Story #3 – Robert Rocksteady Goes To The Beach.

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Robert Rocksteady opened his curtains and looked out. Ah, what a beautiful day, he remarked to himself. The sun was shining, and wind blew a gentle breeze in his face. It smelled vaguely of Dolmio. Robert checked his calendar. Ah yes, it was Dolmio Day. That explained it all.

Robert poured himself a bowl of Coco Pops and doused them in milk. He sat and watched as the milk slowly went chocolatey. Robert was fairly sure that he could live to a hundred and never get tired of this. Having enjoyed the chocolatisation of his milk, he then threw the coco pops in the bin. He hated the taste of them, but he loved the magic. He began to cook himself some bacon. Half an hour later, his bacon was ready. He took it off the hob, and threw it in a bowl of milk. Robert then sat and watched as the milk went bacony. Then he threw the whole concoction away, and ate a slice of toast. Robert wasted a lot of food this way. This was especially cruel as he was the head of an orphanage. Sometimes he made the starving orphans sit and watch as he threw entire milk soaked roast chickens in the bin. Sometimes he would take them into the garden, load a cannon with sticky toffee puddings, and then watch their faces as he shot them all onto the horizon. Robert was a cruel, cruel man. It was strange that he had been entrusted to run an orphanage, but evidently, there had been some kind of clerical error, and now he found himself earning 20 billion pounds a week and living in a giant mansion. Albeit a mansion swamped with orphans.

Robert chewed his toast, and wandered how he was going to spend this delightful day. He looked out again at the lawn of the orphanage. The orphans were happily playing on the swings. Robert could not have this. He removed his shotgun from the cupboard and took careful aim. Pulling the trigger, he was pleased to see that he found his mark. His cartridges hit the frame of the swings, blowing it apart and sending the whole thing crashing to the ground. The orphans screamed, and ran away. “PRESS MY TROUSERS!” Shouted Robert, as they scrambled for safety. He was probably a little bit drunk. Even so, his trousers needed pressing, and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Not on such a fine day. No, today would be a day of leisure. He would go to the beach. A delightful day at the beach. Or so he thought.

Robert pulled up at the beach in his Ferrari Brillianto just after noon. He removed his towel and trunks from the boot of the car, and lit a cigarette. Alas, he lit it too close to his trunks, with promptly went up in flames. Robert swore to himself. Now he’d have to find himself some new trunks. Thankfully, and somewhat coincidentally, he turned around to be confronted by a strange occurrence. It looked like some kind of dark, abandoned shop. Some of the windows were boarded up, yet the door was swinging open. On the front was scrawled the word ‘trunks’ in a thick red ink, almost blood-like. Robert thought nothing of it. Evidently, his luck was in. This place would provide him with the trunks he needed.

Robert walked into the shop. It was surprisingly dark inside. The only illumination to the place was provided by candles that were littered about aimlessly. “Hello?” Robert called out. He heard a scuttling noise. “Is there anybody here?”

“Are you looking for some trunks?” Said a voice from the darkness.

“Yes, I need some trunks.” Said Robert. “For swimming and stuff.”

“Are you… Robert Rocksteady?” Said the voice. Robert wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but he was now very confused.

“Yes, I am. How did you know?” He asked.

“We’ve been expecting you Robert…” Said the voice. Finally, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was hunched over, and draped in a robe, so its face was barely visible. It was short, and smelled sort of like the Armani Code. “I think that these trunks will be to your liking.” Sneered the figure, as he handed Robert a pair of red board-shorts.

“Hmm…” Said Robert, as he examined the trunks. “Ok, these will do. How much are they?”

“They’re free Robert. Compliments of the house.” Hissed the voice, as he slowly began to amble back into the darkness.

“Free? Why are they free?” Asked Robert, slightly chilled by these events now.

“You are Robert Rocksteady are you not?” Said the voice.

“Yes, I am.” Replied Robert.

“Then they are free. Accept our gift.” Said the figure, smiling menacingly as he disappeared into the shadows. Robert looked at the board-shorts. They were kind of strange looking, and smelled a bit funny, definitely not like the Armani Code. Still, they were the only shorts that Robert had, and he did want to go swimming. Perhaps the sea would wash away the strange odour.

Robert dressed himself in his new trunks in a nearby changing room, and headed towards the beach. He thought he spotted an orphan hiding behind a bush, so he threw a grenade, just to be sure. The bush was decimated, but there was no orphan there thankfully. Robert remained however, a bad man. He reached the beach, and was greeted by a stranger. “Hello.” Said the figure. It was tall. Taller than the trunks man, but similarly dressed. Robert thought this a little strange, but perhaps it was just coincidence. The figure spoke again. “Would you like to rent a deckchair?” It said.

“I would actually, yes.” Said Robert. “How much do they cost?”

“They’re free.” Chuckled the stranger. “For you at least.”

Robert didn’t understand what was going on. “Why is everything free for me? How do you know who I am?” He asked.

“You are the famed Robert Rocksteady, of the orphanage on the hill are you not? Everybody knows of Robert Rocksteady.” Said the stranger, gesturing towards a deckchair. “Please, accept our gratitude.”

Robert looked at the deckchair. There was something funny looking about it, but he couldn’t quite make it out. Squinting, he was surprised by what he saw.

“That deckchair looks just like Art Garfunkel.” He said, confused.

“It is our special chair.” Said the stranger. “Only special people get to sit in the special chair.” He said, with a sinister smile.

“What about that deckchair? Can’t I sit in that deckchair?” Said Robert, pointing towards a regular deckchair.

