Tuesday, February 05, 2002 :::
 
Greek Kung Fu Throwing Star��..I�m waiting to get served at the bar in the Ring �O Bells. The bar top is now six feet high so you have to reach up to get your drinks and risk tipping the contents over your head. The service is very slow, I�ve been served, but the Greek barman is having difficulty understanding people and even finding where the beer pumps are located. When he eventually gets my 3 drinks, I give him a tenner, he brings me my change in Greek Euros, which are shaped like miniature Kung Fu Throwing Stars. When I examine them I notice they have a small slot cut into each arm of the star. He then says that I haven�t given him enough money and we start to argue. Tommy the Landlord intervenes and threatens to �sort me out� fortunately he is unable to climb over the six-foot bar wall. The misunderstanding is then sorted out; the barman had been taking a tip with each order, which consisted of a box of Cadbury�s Crunchie Ice Creams. I get on a coach to leave for home, (we are now on holiday on a Greek Island.) The bus comes to an unusual traffic island/bridge that is shaped exactly like a Brass Candlestick holder I�d seen in Matalan. It consist of brass ring suspended in mid air with four roads leading to it. The coach is too wide for the structure and one wheel is constantly spinning in free space. The connecting roads are now too narrow to exit the roundabout and we have to keep going round in circles waiting, it seems, until the roads get wider again?

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 12:58:48 PM

Monday, February 04, 2002 :::
 
Face the Music���..I�m sitting in the empty bar at the Holiday Inn, Heathrow reading Alice Cooper�s autobiography. Someone comes in to the bar and orders a drink in an American accent, I look up from my book; coincidentally it�s Alice Cooper. He comes over and sits down for a chat. We talk 1970�s pop and I confess that the only song I can remember him doing was �School�s Out�. I ask him to sign my book, he says �sure� takes out a permanent black marker and signs the cover. I say; �Isn�t it more usual to sign inside on the first page?� He takes the book back and starts to write inside. When he returns the book to me, it�s now a book about Quantum Physics, I open it to see that he has solved all the Nuclear Particular Theory equations in one of the exercises. He then signs my face with the marker and says I�m now one of his �crew� and can get into any of his gigs for nothing. I look in the mirror and notice that part of the signature has overlapped on to my white shirt collar. I wonder whether it will come out in the wash. The bar has now turned into a bookshop; Alice is doing a book signing seated at a trellis table. The crowd is getting large; Alice is becoming anxious and wants to escape. I look at the flesh on his neck and wonder how old he�ll be next birthday.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 12:56:39 PM

Wednesday, January 30, 2002 :::
 
Tandem Glider��.My job appears to involve taking a fairground Rifle Range around different prison establishments for the inmates to use during their �recreation� breaks. I have two rifles called �Itchy� and �Scratchy�. Scratchy has a fault today so I only have one weapon to hire out. I set up my stall and notice that this prison is slightly different from the norm. It has men, woman and children, there seems to be a complete lack of guards - anarchy reigns, it is also very cold. I am reminded of the street scenes from the film Oliver Twist. Someone takes the gun and instead of firing at the Targets, begins taking pot shots at passers by. I think that it�s time to get out, and hop on to a Bike-Hand Glider and start to pedal. I check the Speedo, I�m just about on the red line that indicates minimum take-off speed; I pull back on the Handlebars. Just as I�m airborne, I develop a puncture and have to land. I jump on to another Glider, this time a Tandem; these have larger Balloon-like tyres and take off at a much lower speed. Due to the increased weight of two riders the take-off angle is 60 degrees instead of the normal 30. The steepness of the climb frightens me; I want to get off. The pilot; sensing my unease; compounds it by saying: �If you think this is bad, you�re not gonna believe how I have to land it.�

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 12:04:20 PM

Thursday, January 24, 2002 :::
 
