as Laura carried on, she didn’t notice the icy puddle on the ground until she had placed her foot on it. He legs flew out from underneath her and she hit the ground heavily. Her head cracked against a rock and she passed out.

Laura awoke a few minutes later. Her head rang like a bell. She placed her hands on her forehead, she felt something sticky: blood.

“Darn it.” She said. She looked around. The ground was covered in snow. There hadn’t been any forecast and it hadn’t been there before she had slipped. How long had she slept? The full moon reflected off the snow so her surroundings seemed brighter than ever. In the distance she could see a light. There were no other houses in the area other than her home and the area wasn’t scenic enough to get hill walkers. Could it be her parents? She took her mobile phone from her pocket to call them. No luck. The phone must have been broken by her fall, the screen was cracked and just displayed a bunch of zeroes. Laura picked herself up off the ground and walked towards the light. It was moving through the forest in her general direction, it had to be someone with a torch. As it moved closer, Laura realised that it was an old fashioned lantern. It was held by an old man in a long green coat who was shuffling slowly through the snow.

“What you doing there girl?” said the man.

“I’m walking home. My parents live a couple of miles that way.”

“Who are your parents? What’s your name?” He demanded.

“I’m Laura, Laura Richards.”

“Richards? You a relation to Betty Richards?”

Betty Richards? Did he mean Grandma Elizabeth? She’s been dead for years. thought Laura.

“Yes.” Laura said. “I’m a relative of hers.”

“Well then. I suppose I can help you. Come on. We’ll look at that cut on your head. Then I can bring you to the edge of the forest nearer your home.”

“That’s great! Thanks.”

“Move it on! It’s freezing out here.”

Laura noticed that the temperature had dropped dramatically since her fall. She buried her head deeper into the collar of her fleece and walked after the man.

“Come on.” He said impatiently. “My place isn’t far.”

Laura followed the old man. It was strange that she didn’t recognise him. She had been living here for two years, ever since her grandmother died. Her dad had moved the family out here to look after the family farm. He had though it would be a nicer place to raise the family than the city. Laura had protested at the move at first, she had been scared at losing contact with her friends. But rural life wasn’t too bad. Her new home didn’t exactly have a thriving social scene but the village where she attended school did have a scattering of people her own age. As a newcomer she had been accepted surprisingly quickly, half of the other kids’ parents had been friends with her Dad or Grandmother so they’d been very welcoming. It was a surprise to her that she didn’t recognise this man. She thought she’d met most of the inhabitants of this sleepy area. Nothing much changed there and everybody knew everyone else’s business.

Laura and the old man reached a hut in the woods. Laura hadn’t known that anyone lived out here. The old man opened the lock on the door and led the way inside. A fire was blazing away in the fireplace and the hut was warm. The hut contained a bed, a chair, a wooden bench that served as a table and the fireplace. At the far wall there was a small stove for cooking and a cupboard. There were a couple of wooden tea chests placed up against the walls.

“Sit down there and I’ll take a look at your head.” The old man said.

“OK. What’s your name?” Laura asked, embarrassed that it had taken her so long to ask the man such basic information.

“Cotter.” He spoke as he looked at her wound. “It’s not deep; I’ll clean it and put on a bandage. That should do it.”

Cotter moved over to one of the chests and took out a small wooden box and a knife.

He poured some iodine onto a cloth and cleaned the cut on Laura’s head. The iodine stung and Laura grimaced in pain.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Cotter said as he finished cleaning the cut.

He cut a length of bandage from a roll that had been stashed inside the wooden box and wrapped it around her head.

“There.” He said once he had finished. “Come on. It’s late.”

Cotter opened the door of the hut and ushered Laura outside. It was snowing again. Cotter took the lantern off a hook beside the door and led the way through the darkness. They walked in silence through the snow. Laura concentrated on ground as she wanted to avoid slipping on another patch of ice. One fall and injury was enough for one night. Mr Cotter stopped walking when they reached the edge of the wood.

“This is as far as I go. You should be able to make it back to the road from here.”

“I know where I am now. My house isn’t far. Sorry if I ruined your evening.”