“No!” Snapped the stranger. “You must sit in the Garfunkel chair.”

“I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this.” Said Robert. “I mean, it literally looks exactly like Art Garfunkel. I never thought a deckchair could look so much like a person. It would be like I was sitting on Art Garfunkel.”

“Do you want a deckchair or not?” Snarled the stranger.

“I do, but don’t you have any that look less like famous singers?” Asked Robert.

“No.” Said the stranger. “It’s either the Art Garfunkel deckchair, or perhaps you’d prefer to spend some time in the Des O’ Connor hammock?” Said the stranger, threateningly.

“Ok, fine. I’ll take the deckchair.” Said Robert. The stranger laughed an evil laugh, as he slowly ambled across to the deckchair. As he got nearer and nearer, it became more and more clear that this was not just a deckchair that looked like Art Garfunkel. It was a deckchair that was Art Garfunkel. He found himself staring at a deckchair that possessed the very face of Art Garfunkel. The deckchair smiled. “Sit down.” He said.

“I’ll probably just sit on the sand actually…” Said Robert. The deckchair made an ear-piercing shriek that made Robert drop his trunks.

“SIT DOWN!” Screamed the deckchair. Robert did. He sat in the deckchair, nervously.

“I’m going to play you a tune now. Are you ready?” Said the deckchair. Robert nodded nervously. The deckchair withdrew a flute from nowhere, and began to gently play. Robert wasn’t sure he’d ever heard this tune before. It was bizarre and mystical, but strangely soothing. He began to relax a little bit more. However, this was short-lived. As the deckchair continued to play, Robert noticed something happening. Tiny creatures were emerging from the sea, and slowly scuttling across to him. Hundreds of them. They came ever closer. As they did, the horror became ever more apparent. They were some kind of sea scorpion. They began to circle around the deckchair, who continued to play, enchanting the scorpions with his music. Soon, the sand around the chair was completely covered in scorpions. They stood still, waiting. The deckchair finished its tune.

“What’s going on?” Said Robert, terrified.

“You should have been kinder to the orphans Robert. And now you shall pay.” Replied the deckchair.

“But none of this makes any sense!” Protested Robert.

“Oh, doesn’t it Robert?” Sneered the deckchair.

“No.” Said Robert.

“Oh right. Well that’s a shame.” Conceded the deckchair. “Oh, and by the way, your trunks are made of scorpion food.” It added.

“What?!” Screamed Robert.

“Yeah, I guess I should have mentioned that earlier. Do things make more sense now?” Said the deckchair.

“No! If anything they make even less sense!” Shouted Robert.

“Oh well. Nothing we can do now I suppose.” Sighed the deckchair.

“Can I ask one question?” Said Robert, nervously.

“Go ahead.” Replied the deckchair.

“Why Art Garfunkel?” Said Robert.

“He was the first person I thought of.” Shrugged the deckchair. “Now, release the scorpions!”

The scorpions charged towards Robert, engulfing him within seconds. They began to tear apart his board-shorts, and devoured his flesh. Robert soon found himself dead, a victim of his own unkindness to orphans. And that’s the moral of this story I guess. Be nice to orphans or whatever. Something like that anyway.

Story #2 – Julian the Unicorn Befriends a Shrub

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‘Clippety cloppety clippety clop’ went Julian’s hooves, as he plodded through the enchanted forest. He stooped down and picked up an apple with his teeth. His sharp unicorn fangs made light work of its crispy skin. Julian found it refreshing, and the apple juice reinvigorated his bouncy unicorn energy. He skipped merrily through the forest, singing his happy song as he did. It was something about apples and the taste of glitter. Nobody really knew. Very few mortals had ever encountered Julian, and those that had had been so confused by the whole experience they thought they must have imagined it.

Julian loved being a unicorn. He felt special, like Thornton’s Toffee. His life revolved around apples, and running so fast that his mane blew backwards. It was super fun, but at the same time, it was kind of lonely. Julian didn’t like to think about it, but he didn’t really have any friends. He’d never met any other unicorns. Julian had invented plenty of games involving apples, there was apple chess, apple roulette, blackjapple, buckarapple, pop-up papple, plenty of games, but they were all intended for more than one player. As such, Julian had never really had opportunity to test these games to see whether they actually worked. He hoped they did. He was convinced that pop-up papple could be brilliant, if only he could find a spring and a set of seventy-five cutlasses. This also presented a problem to Julian. Seventy-five cutlasses were not easy to come by for a unicorn.

Julian spotted another apple on the floor. He cheered to himself. What a brilliant day this had been, he thought, as he slowly skip-bounced towards it. Unfortunately for Julian, just as he stooped down to pick it up, the apple was seemingly stolen away from before his eyes. Julian made a distinctly inquisitive noise, not exactly sure what had just happened. He scanned the forest floor to see if he had simply nudged the apple elsewhere. Nope. He couldn’t see it anywhere. How bizarre. Perhaps an invisible forest elk had snuck in and nabbed it at the last second. Yes, that would be it, remarked Julian. Julian’s zoological knowledge was not brilliant. All other animals tended to scatter when they saw a unicorn, so Julian had never really had chance to study them. As such, he had had to invent animals in his head. As well as the invisible forest elk, there was also the water-dwelling elk, the fire-breathing elk, and the tiny scuttling elk. Julian did not have much of an imagination. He could only think in terms of elks. He would write this apple off as a misfortune, and continue to search around for more.