It's Only A Game Show����I�m being chased through a Forest maze; it feels like a scene from The Lord Of The Rings. I am trapped and about to be captured. My enemy approaches me, he tells me that he wants to change sides, and if I hit him hard enough, he will allow me to escape. I hit him with a large wooden club and climb a tree; near the top of the tree I can see a building ledge and make a leap. I manage to cling on to a rounded stone block, which is overhanging at the top of what appears to be a Castle Keep. I can�t climb onto the ledge as my feet are swinging in free space; I�m gripping the stone so tightly that it feels reassuringly soft like a pillow. My progress is being monitored on live TV by a helicopter hovering overhead. The TV picture from the helicopter displays a view from a Road Atlas; the Motorway is a Blue line. When the camera zooms in on the blue line the viewers can see that this is a real road and the Tarmac is actually coloured blue. Below at the foot of the Keep wall I can hear someone arguing in a Scottish Accent; he says, ��I don�t bloody care what they do, an Englishman�s home is his Castle�.� A stone Gargoyle on the wall next to me smiles and says; �Looks like this is it, matey.� My Wife shouts from below; �Jump into the tree,� but the only movement I can make is to let go and drop like a stone. I can now feel my grip slipping. I look at the roof of the building, instead of tiles there are a series of small complex slope shapes, I watch some water droplets running over the shapes and try to follow the flow pattern, impossibly the water goes inside and outside the building at the same time. A rope lowers from the helicopter above me; I hold on and am lowered safely to the ground. The reality game show is over.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 1:00:39 PM

Thursday, January 10, 2002 :::
 
Teak Skin Graft Clinic��I�m at an IT conference in Majorca, Bill Gates comes over to speak to me. I say to him, �Even though you�re the richest person in the world, wouldn�t you trade it all not to be a complete Pratt.� Bill opens his mouth as if to say something, looks a bit upset, then wanders off. I feel sorry for him and immediately regret what I�ve just said. I go outside to a small lawned garden area at the front of the Conference Centre. Across the road is a large building surrounded by scaffolding up to the fourth floor. The are about 10 building workers dancing on the scaffolding, a workman�s radio is playing Bob The Builder set to a classical music score. One of the workers is called Dave, when the song gets to the chorus, Dave swings around one of the Horizontal poles and launches himself 60 feet into the air like an Olympic Gymnast. The rest of the builders shout his name as he executes several pikes and turns before landing flat on his belly on the Grass, stone dead in front of me. The rest of the crew then simultaneously follow his manoeuvre and all land with dull contiguous thuds on various parts of the Conference Hall Lawn. While they�re airborne I imagine they are synchronised swimmers and admire and appreciate this futile suicide gesture for their workmate. I go back inside the building, which has now become a Skin Graft Clinic. The unusual way this particular clinic operates is that it uses wood veneer instead of skin. You chose a piece of teak from the display then run it through a meshing machine. I recognise the consultant as someone I use to work with, he shows me around the clinic he tells me it used to be a Flea Circus Factory. He shows me the White Ceramic Pots built into the Coving in each corner of the ceiling where the fleas used to live. There is a small bar in the Clinic; I buy a bottle of Real Ale for my brother and myself. The bottle is the same shape as a pint glass hence the cap is very large and I struggle with large bottle opener. There are TV�s all around the room all of which show the scene from the Pool Table in the Centre of the room. Two supermodels are playing pool in their Bikinis, I notice that the Cameraman isn�t concentrating on the pool game but getting close ups of the women. We go outside jazz music is playing loudly a JCB is being operated by a drunken man. My brother starts dancing with the Digger the bucket is swinging about wildly. I tell him to move away as it�s dangerous, he ignores me and when the JCB�s arm turns into a Huge Trombone he starts to swing on it. The trombone is playing along with the song, I panic when I see he is about to be crushed against the wall and shout at the JCB driver to stop. He turns off the ignition switch and the whole scene is frozen in time, the dream has turned into a 2D picture.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 1:34:34 PM

Monday, December 24, 2001 :::
 
Dog Race Coaster�����.The dog track is covered with a tubular Greenhouse like structure. It�s a straight 100 Metres race down a steep hill. Parallel to the track is a Train/Tram, which carries on much further up the hill. I get into the Train with my daughter at the bottom of the hill. As the Tram is hauled up the slope, we�re watching one of the kennel maids leading the dogs up the hill. She�s crawling on her hands and knees with a large sirloin of beef on her back. We sit down at the back, I notice a few of my friends near the front; they are waving large wads of banknotes each trying to outbid each other to put the highest stake on their dog. When the train reaches the top of the slope it behaves like a roller coaster for the first 100m, my daughter put her hands in the air and laughs, then when it gets level with the Greyhound Traps the dogs are released. The train travels at the same speed as the dogs. My friends are certain that Dog No 3 is winning when it is obvious to me that No 1 is ahead. We are level with the dogs when they finish, No 1 wins; everybody at the front of the train is celebrating a victory for No 3. When the announcement is made for No 1, I try to work out how much my 50p bet will have won.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 10:42:31 AM