“It’s fine.” He said curtly and walked back the way he came. He disappeared from sight into the forest in seconds.

Laura continued in the direction of the road. It had stopped snowing as she passed out of the forest. She had covered nearly a mile when she saw another light approaching from the direction of her home. It was her Dad.

“Dad!” Laura shouted. “I’m here!”

“Laura!” said Mr. Richards in relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry. I took a shortcut through the woods but slipped on some ice in the snow. I cut my head but Mr Cotter took me back to his place and put this bandage on me.”

Laura tapped the bandage on her forehead as proof of her injury.

“What snow?” asked Mr Richards.

Laura looked around. The night was still cold but there wasn’t a flake of snow anywhere to be seen. Even the forest, which had a thick carpeting of snow five minutes before was completely clear.

“But…Mr Cotter. He lives in a hut in the forest. I thought you said no one lived there.”

“Cotter has been dead since I was your age. The hut rotted away years ago. Come on. We’ll talk about it when we get home. It’s freezing out here.”

Dad wrapped his arm around Laura’s shoulder and guided her down the hill.

Laura took one last look at the forest: Next time she’d take the road home, even if it was a longer journey. 

Convention Report: FiComic, Barcelona April 11th to 14th

So, Barcelona Con is done. It's my first time attending a con in continental Europe. I had heard that the larger cons in France and Spain nearly equalled SDCC in terms of headcount (at least until SDCC went crazy with attendance figures in 2007 to the present.) I can confirm that this is indeed the case with there easily being 15,000 at the Barcelona Con on Saturday the 13th.

I only went to one day of the convention because there were a limited number of guests that interested me and I figured I'd be able to see them all in one day. I was wrong. I'll do a quick list of Pros and Cons and then an overview. Away we go!

Pros.

• Ticket prices: €7 for a day pass with a booking fee of €2 if you buy them on-line or in El Corte Ingles. That's an amazing price.
• Location: The Convention takes place in Fira De Barcelona near Montjuic. It's easy to get to via Metro or bus and the area, like most of Barcelona, is lovely looking. The Catalonian Art Museum is five minutes away at the top of a nearby hill. The Sonar Music Festival is held across the road so the area is well able to handle large numbers of visitors.
• Sales floor: The sales floor is easily the equal of SDCC, mostly focusing on merchandise but with comics as well. Most of the comics are in Catalan or Spanish as you would expect. The range of merchandise was pretty impressive. If you were looking for T-shirts, DVD's or action figures etc. then you would have no bother finding what you're looking for at fairly reasonable prices.
• Cosplay: Easily the most impressive Con I've been to in terms of people dressing up as characters. I'd say easily ten percent of the attendees were in costume. Many of these were impressive. A Big shout out to the Danerys, Zatanna, Ezio Auditore and Matt Murdock with Elektra who were as good as their screen counterparts.
• Decent film and TV presence: Fox, Microsoft, Nintendo and Warner Bros all had booths giving out freebies and showing trailers upcoming releases.
• Art displays: There were several of these. One focused on Superman, one for the Avengers and X-Men and another on western comics. The Superman display had original artwork and comics going back to 1943 up to date. The Avengers and X-men display had original art from many of the artists who have worked on those characters (George Perez, Stuart Immonen, John Byrne, Mark Bagley, Jim Lee etc)
• Beer: Beer was sold at a few places inside the convention hall. Think about that for a second.
• Crèche: There was a crèche for the Kids in case you didn't want little Eduardo hanging off you all day.
• Big retailers: FNAC and El Corte Ingles had massive stalls selling books and comics at standard retail prices. It kept manners on the other retailers as they knew they couldn't fleece you. They also took credit cards, which is rare at a convention.
• Media: The con was well advertised with posters on bus stops, the metro, lampposts and even TV coverage. It drew lots of crowds of day trippers and families which added to the atmosphere.
• Editors: Marvel and DC and Spanish publishers were there looking for talent in a portfolio review area similar to that of San Diego.

Cons.