Julian turned around, and was about to skip away, when suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. This made him jump. He leapt a good two hundred feet in the air, as unicorns are prone to do, before he came crashing back down to Earth. He picked himself up, and looked around nervously. Was the invisible elk still here? He began to nudge the air, to see whether he could reveal the elk, but he could not seem to find anything. Then something slapped him on the back. He panicked, and ran behind a tree. This was spooking Julian now. Then he had an idea. He would try to appease the elk with a song. He mentally ran through his repertoire of songs. There was the apple and glitter song, the song about jack-knifing a lorry on a busy motorway, the song about balloons, and the Thong Song by Sisqo. He figured he hadn’t sung that one in a while, and so from his position behind the tree, he nervously poked his head out and began to sing the thong song. No sooner had he got to the bizarre bit about having dumps like a truck, than he heard a faint voice nearby. He slowly ambled out from his hidden spot, looked down, and saw a tiny plant singing about ‘seeing that thong’. In its tiny arms it was clutching an apple. Julian trotted across and sniffed the plant. It smelled like the Armani Code. This seemed strange. Julian nudged the plant gently with his nose. The plant stopped dancing and stared at Julian silently. Half an hour of silent staring passed, before eventually, the plant offered Julian his apple. Julian smiled, took the apple, and bit it in half, so that they might both share the apple. The plant and Julian both high-fived, and sat down to tuck into their apples together. Over the next few hours of general chat they became the best of friends. Julian let the plant sit on his back whilst he ran about the forest like a maniac. It was fun. As they were charging about like a unicorn and a plant possessed, Julian spotted something shining in the distance. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was very shiny. The plant noticed it too, and encouraged Julian to go and have a look. And so he did. He and the plant slowly cantered across, towards the shiny horizon.

Seven hours later, they finally seemed to be approaching their destination. During this time, they had both wandered where this story was going. Neither could be entirely sure. Nobody could. Still, the shiny thing was very near now. Julian slowly sauntered towards it, still unable to quite make it out, such was its shininess. Then it all became clear. It was a pile of seventy-five cutlasses, all neatly stacked. Julian could hardly believe his luck, he made an enchanting unicorn sound and rushed towards the cutlasses, happily picking one up in his mouth. Suddenly, he heard a growling sound. He turned to be confronted by the biggest winged elk he had ever seen. The plant whispered in his ear that he was in fact looking at a magpie. Julian had no idea what a magpie was, so dismissed this suggestion. This was a flying elk. A flying growling elk. He stared at the elk for a moment. The elk stared back at him, then, suddenly, it grabbed a cutlass in its mouth and charged at Julian. Julian picked up a cutlass himself and prepared to duel. What followed was perhaps the worst fight in the history of time. Imagine a magic horse and a magpie attempting to utilise cutlasses, with their mouths. It was pointless. Neither gladiator actually dealt any blows to the other. At one point the magpie managed to sort of brush Julian’s hair with the cutlass handle, but even that was a fluke. After half an hour of pointless bravado, both Julian and the magpie downed their cutlasses and sat down, exhausted. The plant brought Julian a refreshing cup of squash. What a good friend, but where the hell had he even found this? Julian lapped up the squash, bemused, but thirsty. He looked across at the magpie. The magpie had no squash. This made Julian sad, as he was a nice unicorn who loved sharing squash. Julian wasn’t entirely sure at what point he’d entered a children’s book, but it had seemingly happened almost accidentally in the last few sentences. He nudged the cup of squash towards the magpie. The magpie smiled, and took a sip of the drink. Then he made a very funny joke which everybody laughed at, but was in magpie language, so can’t be transcribed here. It was, however, absolutely hilarious. It turned out that the magpie was actually a very funny character. He told them the story of how he’d come to acquire seventy-five cutlasses over the years, which was also an absolute hoot, but again, can’t be told here.

Julian, the plant and the magpie spent all evening telling each other stories. Some of them a laugh riot, some of them less of a laugh riot, some of them borderline offensive. By the end of the evening they were the best of friends. Which was kind of nice, I guess. Julian was now the most popular unicorn he knew, and he finally had enough friends to play all the games he had invented in his head. He turned to his new friends, and suggested that they should all play pop-up papple. They smiled and nodded in agreement, and so it was, as the sun set on the horizon, that Julian, no longer a lonely unicorn, the plant, and the magpie, all gathered around and happily played pop-up papple together.

And it was rubbish. Really rubbish. They all blamed Julian and he turned to drink. The end.

Story #1 – A fistful of mince.

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“Is this it?” Asked Brian. Harold nodded. This seemed to be the tomb they were looking for. Brian and Harold had travelled hundreds of miles, and spent thousands of pounds travelling to Egypt or wherever, to find this tomb. It had been a dream of theirs since they were both undergraduate students at the famed University of mmdjdaksja, an establishment world-renowned for continually producing world-class archaeologists. That was 40 years ago. Now, they had both moved on. Brian was a Professor at Harvard, whilst Harold too found himself in a position of archaeological authority, being Chairman of the International Trowel Association. Throughout this time, Brian and Harold had seen little of each other, but remained friends. They wished each other a happy birthday on facebook once a year, and occasionally accidentally clicked ‘like’ on each other statuses when their fingers sort of slipped. This was of particular embarrassment to Harold when Brian had posted a status about the death of his mother. Harold had apologised profusely to Brian for this mistake, who accepted that it was just an accident, and the two had remained friends. Today they were two friends who were finally about to achieve their dream together.

“Shall we go in?” Said Harold, smiling at Brian.