Wednesday, December 19, 2001 :::
 
Three Legged Race.............I look in the mirror, I'm George Orwell (Animal Farm Version) and the current Welsh Hills Triathlon Champion. First stage of this triathlon involves running down a welsh mountain, second stage is to race back up the hillside, feet tied together whilst propped up on two, three foot lengths of 2 by 4 (unfinished timber). The third stage is to row (using the 2 by 4) downstream to the finish. I'm the reigning champion due to the incredible coaching skills of my Landlady. All the other contestants constantly harrass me during the race, they want an introduction to the Landlady. Whilst they waste their breath, I'm forging ahead, as I pass the finish line, I look into the water and notice I'm now someone else. I realise I'm the bloke from Quantum Leap.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 4:51:35 PM

Wednesday, December 05, 2001 :::
 
Tardis Bed���..I�m sat on the roof of a four-poster bed. The unusual thing about this bed is that it entirely contains Wembley Stadium, within which the 1950 Rugby League Challenge Cup Final is taking place. My team is not doing so well, I�m frustrated because I can only see a 10-yard area around the pitch by leaning over the side of the bed. Each time I look the opposition is taking a kick at goal. I finally shin down a drainpipe/bedpost to find that the match has finished and the spectators are leaving the stadium. Most people are dressed in dowdy coloured overcoats and Trilby like hats, I am aware of my modern brightly coloured clothes and so to avoid being spotted, I climb into the back of a Limousine. As soon as I sit down a woman opens the door from the opposite side �Do you mind?� she says in a clipped Ealing Comedy style voice. I notice she�s wearing a dead fox around her shoulders. I get out of the car and find my way to the Underground. Inside the Station playing cards are scattered everywhere. I pick some of them up; each card contains an offensive statement. I recognise that they are a form of Top Trump Card. One of them contains a particularly amusing insult of Kevin Keegan. I look up from the card straight into the gaze of a Private Detective. I need to escape and hurry away towards the escalators. When I get there another detective is waiting, a passer by sees that I�m in trouble and offers me his mobile phone, other people start to get out their mobiles and wave them in the air, the Private Detectives realise they are out-numbered and retreat into the darkness.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 8:52:19 PM

Monday, December 03, 2001 :::
 
Bermuda Shorts���..I�m holed up in Bin Laden�s cave waiting for the Northern Alliance to flood us out with their hosepipes. We start to play a game of snooker using small stones for balls and a rough wooden table with batons nailed on the sides for cushions. The game is going well until I pot a red and realise all the stones are the same colour. I look around; the cave has grown into a cheese-shaped lecture theatre, I begin to play with the concertina seats which expand into mini-waltzers. I look across the hall the walls are very high, about 60 feet above the stage I notice what looks like a football commentary box. Seated inside are 16 students, the glass on the commentary box opens up slowly, one of the students is propelled outwards and plummets downwards, he stops suddenly and begins to swing on a seat held in place by two long rusty chains. The figure is slowly wound back in and another swinging student repeats the process. After all 16 have had a turn on their own, they begin to swing in groups. Finally all 16 are jettisoned simultaneously. I feel sure that the rusty chains are going to break this time so I close my eyes. I suddenly feel the seats in the auditorium begin to rotate. I�m sitting next to a former work colleague, I ask her where she�s going for her holidays. She say�s she's going with either Microsoft or Cisco to the Bermuda Triangle. I say, �I won�t be seeing you again then!� She doesn�t get it and looks at me puzzled. I say, �You do know what happens in the Bermuda Triangle don�t you?� She repies; �Isn�t that where they have the Olympics?� I smile and realise that she�s right. The lecture theatre is now an Olympic Stadium, we�re watching the High Jump.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 4:58:38 PM

Monday, November 26, 2001 :::
 