• No artist alley: I usually try to buy comics and get sketches from Artists and writers at conventions. There was no opportunity to do this at Ficomic.
• Guest access: There were some great guests but they were difficult to talk to or even meet. The fact that they had no set tables that they were going to be at during the day meant it was hard to find them. Signing sessions were generally short and crowded, limiting chances to speak to the creatives.
• Panels: The three rooms set up for the panels were fairly small so you'd little chance of getting into them. The one for the artist presentations was minuscule. Barely one hundred people would fit in it.

Overall? It was fine. There would be better cons to attend if you wanted to break in to comics or chat to creators (i.e. smaller ones) but the location was great and the sales floor was worth it if you had an infinite amount of money and were into vast amounts of merchandise. (I ended up buying more Mass Effect T shirts at reasonable prices, which is never a bad thing.)The art displays were very impressive. Worth going to if you want the SDCC scale experience without the €1,500 in air fare. It's probably best done as a one day con attendance in the midst of a larger city break (which is what I did) as I don’t think that there’s enough going on to keep you there for multiple days

Next up is Arcade Con in July, DICE in September and Roll Out Roll Call in October.

The Teleporter (Part Two)

Susan pulled the makeshift turban / scarf she’d made from a tea towel tighter around her head to make sure it covered her neck properly. She sunburned easily and didn't want to expose more flesh than was absolutely necessary to the broiling sun. She and Ben had set off from their recently teleported house two hours before. Ben's device had deposited their dwelling in the middle of a desert. Neither of them had any idea of where they were but they knew they couldn’t stay in the house for long. They had emptied their former abode of whatever they though would be useful: torches, a tent, some bottled water, food and a spare change of clothes. Luckily for them their Dad had gone through a midlife crisis phase of wanting to get “back to nature” and had purchased all the supplies they would ever need.

Now they were thirty minutes into a trek to a distant volcano that may provide Ben's newest invention with enough power to send them back home. Ben had constructed a teleporter out of random household utensils and electrical wiring. It was currently strapped into a small handcart which Susan had attached via a rope to her belt. This allowed her to tug it uncomfortably behind her.

Ben carried their food and water. He walked on ahead as he didn't find the sand dunes as hard to navigate as Susan did. Susan worried out loud about what would happen when it got dark.
"I'm not worried" said Ben. "It's not mid-day here yet. Assuming that the sun here behaves the same way it does back home."
"What do you mean by 'back home'? Where are we? Are we even on the right planet?"
"We should be. I don't think there was enough juice in the national grid to send us across the galaxy."
"So where are we, genius? Africa?"
"I don't think so: We may not even be in the twenty first century anymore. It's possible that the teleporter sent us back or forward in time. It's just another dimension after all. The fourth."
"How long to get to the mountain?"
"Volcano"
"Whatever."
"I think maybe six hours."
"Six hours! Mum and Dad will definitely be home by then. They'll know something's wrong."
"Well, duh: they'll see that the house is missing as soon as they enter the driveway."
"You're taking this far too easily Ben. They'll kill us when we get back."
"I'm not worried. They'll blame you. You're the eldest. I'll just get grounded." Ben said.
"You little..." began Susan, realising that he was absolutely correct. Mum always blamed her over Ben whenever anything went wrong.
"Call me that word again..." Ben interrupted: "...and I'll make sure Mum grounds you for life. She does everything I say. You know that."

Susan shut her mouth. She suddenly realised that her younger brother was psychotic. Their mother had taken to reading new age parenting manuals when Ben was born. Obviously their parents letting him sleep with them until he was ready to move to his own bedroom aged five was a big mistake, Susan mused.