“I think so.” Replied Brian. Harold fired up his wind-up torch and walked into the darkness.

Brian and Harold walked for what seemed like two hundred and fifty yards before they came across the room. It was full of gold and stuff. The kind of things that would fetch a really high price on the Antiques Roadshow. Brian gasped. “These are exactly the kind of things that would fetch a really high price on the Antiques Roadshow.” He said. And he was right, they were exactly the kind of things that would fetch a really high price on the Antiques Roadshow. Harold chuckled gently to himself in delight.

“In that case, perhaps we should go to the Antiques Roadshow…” He said, smiling at Brian.

“Yes, perhaps we should. Just imagine what kind of a price we could fetch for all this!” Replied Brian. Harold did imagine. It would probably be a really high price. But there was no time for that now. Harold picked up a cup.

“We did it Brian, we finally found the treasure of [Insert famous pharoah here] the third. How does it feel?”

“Good Harold. Good indeed…” Whispered Brian quietly to himself. “It’s such a shame that you’ll never get to see it on the Antiques Roadshow.”

“What do you mean?” Said Harold, confused.

“I’m sorry Harold.” Said Brian, as he withdrew a pistol from his corduroy trousers, and raised it at Harold.

“But Brian, I thought we were friends!” Protested Harold.

“We were Harold. Until that fateful day when you liked my status…” Replied Brian.

“How many times do I have to apologise for that! My finger slipped! I didn’t mean to click like!” Said Harold.

“Fair enough.” Said Brian. “But that doesn’t explain why you also posted a comment saying ‘ROFL’.”

“That was an accident too! I was drunk! I thought the status was ironic!” Said Harold.

“Perhaps. But did you really have to add a link to a lolcat too? MY MOTHER HAD DIED HAROLD! YOU KNEW SHE COULD NOT HAS CHEESEBURGERS!” Screamed Brian.

“Ok, that’s a bit harder to explain…” Said Harold, resignedly.

“Goodbye Harold.” Said Brian, finally, as he took aim at Harold’s head, and pulled the trigger.

A year later. Brian found himself sat in a local village hall, surrounded by TV cameras. On the table was a golden chalice he had retrieved from the tomb, which the expert was now appraising. “So tell me Brian, how much do you think this would be worth?” He said.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it…” Said Brian.

“Well let me tell you Brian, this is worth a very high price.” Said the expert. “I would estimate thirty or forty zillion pounds.” Everybody gasped. Brian smiled. He had expected as much. As soon as the cameras were off, he picked up his chalice, shook Michael Aspel’s hand, and headed off into the car park, where his car was parked. No sooner had he got into his car than his phone began to ring. He checked the screen, but there was no number. He answered the phone. “Hello?” He said.

“Hello Brain.” Replied a raspy voice at the other end.

“My name is Brian.” Replied Brian.

“I know, I just misread my lines. Sorry.” Rasped the stranger.

“Who is this?” Said Brian, confused by the whole shebang, as well as the fact that he had utilised the word shebang, a word that he had never used before in his life.

“Don’t you remember me Brian? Or has all the money made you forget?” Snarled the voice. A chill spread across Brian as the realisation hit him.

“Is this… Michael Aspel?” Stammered Brian.

“No! Why would Michael Aspel be calling you? Have you ever met Michael Aspel?” Said the voice, slightly annoyed.

“I met him about five minutes ago.” Said Brian.

“Oh really? What was he like?” Said the stranger.

“He was quite nice actually, very friendly and polite. We had a nice chat.”

“What did you chat about?” Asked the voice.

“Well it turns out that he’s originally from Battersea, which is where my grandfather was from, so we got chatting about that for a bit.” Said Brian.

“Had he ever been to Price’s Candles on York Road?” Rasped the voice, again.

“I didn’t ask. What’s Price’s Candles?” Asked Brian.

“It was once one of the largest candle manufacturers in the UK, but now it’s been converted into residential flats.” Snarled the voice.

“Oh, right, well that’s kind of interesting…” Said Brian.

“This has gone completely off-topic. I’ve forgotten what I called for now, you stupid bastard.” Said the voice, angrily.

“So if you’re not Michael Aspel, then who are you?” Said Brian.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, now I remember, I called to be deliberately ambiguous and threatening.” Said the voice, as it cleared its throat. “My name is Harold.”

Another chill spread across Brian’s body. He found himself paralysed with fear. Surely it couldn’t be? He found himself stammering into the phone.

“Harold from Neighbours?” He asked, nervously.

“NO! NOT HAROLD FROM NEIGHBOURS!” Screamed the voice. “HAROLD! YOU REMEMBER! Archaeologist buddy? You shot me in the head?”

“Oh right, that Harold.” Said Brian, relieved that another day was seemingly going to pass without him having to confront his mortal fear of tubas. “But wait, aren’t you dead?” He added.

“That’s precisely why this conversation should be so chilling!” Protested Harold. “Anyway, I just wanted to call to let you know that I’m coming to take what’s rightfully mine. I shall have my revenge Brian. Soon I shall have my revenge.”

Then, the line went dead. Brian sat for a moment in his Vauxhall Astra, deep in thought. Surely this was some kind of prank. Harold was definitely dead. He had seen his head explode. He had burned his corpse. He had buried it in the tomb. He had then reduced the tomb to rubble. He had removed all trace of the location from Google Maps. There was no way that he could possibly still be alive. He chuckled lightly to himself. Perhaps this was Michael Aspel playing a cruel trick on him after all. He started his engine and drove home.