Moving the Goalposts���..I�m travelling up and down a labyrinth of small corridors delivering plastic crates containing paper files. The walls are all white apart from occasional terracotta hallways, which are still under construction. Workmen are busy in these areas, removing walls and creating new ones. Each time I travel along the route it has changed and I have to work out the directions from scratch. As the building work progresses I find the passageway is getting smaller, I now have to crawl on my hands and knees, dragging the boxes behind me. Eventually I�m trapped by my shoulders in a narrow tunnel, I can�t move forward or backward. I want to cry out for help, but I know that this is what they want me to do. Rather than admit failure I�ll just stay here forever.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 1:05:42 PM

 
Hanging Around.�.. I�m woken by a noise, the clock says 3:30am. I get out of bed to investigate. I switch on the bathroom light and see dried blood splattered over the tiles. The pattern suggests that someone has had their face smashed against the wall. I go downstairs and open the living room door; I feel something hot and sticky drip on to the back of my neck. I don�t want to look up but I notice the shadow on the opposite wall. There is a figure swinging gently on a rope above my head. The shock wakes me up, I�m lying on a couch in the living room, my heart is beating very fast, faster than I thought possible. I look to the doorway, there�s no-one there. I realise it was a dream and remember that I had fallen asleep watching TV. A feeling of dread fills my stomach when I remember that I�m asleep on the other couch, not this one, and that I must be still asleep. I �wake up� again and look at both couches; I�m not on either of them this time. I think; �If I�m not asleep on the couch, Where am I?� I begin to feel a tight constriction around my neck. This time I wake up for real, I think.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 12:44:35 PM

Thursday, November 15, 2001 :::
 
Shine a Light��I�m looking after my parents� and next door neighbours� houses, whilst they�re on holiday. A friend of my daughters arrives, she got a strange looking dog/ferret type animal on a lead. I direct her through the back garden to the school playing field behind the house, where my daughter is playing. As the girl crosses the back lawn, the animal escapes from the lead, it heads directly for the guinea pigs� hutch. The animal attempts to dive straight through the 1cm square wire mesh. Amazingly it gets half way in before it becomes stuck. It�s body looks as though it has been cut in half by the mesh. It begins to struggle; I think it must be dying, but somehow it manages to get the rest of its body through. I rip open the hutch door to try and protect the Guinea Pigs inside. Fortunately the animal isn�t interested in the pets and disappears into a knothole in the wooden frame. I return to the house, a woman in the neighbours� house is ironing at an open window. I say to her �Close the Window, or the Budgie will escape.� She says: �Don�t worry, everything will be fine.� I get inside the house just as the bird flies out of the window in the direction of Fairfield School. We�re searching the school grounds for the Budgie, it�s now very dark. I point my finger and it becomes a torch (Just like ET). An authoritative voice from the darkness warns: �Move along now, please.� I point my finger at the policeman, he shields his eyes from the light and repeats his command. I say; �No, I�m looking for a bird�. He grabs my Torch Finger, which snaps, and drags me back to my parents� house. Everyone is watching from the window. I mime: �I haven�t done anything wrong.�

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 1:07:06 PM

Thursday, November 08, 2001 :::
 
Moving Show....At first sight the theatre I'm in looks normal. It's only after a while I notice that the seats in front seem to be moving around relative to each other. I finally realise that the auditorium is in fact a convoy of moving vehicles. The stage is set on the back of an articulated lorry that appears impossibly to be moving sideways. In fact it has been deliberately jack-knifed by the driver who is skilfully dragging the trailer sideways. Some of the vehicles are open topped cars and buses. My transport is an eight-foot barstool with small castors that seem to glide smoothly over the road's rough surface. On the next barstool is a four-year-old child; he's having a bumpier ride. I have to reach out from time to time to prevent him from falling off. The show is going well until we come to the junction of Appleton and Birchfield roads, here the stage lorry turns right, but due to the volume of traffic coming the other way, the rest of the convoy can't get through the junction. The show carries on up the dual carriageway, playing to no one, whilst we sit in a traffic jam. The child's mother arrives and thanks me for looking after her boy, then threatens to sue the theatre company for the lack of seatbelts on barstools.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 9:08:17 AM

Wednesday, November 07, 2001 :::
 