They continued walking across the barren landscape. Occasionally the view of long monotonous stretches of sand was broken up by a pile of rocks. One of the piles of rocks looked strange from a distance. The rocks were rectangular though the edges had been worn smooth by the wind and time. They looked like they had been sculpted a long time ago.  As they got closer to the pile of rocks, Ben dropped his backpack and ran towards them.
"Ben!" shouted Susan. "Get back here!"
Ben ignored her and dropped to his knees. He scrabbled in the sand with his hands until he uncovered something. He pulled it from the ground and studied it for a few moments before returning to where Susan waited.
"Look! I saw the sunlight reflecting off it!" said Ben, holding out a piece of metal. It was part of a sign. Most of it was missing but writing could be made out on its face. It mentioned something about a war and a date: 2032.
"What does this mean?" asked Susan.
"We're in the future." responded Ben, as if explaining himself to an idiot.
"You moron!" exploded Susan. "It's not bad enough that we've been teleported by your dumb contraption, we've been sent through time as well! This isn’t a desert. It’s like a nuclear wasteland or something."
"Obviously."
"I'm going to have Mum and Dad cart you off to a mental hospital when we get back! This week it’s a teleporter, next week it’s going to be a warhead or something. You're a danger."
"Says you." Ben muttered.

They continued walking. Susan made sure to let Ben go ahead so that she could keep him in sight at all times. She was beginning to become a little afraid of him. They reached the volcano and started their ascent. The climb up the gently sloping sides wasn’t difficult. Ben mentioned that there was very little weathering or lose rocks on their ascent. The volcano was a relative newcomer, geologically speaking. Susan didn’t reply. She was unsure as to what she could add to the conversation. Ben continued to lead the way up to the crater at the summit.

When they reached the top Ben took the homemade teleporter from the cart and began making adjustments. He unspooled a length of wire that he had ripped from the walls of their house and threw one end of it into the crater. The end he had dropped contained a small metallic box with some circuit boards inside.  He attached the other end to the device and a light on the side began to blink.
"My teleporter is converting the heat energy from the magma in the crater into electricity. It'll take a few minutes until it's fully charged. ."
Susan visibly relaxed: certain that they would be home soon.
"There's only one small problem." Ben continued. "I can't take the risk of you coming back with me."
"What are you talking about?" replied Susan.
"You want to stop my work. You want to make them put me away. It’s not very likely that Mum and Dad will listen to you and make me stop building things but I can't allow that. Even if there’s only a small chance."
"How are you going to stop me, peanut?" Susan mocked as she stepped forward to put some manners on her little brother.
Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a rock that he had picked up when uncovering the sign earlier. He whipped the rock at Susan's' head and it struck her squarely on the temple. She fell down, dazed and only semi-conscious.
Ben checked his teleporter and saw that it was charged. He picked it up and hit the sequence of buttons that would send him back home.

“I’m leaving you here.” Ben said. “You’re my sister, so I can’t just kill you but abandoning you here will suffice.”
"Ben...Please." said Susan, struggling to get to her feet.
"I'll leave the food and water. There should be enough to last you a week. Maybe you can find more buried somewhere under the sand."
Ben disappeared in a flash of green light.

Ben re-materialised in the field near where his house had once stood. Patches of grass were smouldering from fires that had broken out hours earlier in the wake of the energy discharged by theiir teleportation. Blue lights from a large group of fire engines, police cars and ambulances illuminated the area. The power in the streetlights was still out. Ben smirked: his experiment had probably burned out most of the electrical wiring in the country. He hid the teleporter in a hedge and ran up to where his house had once stood. His parents stood in the yard. His mother was crying as his father spoke to the police.
His mother let out a cry of relief when she saw Ben approach and ran to hug him.
"Ben!" She said. "What happened?"
"It was Susan." Ben replied. "She was smoking upstairs in the house and her cigarettes started a fire. I got out and ran for safety. Did she get out?"
"Susan didn't smoke and we can't find her." said Ben's father.
"She did!” Ben protested. “She hid cigarettes in the rockery over there. She was in her room. Maybe she couldn't get out in time." said Ben, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes.
His father checked the rockery and found the sandwich bag with Susan’s cigarettes stashed inside. He shook his head and cried for his daughter.
Ben buried his head in his Mother's shoulder and pretended to sob, smiling all the while.

The Teleporter (Part One)

Susan sat on the back step of her parent's house, smoking a cigarette. It was a quiet May evening, bright and cool with only a slight warm breeze. Perfect illicit smoking weather. Her folks would kill her if they found her with a cigarette in hand but they wouldn't be home for hours yet.