A few days later, Brian found himself sat in front of the TV, eating some kind of miscellaneous mince-based dish and watching his appearance on the Antiques Roadshow. He chortled to himself as the value of his chalice was revealed. If only they knew that he was now sat drinking Ribena from it. Such was the breadth of valuable items that he owned, he could afford to do this. His mansion was decked out in gold and emeralds, as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t massively far, as corridors tend to operate to relatively strict size parameters. He ingested another mouthful of mince, before his beef-based pleasure was interrupted by what sounded like a knocking coming from afar. Brian put the TV on mute. Nothing but silence. How strange, he thought, as he unmuted the TV again. Then, another gentle thud. What the hell was that? He slowly got up out of his seat and made his way through the house. He was alone. It was dark. He switched a lamp on. He was alone. It was light. As he made his way out of whichever room he was originally in, and moved towards through the house, the thudding grew louder. It was constant, almost like dull footsteps nearby. Suddenly, his phone started ringing again. He answered it, nervously.

“Hello Brian.” Said the voice. It was Harold.

“Harold? Where are you?” Asked Brian, nervously.

“I’m nearby Brian. I’m here for what is rightfully mine.” Said the voice, menacingly.

“Nearby? How nearby?” Said Brian, as he circled around, terrified.

Harold laughed. “Turn around Brian…”

Brian spun around in horror, to be confronted with nothing but thin air.

“I said turn around Brian.” Said Harold again.

“I did, there’s nobody there.” Said Brian, confused.

“Really? Then who the hell am I standing behind?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask them?” Said Brian, growing increasingly tired of this game.

“Ok, ok, hold on there for a second, I’m just going to put the phone down for a second. Wait there.”

Brian sighed as he waited on the other end of the line in silence for two minutes. Finally, Harold returned.

“Ok, this is the wrong house. Forget I called.” Said Harold. Then he hung up. Brian slowly walked back to his plate of mince, muttering to himself as he did. No sooner had he sat down and lifted the fork to his mouth however than there was a knock at the door. Brian swore to himself as he stood up and walked across to the entrance. Who the hell would be calling now? He swung the door open in anger, and was stunned by what he saw. On the doorstep was standing what looked like the rotting corpse of his old friend Harold. But he was not alone, for in his arms, he was cradling a giant brass tuba. “Hello Brian.” He said. Brian was paralysed by his tuba fear. He wanted to run, but he could not. As Harold lifted his mouth to the blow-horn and began to play, the last thing Brian remembered was a sharp pain in his chest, before his heart exploded. As he lay on the floor, breathing his final breath, the last thing he saw was Harold, looming over him, eating his plate of mince.

Scones and stories.

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I have scones. I will have stories.

I have, somewhat foolishly some (including myself) might say, decided to set myself the challenge of attempting to write and release 30 new story podcasts in 30 days, starting this week. I have decided to do this to attempt to break myself out of a writing rut, and, in a way, to attempt to prove to myself that I still can. Anybody who was aware of the ghost stories from university will probably be aware that they were often written around an hour before we actually went on air, such was the sheer professionalism of our show, and it is that same spirit of hopeless unprofessionalism and blind panic that I am hoping to channel again now. It is inevitable that the quality of these stories will be fairly low, at least at first. I’m hoping that by the end they will be of a higher quality. We will just have to wait and see. Of course, all the stories that I wrote at university fell into the category of horror. These will probably introduce some new genres: romance, thriller, err… thrilling-romance, ghost-romance. I can’t really think of any other genres of st- MYSTERY! THAT’S ONE! CRIME! CRIME ROMANCE!

Ok, I think that’s it now. I’m basically walking around a virtual Waterstones in my head, and those are the only genres of literature that I can think of. I keep walking into the ‘books for dummies’ section, and then I end up in Botany. Now I can’t find the stairs. Where the hell are the stairs? I can’t walk past the counter again, they already think I’m mental since I’ve circled it twice without browsing any books, staring deep into their eyes in a sinister fashion on every pass. The stairs have to be around here somewhere. What’s this? Oh, wait, that’s the fire escape. I guess when I find the stairs they won’t be alarmed. Still, since the door is open I may as well go down it now. I hope it leads to the street. Ah, here we are. The high street. Victory is mine.

Anyway, yeah, stories. They should all be available through the Llamageddon podcast feed at http://llamageddon.jellycast.com , and I’m hoping to put them up on iTunes too. They’ll either start tomorrow, or possibly on Wednesday, as Monday and Tuesday are busy with gigs and the like, so I may not be able to release a story then, and it would be such a shame to fail at my challenge within the first day. Why not also download the Llamageddon podcasts from there if you’ve never heard them. They’re unique, that’s for sure. We should really do some more of those, they were a lot of fun. Anyway, it’s about time I ate a scone, so I’m going to leave it here, safe in the knowledge that I have completed another outstandingly boring blog post. Well done self.

I have gone to America.

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I am back now, and desperately trying to adjust to the temperature difference. Everything is cold in England now. I remain confident that soon I’ll be back to being like a blast furnace in stupidly chilly temperatures though, capable of being overly hot in even the coldest of temperatures. Anyway, America, yes. Allow me to briefly explain the highlights and lowlights.