Toasting Horace��.. I�m on a boat with my daughter; we�re sailing down the ship canal to Manchester to go shopping. The canal is set-up like a railway line except the Stations are replaced with Locks. At each Lock we have to get off the boat and visit the Lockkeepers cottage, which is in fact a signal box. This Lockkeeper is very hospitable, he has a badge declaring his name; �Horace.� He carries around trays of drinks and buttered crumpets offering them to all the passengers. We are more interested in the museum exhibits dotted around the rooms. We notice a primitive looking communication system, which consists of flexible tubes, similar to an old fashioned Ship�s blower that connected the bridge to the engine room. The tubes are connected through the canal to all the other Lockkeepers Cottages. Suddenly a woman�s voice cries out from one of the tubes. It�s the Lockkeeper from upstream. She shouts; �Horace, I�m naked, and I�m waiting for you.� Our host looks very embarrassed. He gets on the blower and hollers; �Winnie, I have 22 visitors!� He turns to his guests and says; �Anyone for Toast?�

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 7:29:38 PM

Thursday, October 25, 2001 :::
 
Tram Slam......We�re two teams of 8 on a Manchester Tram. The aim of the game is to push your opponents out of the door when the tram stops at the station. This tram is an oval shape and somehow revolves around a central axis as it travels forward. If your opposite number gets off voluntarily, you have to get off as well. My opponent is a female Indian doctor. She gets off the tram; I jump out just as the door is closing. I go to a newspaper stand, on one front page there�s a picture of a speedboat crashing into an iceberg. The headline proclaims: IMPACT! I read the story; the boats� occupants are missing presumed dead. I look at the picture of the icy water and hope that they died instantly and didn�t freeze to death in the sea. The article continued; �The speedboat pilot worked as a joiner in a Widnes factory and designed boats in his spare time.� I wonder why a boat designer would work in a wood factory and why anyone would want to go speed boating at the North Pole. I hear cheering, there�s a protest demonstration in the street. I join in; it�s an anti monarchy demo, I realise it�s 2002; the Queens Golden Jubilee. I grab hold of a placard with the slogan �F**K The Queen� and join the march. I�m immediately arrested and charged with treason, the penalty for which is instant execution. The police line me up against a wall to face a firing squad. I hear the order to fire but none of the rifles will work. The Indian doctor from the tram has swapped all the guns for toys. I walk away as the firing squad stare down at their weapons with puzzled expressions.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 9:33:56 PM

Wednesday, October 03, 2001 :::
 
Rotten Buffet��..I�m standing on a hill overlooking a river, beyond the far bank is an area of waste ground, where there�s is a coach with my name on it. The engine is running, the driver is waiting patiently for me, as he has for the past few days. He looks across at me from a hundred yards away, he knows I�m not ready to go back yet. I get on a different coach that�s going to a Rugby Match in Edinburgh. I�m carrying a large glass water cooler container. The refrigerated glass handle is �H� shaped and contains water at a different temperature. When we get to the Rugby Ground we find that our stand is actually outside the stadium, it�s at the side of a road on a hill, we can actually see the whole of the playing area from here. The stand is full; we unpack the food and lay it on trestle tables. When I pour the water from my cooler, everyone is surprised at how little there is. I go to get some food; all that�s remains of the Buffet is Taco Shells. When I look around I notice that one of my work Colleagues has taken the whole tray of Salad and Vegetarian Chilli meant for filling the Taco�s. He is eating everything with a huge spoon. I walk over to his table, give him a look of disapproval, remove the tray and return it to the Buffet Table. I fill a Taco and begin to eat. I bite on a rotten tomato and taste mould; I carry on eating pretending that everything is just fine.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 12:59:50 PM

Tuesday, September 11, 2001 :::
 