Her new found love for smoking had started as a stress reliever for her upcoming final exams. She'd quit as soon as they were over, she promised.

She carefully stubbed out the cigarette, made sure it was extinguished and flung the butt over the wall into the field behind the house. No one would ever find it there amongst the long grass and occasional sheep. She took a sandwich bag from her pocket and sealed the contraband inside to keep them from getting damp.  She walked over to the rockery and hid her smokes, now secured in the plastic bag under a rock.

She dusted off her hands and returned to the house. She'd gargle some heavy duty mouthwash when she got upstairs and her parents would be none the wiser.

"What you doing?" asked Ben as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. Ben was her eight year old brother. He was annoyingly inquisitive. He stuck his fingers in electrical sockets just to see what happened and pestered their parents for chemistry sets and tools every Christmas and Birthday.
"I was...meditating. Zen. You know?" said Susan.
"You were smoking." said Ben accusingly. "Smoking causes cancer and impotence." he warned.
"You're eight. You shouldn't know half the words in that sentence."
"Just because you don't doesn't mean I shouldn't." Ben replied.
"What are you doing? Spying on me?"
"Because your life is so interesting? I was looking to see if Mum left any cardboard in the recycling bin. I'm making something."
"Another base for your army men?"
"A teleporter! I was awake half the night drawing up the plans."
"Yeah, right." Susan replied. Ben was always coming up with crazy ideas. They never came to anything.
"I was! It took me an hour to solve the flux capacitor problem. Sometime this week I'll be able to send this house to another dimension."
"And for this you need cardboard?"
"Just for the prototype."
"Right. Well make sure you ask first before you teleport us."
"I will."

Ben was like that. He was always coming up with crazy plans to entertain himself. The family had moved to the countryside a year ago and they now lived miles away from anywhere interesting. Susan had become addicted to social media to compensate. Ben had turned inward and used his limitless imagination to keep occupied.

Susan went upstairs and left Ben rummaging in the bin for the inner tubes of toilet rolls. She used some mouthwash and returned to her bedroom and the study of French verbs.

Ben was quiet for an entire hour, working away on his project. Susan finished her French study and went downstairs to grab a coke.

Her brother was sitting cross legged on the floor of the dining room with a sheet of A3 paper, a half dozen toilet roll inserts and a determined expression. Susan got her drink and went back up to her room.

Fifteen minutes later Ben tramped up the stairs and entered their parent’s room across the hall. He spent about five minutes inside and came out dragging something. Susan sighed and did her best to ignore him.

After an hour Ben walked to the hall, stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted up at Susan.
"Susan?" He said.
"What?"
"The prototype is ready. Can I test it?"
"God, Ben. I'm trying to study."
"I know. Can I test it?" he pleaded.
"If I let you, will you shut up?" asked Susan.
"Yes."
"Then test it and stop annoying me."

Ben ran back to the dining room. After less than a minute, Susan became aware of a humming noise. It was just on the edge of hearing but it was there. She left her bedroom and headed for the stairs. Suddenly the humming nose increased in volume and pitch. Susan's stomach flip flopped and she felt queasy. She nearly fell down the stairs but managed to grab the banister to stop from crashing onto the floor below.

Suddenly the world returned to normal and Susan felt fine again. Ben was running around the dining room in circles and dancing.
"I did it! I did it." He said in a sing song voice.
"What did you do? I almost puked all over the landing!"
"I teleported us! Look!" said Ben, pointing out the picture window to their back garden.
Except it wasn't their back garden. The green grass and hedgerows had been replaced by sand and scorching sun. An unknown mountain in the distance belched smoke ominously.
Susan took it all in. She almost fainted from shock.
"You idiot!" she said as she recovered. "Send us back home."
"I can't. I said I'd teleport the house to another dimension. I didn't say I could teleport it back. You really should listen to what I say more carefully."

Susan grabbed the front of Ben’s shirt: “You little teabagger! Mum and Dad will kill us! Send us home.”

“You were told to stop calling me that. And I can’t send us home. I need a power source.”

“There must be something.”