HIGHLIGHTS

1. Yosemite National Park.

Here I scaled great heights, and met a bear. I celebrated the glorious return of my knee, who allowed me to traverse the rocky terrain without exploding. When I got to the top, me and my knee poured ourselves some mojitos from a flask, toasted our success and regaled each other with stories of good times past we had had. Alternatively, the altitude may have made me delirious, and none of this may have happened. I’d like to believe that it did though. I certainly got to the top of something, then I went off track and half-suspected I was going to die. The path at Yosemite can be pretty basic at the best of times, but when you suddenly start scaling slippy rocks without any kind of security, in the mistaken belief that you’re Spiderman, it can get pretty dangerous. Thankfully, danger is my middle name. Well, that and ‘Completelackof’. It’s double-barrelled.

2. Six Flags Magic Mountain.

This was a cool theme park. I was curious as to how it would compare to the magical beast that is Alton Towers, and it certainly compared favourably, despite the fact that on just about every ride I went on I accidentally pulled my harness down so far I practically suffocated myself. Here, I was also interviewed about Halloween by some scary clowns and a TV camera. I can’t be 100% sure, but I’m probably now pretty big in America. I think that if I were to check my email, there’d probably be an invitation to appear on the Jay Leno show waiting for me. Or alternatively, there may be nothing, as I bumbled my way through, talking rubbish. I can’t even remember what I said now, I think I just looked baffled, mumbled something about clowns and stared at my feet. Then me and my knee went and had mojitos. Or something. Anyway, Six Flags Magic Mountain. Mega fun, even if after a mix-up booking the tickets there was a real danger that I was going to have to pretend to be from some country called Dijbouti. Thankfully my phenomenal lack of ability to slip in and out of various aliases like an inept, work-experience Jason Bourne was never called upon.

3. I sang with a tramp.

When I got to L.A., I met a lovely tramp in the street who told me he was going to sing a song for me. At this point, I half-suspected that this was some kind of hustle, and he was going to smash me over the head with his guitar and take my wallet, but I was proved wrong, as he struck up his guitar and launched into the song ‘Stand By Me’. He asked me to join in, and, naturally, being the berk that I am, I didn’t need to be asked twice. I now found myself stood in the street dancing with a tramp whilst we both sang Stand By Me to passers by. It was at this point that my friend Hannah arrived to pick me up in her car. I’ll be honest, it’s a wonder she didn’t keep on driving as she surveyed the demented scene taking place outside my hotel. I think myself and the tramp just sort of stared at the car for a moment in silence, then I handed him two dollars, which he seemed disappointed by. I think he was expecting some kind of lucrative recording contract. One day Mr Tramp, we will work together again, on our supreme album ‘Music To Ruin Passing Civilians’ Day By’. And it shall be glorious. Anyway, this leads nicely onto point 4.

4. I met my friend Hannah.

Who succeeded in reminding me that bowling is not my sport. I scored about 150. This doesn’t sound too bad, until you realise that this was my combined score across two games. I think the real problem lay in the fact that they don’t have the aiming slide in America, the philistines. How am I expected to score 300 if I don’t have a tool intended for children that helps me aim? Still, this presents a business opportunity, as I shall shortly be importing these slides into the country, which should assist me in making millions of pounds. We shall see. She also somehow succeeded in stealing my most prized possession: my waffle crown. I’ve prided myself on knowing what I thought was the best waffle shop, but she knew a better one in L.A. I was stunned. Having also lost my cupcake crown to another friend, I now only have my alcohol crowns remaining. It’s only a matter of time until they too are stolen, then I shall be forced to wander the earth, a crownless peasant begging for money, singing his hideously out of tune version of ‘Stand By Me’. The waffle defeat also came as something of a disappointment because it’s a shame to know that this superior waffle place is so far away from me that I may never see it again. What a shame. It was delightful to hang out, but unfortunately Hannah found herself busy with work a lot of the time, however this gave me the opportunity to venture along to one of the other highlights of my trip.

5. I went to Sprinkles Cupcakes.

It was delicious. Whether it beats the delicious cupcakes you can find in Brighton is hard to say however. One day I shall have a proper cupcake showdown to decide. I had to venture a long way to find these cupcakes though. They were in Beverly Hills, I was in the middle of nowhere. I had to get on a bus, which was fun, as they have trivia questions on their buses in America. During my brief stay on the bus, I learned that squid have ten legs, the thinnest skin on the human body is on the eyelids, steel is alloyed with chrome to make it stainless, and various other facts too, which I have now completely forgotten. There wasn’t too much time to take in this information, as I spent the majority of my time on the bus wondering how the hell I was meant to stop the thing. There didn’t seem to be a button to press, yet everybody else seemed to have no problem dinging a bell and getting the driver to stop where they needed him too. I eventually came to the conclusion that they were all using telepathy. When I saw my stop approaching, I tried to communicate with the driver via the power of my mind to ask him to stop. It was only as we careered past my stop that I realised that this had not worked. It was then that I discovered everybody else was pulling a string on the roof. Nobody had informed me about this, the cads. I telepathically swore at them, and got off the bus in the middle of nowhere. Here, I dined on Argentinian cuisine, and asked a taxi to take me to Sprinkles. It was good.

6. The Getty Museum.

I went to the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. It was nice. I’m not a particularly cultured person, and am unable to recognise what is brilliant art beyond the childlike view of ‘that one has some pretty colours’, or ‘that looks nice’, but I enjoyed this museum, there was some lovely artwork that even I could appreciate was fantastic, and I also had a tasty hot dog. It was great.

LOWLIGHTS

1. Las Vegas.

This was strange, as Las Vegas has been somewhere I’ve wanted to go for ages. It always looks like such fun, and yet in reality, I actually found it to be quite a depressing place. There’s very little to do but gamble, and I really don’t enjoy gambling. I did have one token $10 gamble on a roulette wheel, but then instantly lost it, and walked away. Later on in the evening, indeed, it was at 4 AM in the morning, when I was slightly drunk and tired, I decided to walk down to the Strip to place a large bet on a roulette wheel just to see what would happen. Where I was staying was off the strip, in a dark area. I had to walk around a mile or two just to get to the strip, down dark backroads, alone. I was later informed that this was quite dangerous, as people are constantly being mugged here. Thankfully, I avoided this, by giving anybody I walked past my most threatening look. I say most threatening look, I don’t really have many, if any, in my arsenal. It’s like being glared at by Bambi. Still, it worked a treat. What also worked a treat was jogging down this street for much of it, thus being so speedy that any potential vagabonds could not assault me if they wanted to. My knee had returned to form. When we got to the strip, we drank mojitos from a flask etc etc. Actually, that’s not true. When I got to the strip, intending to put my bet on, I walked into a casino and was instantly engulfed by the depressing atmosphere of the place. People still sat at slot machines at 4 in the morning, gambling away all their money. I decided not to bet at all, and simply got a taxi all the way back to my hotel. This particular part should actually be filed under highlights, as myself as the taxi driver spent the journey discussing Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs, as he was a Manchester United fan. When I mentioned that I was a Middlesbrough fan, he said that he liked them, as he thought they played nice football. I was thus forced to come to the conclusion that he had never actually heard of Middlesbrough. I gave him a tip though, as he was highly entertaining.

Oh, and I paid $17 for a double Jack Daniels and Coke at a casino bar. SEVENTEEN DOLLARS. When they informed me of the price, I was tempted to have a sip of my drink, and then spit it out, 1980s surprise style. As it happened, I simply mumbled to myself, drank my drink, and then made a note to just order water from that point on. And I did. FOR FIVE DOLLARS. FIVE DOLLARS FOR A WATER?! DO YOU NOT HAVE TAPS IN LAS VEGAS?! Disappointing.

2. The Grand Canyon.

To be fair, I was only there for about half an hour. I saw the sunrise come over the Grand Canyon though, and it was at this point, when I was staring out onto the sun rising over one of the most amazing natural wonders, that I came to the conclusion that I am essentially a robot. I didn’t feel any kind of emotion of ‘oh, this is so wonderful’. I just thought ‘this is kind of boring, I wish the sun would hurry up so that we can all move on’. To spite the Grand Canyon, I took a photo of some Condor Socks, and a bin. That canyon certainly won’t be the star of my photo album, the scoundrel.

3. I realised that there is no escape from my problems.

A holiday is nice, but it is only temporary. Until I fix all the problems that continue to hold me back, I won’t be able to fully enjoy such excursions, as in the back of my mind, I know that soon I will be returning to the same place that I left. In many ways, I expected America to refresh my mind. In reality, it has probably only further destroyed it, by showing me the kind of things I could have in an alternative world, and how far I appear to be from them at the moment. One day though perhaps, we shall see. I would like to believe that eventually, everything will work out, though it’s up to me to ensure that happens. I know what I want, and I will try my hardest to achieve it, so we shall see how things go.

Now I’m going to go and check my inbox to see if Jay Leno has emailed yet. Fingers crossed.

I am going to America.

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Tomorrow I’m going to America for about two weeks. I’m flying out to San Francisco, where I’m meeting around 8 other travellers, and we’re going around the West Coast for a bit. Naturally, despite this all sounding great, the thing I’ve perhaps been most excited about is the fact that I may be able to watch a film on the plane. They don’t have this on Easyjet. I’m moving on up, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time until I’m John Travolta, flying my own plane about, and dancing awkwardly on stage with a football at World Cup Press Conferences.

Anyway, yeah, I’m going to America, somewhere I’ve wanted to go for years. I start adventuring in San Francisco, muddle about a bit, see the Grand Canyon, go to Las Vegas, and eventually end up in Los Angeles, which apparently has a Magic Mountain. It should be fun, though potentially disastrous for me to go to Las Vegas. I’m going to try and only gamble small amounts (that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, given that I only have small amounts), as previous experience has taught me I’m horrifically bad at gambling, and should not do it. In addition to this, I fully expect the Le Chiffre-esque scar above my eye to start leaking blood every time I get good cards, thus completely ruining my ability to bluff (I say ability, I basically chuckle to myself and punch the air every time I get good cards anyway. If other players can’t read that, they shouldn’t be playing poker).

I have been warned that I may run into a bear at some point. The warning also told me that I can’t outrun a bear. Being the idiot I am, I see this not so much as a warning, more of a challenge. I did once see a man outrun a giraffe, on a TV show hidden away on ITV4 called ‘Man vs Beast USA’, but to be fair, the giraffe only lost because he stumbled a bit at the beginning. I do not know how fast a giraffe is compared to a bear. I did however, see a bear defeat the speed hotdog eating champion of the world, so have learned that if nothing else, I cannot eat a plate of hotdogs faster than a bear. This is information I have retained over the years. Can I tell you anything about my degree? No.

Oh, and an orangutang is a lot stronger than a sumo wrestler. More useful Man vs Beast facts.