“I guess I could tap into the geothermal energy of that volcano over there.”

“What volcano?” asked Susan.

“See that mountain over there that’s smoking almost as badly as you were earlier? We call it a volcano. You are going to fail your geography exam; you know that, don’t you?”

“Shut your dumb mouth, Ben. Can you send us home or not?”

“Dumb mouth? I just invented the Teleporter! And yes; I can send us home. Maybe. But we need to get there first.”

“What about the house?”

“It’s staying. I’ll never be able to send that back too. I must have burned out half the circuit breakers in the county by sending us here.”

Susan put her head in her hands. Her evening plans had involved another smoke and an “X-Factor” marathon, now she had to go on a trek across a strange land with her idiotic genius brother. The French verbs would have to wait.

 

To be continued!

The Driving Test

I sat down in the waiting room of the driving test centre. The cardboard furniture wasn't particularly comfortable but it beat pacing the floor like a loon and rubbing my head against the walls in sheer boredom. The letter from the Road Safety Authority crinkled in my hands as I nervously folded and re-folded it. That's my biggest problem: I'm a fidgeter. I fidget. I always have to have something in my hands when I’m anxious, tired or upset. Since those three emotions occupy my glandular system for ninety percent of the time I go through a lot of clicky pens and paperclips.

I've been here for about a half an hour already, my on-going anxiety means that I'm always far too early for appointments. The blonde girl who went out on the test before me is back already. That's not a good sign. She's been crying judging by her puffy eyes and running mascara. Balls. That means the tester is going to be in a foul mood when he brings me out. Thanks a bunch Blondie.

The Blonde girl left the tester's office, still crying. Are they going to let her drive home like that? She's a danger to other road users and since I’m going to be one of those in less than ten minutes that concerns me greatly. Another hazard I'll have to look out for.

The tester walks into the room and calls my name. I nod in reply and stand up, following him into his office.

He scribbles my name on a test sheet, takes my car registration and looks over my learner permit. Everything is fine. He takes out a laminated sheet with the road signs printed on one side.

He points to one at random: It's the sign for a clearway. I answer him and he moves on, asking me three more signs. I answer them correctly, i think.

We go out to my car, a decade old Peugeot 206 that I've named "Daisy" after my first crush. She was a cow. Literally. In my defence: I was four when i fell for her and who doesn't like free unpasteurised milk?

Daisy has her NCT and has been serviced. She's ready to go. The tester has me check the lights and then open the bonnet to show him how I'd top up the windscreen wipers. I wonder to myself whether anyone's failed this portion of the test and if I could be the first. I mentally slap myself across the buttocks for thinking such defeatist thoughts.

Ten minutes into the exam and i haven't even started the engine. Finally the tester tells me to get inside and he asks me more questions about the internal controls. Now it's time to drive.

We leave the test centre and go right, straight into the town. It's a Wednesday morning and the whole area is quiet. It's too late to encounter any of that school traffic and too early to meet the office workers piling out of the pubs and crossing the road without looking after having a liquid lunch to help them make it through the day. I keep an eye out for the usual hazards: Blind guy? Check. Old woman in one of those electric carts? Check. Black Labrador left to wander the town and poop in the neighbours garden while his owner goes to work? Check.

This entire town is basically a hill built on top of a load of other hills. It's a nightmare to drive around. I genuinely wonder why people decided to found a town here. But then I remember that the inhabitants of this town are notoriously thick. Like, marry their cousins thick. That would explain a lot, come to think of it.

I drive for ten minutes, taking care not to hit any pedestrians or graze a cyclist and the tester tells me to pull over. It's time for the manoeuvres. Hill Start! Three point turn! Reverse around a corner! The last to these is something I've never seen anyone actually do except during the test. I manage to do these OK. No one dies at any rate.

I feel giddy as we head back to the test centre. I may actually have done it! I have driven competently for thirty minutes! Let's see that guy fail me now.

We arrive back at the centre and head back inside to his office. Unfortunately, he drones, I have been unsuccessful.

Sweet and Sour Baby Jesus! What's a guy got to do to pass this bloody thing?