Other things I intend to do:

- Try not to smash my face on a roundabout.
- Try not to stumble into a ravine.
- When I get to Las Vegas, gather 10 other people and form ‘Ward’s 11′.
- Inform the police that ‘Ward’s 11′ was not my idea. Pin the blame on somebody else.
- If allowed out on bail, immediately form ‘Ward’s 12′.
- Wait to be deported.
- Fly back under an devlishly clever alias. ‘Wandy Bard’ ought to do it.
- Turn up at Universal Studios. Pitch them ‘Wuther and Heights’.
- Return to hotel, wait for phone to ring with lucrative three-film deal.
- If phone does not ring. Return to Universal Studios. Try pitching ‘Ward’s 11′ instead.
- Wait to be deported. Possibly watch Iron Man 2 on the plane.
- Return to country dressed as Jafar.
- Go to Disneyland. Kick Aladdin in the face. Run away.
- See whether they have Toblerones. If not, hastily put together business plan importing Toberones.
- Go to harbour. Watch as boat full of Toblerones is sunk by renegade bear.
- Inform bear that he has ruined everything. Fight bear.
- Go to hospital to have lungs re-inserted. Perhaps take off Jafar costume beforehand.
- Book a slot on that David Letterman thing to discuss Wuther and Heights.
- If allowed on show, tell hilarious anecdote about Ward’s 11 and how we got away with $30 million.
- Wait to be deported.
- Fail to have enough money to return to America. Sit at home and pen Wuther and Heights.

It should be good anyway. Who knows, perhaps I’ll win several million dollars in Las Vegas after accidentally getting myself involved in a game of high stakes poker. Then I may even be able to watch ‘Up’ on the way home. It’ll be great.

Rupert Bear masquerades as a pony.

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Pony 1: WELCOME TO PONY TOWN FELLOW PONY!

Rupert: (Chuckling) Thanks Pony…

Pony 1: Why did you chuckle?

Rupert: Sorry, I’m just happy to be back in Pony Town. Being as I am, a pony myself.

Pony 1: You look decidedly strange for a pony. It’s almost as if your pony eyes are painted on.

Rupert: (Muffling a laugh) Yeah, sorry, they’re just my pony eyes. Can I go into Pony Town now?

Pony 1: Ok, ok, in you go.

Rupert: Hur hur hur.

Pony 1: What was that?

Rupert: Sorry, I mean, err… clippety clop, clippety clop…

Rupert strolls into Pony Town. He finds himself surrounded by ponies. He wipes his brow. It is now very warm in his pony costume, but he is unable to take it off lest he be set upon by renegade ponies. He nudges another pony with his face.

Rupert: Excuse me, could you tell me where I could purchase a lucozade sport?

Pony 2: WELCOME TO PONY TOWN!

Rupert: Thanks… and the lucozade sport?

Pony 2: PONY TOWN!

Pony 3: You don’t smell like a regular pony…

Rupert: I’m wearing aftershave.

Pony 4: Ponies don’t wear aftershave…

Rupert: I have a date.

Pony 3: With?

Rupert: WITH PRINCESS PONY!

Rupert realised now that he was pushing his luck. He didn’t even know whether there was a Princess Pony. All the ponies in the vicinity gasped as one. As far as ponies could gasp.

Pony 4: YOU HAVE A DATE WITH PRINCESS PONY?!

Rupert: Hur hur hur…

Pony 3: Why do you keep laughing?

Rupert: I’m just happy to be a pony. I’m 100% pony. Feel my pony calves.

Pony 2: PONY TOWN!

Pony 4: Are you sure you’re here to see Princess Pony?

Rupert: Yes. Princess Pony. We have a date.

Pony 3: Why is there a scarf draping out of your mouth?

Rupert reels the scarf back into his costume.

Rupert: Sorry, I must have ingested some fabric soup.

Pony 4: This isn’t making a lot of sense.

Rupert: I know, sorry. Anyway, could you point me in the direction of Princess Pony? Or some lucozade sport, either is fine.

Pony 3: It’s that way. (Nudges head)

Rupert: What? Lucozade or the Princess?

Pony 3: You’ll see.

Rupert: Ok, thanks. Byeeeeeeeeee.

Rupert saunters off in the direction of the nudge. He walks for roughly 13,000 yards, chuckling with every step. He still can’t believe he’s getting away with this. After 13,000 yards, he comes across a lake. It is filled with golden liquid. There is a beautiful pony stood besides it, sipping from the lake. She wears a crown. Perhaps she is the Princess Pony. Yeah, that’ll do.

Rupert: Alright.

Princess: Who are you? Why do you smell of aftershave?

Rupert: Are you Princess Pony?

Princess: I am, yes… who are you?

Rupert: I’m a pony.

Princess: I can see that.

Rupert: Hur hur.

Princess: I don’t like your laugh, can you change it?

Rupert: Tee hee.

Princess: That’s somehow worse. Go back to the other one.

Rupert: Hur hur.

Princess: Right, so you say you’re a pony?

Rupert: I am a pony. Definitely a pony. 2000% pony. Which mathematically makes me 20 ponies. You can call me Ponyzord.

Princess: Alright Ponyzord, what are your intentions?

Rupert: I’M TAKING YOU FOR A NIGHT ON THE TOWN!

Princess: Where?

Rupert: Pizza Express?

Princess: There isn’t a Pizza Express in Pony Town…

Rupert: !

Princess: GET HIM PONIES!

Rupert: FEAST ON MY PONY CALVES!

Rupert kicks a pony guardian in the face. It topples into the lucozade lake and dissolves. Rupert runs off.

Rupert: Clippety cloppety clippety cloppety.

Rupert crashes through a wooden wall and out of Pony Town. He quickly de-ponyulises himself. Badger Bill appears from behind a tree.

Badger Bill: How did it go?

Rupert: I dissolved a pony in a lake.

Badger: Let’s go home.

Rupert: Good idea.