Death Angel..�..I�m working late in a computer room on the tenth floor of a tower block. There is a power cut my computer screen goes blank. I�m under the desk and begin fiddling with the cables when I hear a noise in the corridor outside. I open the office door to see that some patio doors have been left opened, I wonder to myself why anyone would put patio doors on the tenth floor. I see a light switch and automatically think of doing the test that tells me if I�m dreaming or not. I flick the switch; some lights go on in a neighbouring tower block, I now know that this is a dream; I am Lucid. I decide that I don�t like this place; it�s a bit too spooky, I decide to change it into a Spanish Poolside Villa. I don�t succeed instead a white-suited man with white hair materializes directly in front of me. He says, �I am the Angel of Death, it�s time to die. I know that you know this is only a dream, but if you die here you die in real life.� I am overcome with feelings of remorse and regret, I plead; �Please give me some time so that I can think about my kids.� I sit down; put my head in my hands and begin to cry softly, the tears drip at regular one-second intervals onto the wooden floor making a sound like an old grandfather clock. Through my open fingers I see the man casually pick up a house brick, with an easy swing he smashes it into the side of my face, crushing my cheekbone and dislocating my jaw. I think; �I didn�t expect to be executed like this.� I feel my consciousness being dragged away as though by general anaesthetic. Just as I�m going under I get an anger adrenaline rush, I grab the brick and rain hammer blows down on the Death Angel�s Head, as his skull shatters, the support for his face collapses. His face wrinkles and turns into that of an old woman. I stop; the head falls off and rolls neatly into the corner of the room. It�s now the face of the Ventriloquist�s Dummy from the Renault Scenic Advert; its eyes are shut. I think, �If this were a horror film, the eyes would snap open then head would savage me.� Instead, it raises one of its eyebrows and winks.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 10:15:32 PM

Friday, September 07, 2001 :::
 
Halton View Theme Park���They�ve built a wall around part of the Halton View/Crow Wood area of Widnes and turned it into a Theme Park. The Castle Pub has been renamed �The Scary Castle� it now resembles the slide at Gulliver�s World in Warrington. Outside Crow Wood pets I meet a friends Wife who is struggling to cope with her two young sons. Her hands are covered with the remains of several Jammy Dodgers. I offer to help, carrying the oldest child whilst pushing the Pram. We can�t find any toilets but eventually we find an ice cream van whose owner provides a cloth to clean her hands. The child I�m carrying begins to sing along to a song being played over the PA system. He�s only 2 but knows all of the words, I don�t recognise the tune, I ask his mother �What�s This?� she says �Robbie Williams.� I say �Thank god for that, I thought I was losing it for a minute.� She asks me to go shopping with her. I can�t reply because my mouth is suddenly full of pubic hair. I�m trying to pick the hairs from my teeth without anyone noticing. As we walk to the shops we pass a playing field where a game of Rugby League is about to kick off. As the players come out on to the field I notice that one team is playing in Claret Shirts with blue sleeves, the other in Blue Shirts with Claret Sleeves. I think, this must be Burnley versus Aston Villa? The commentator is Stevo, he�s stood next to me complaining loudly that the organisation is a farce because he can�t tell who�s who. As we�re watching the game it is now on a large TV screen in a small cinema, there are about 20 of us sat in plastic chairs. It�s a schoolboy match from the 1970�s. We�re all falling about laughing as they�re warming up. The exercises are Ballet movements combined with Tai Chi. One of the teachers leading the exercises is the female gym instructor from �The Grimleys�. As she�s exercising, her top keeps riding up exposing her large old-fashioned looking bra. When she finally notices; she begins fiddling with her inverted nipples trying to make them point out the right way. Several members of the audience climb into the TV screen to give her a hand.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 1:37:38 PM

Thursday, August 23, 2001 :::
 
Undeep.......I'm walking along Birchfield Road past Appleton Post Office. I hear the voice of my 3 year old Nephew behind me, he's calling my name like no-one else can. He seems a bit upset, I ask him "what's the matter?" He replies; "there's two "L's" in shallow."

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 8:29:31 PM

Wednesday, August 22, 2001 :::
 
Bad Samaritan��.I�m an archaeologist, I�m at a dig by a vast lake in Africa. Several sports centre-sized polythene tents cover the site. I was here the year before and I notice that the wildlife has completely disappeared from the area. I ask one of the purple tunic-wearing guides; �What has happened to the birds?� He says he doesn�t know, but will ask the other guides. The dig is full of wealthy tourists who are financing the project; a father & son are being videoed in one of the trenches. I accidentally touch the side of the tent; the condensation leaves a damp patch on my shoulder. I am reprimanded by one of the guides, he tells me that I now have the Ebola Virus and have to leave also they will need to reset all the timers and disinfect the tent. I am driven to a railway station, whilst I wait for the train I buy a puzzle-book and begin to read, starting from the solutions to the puzzles at the back. Some of the answers are Students GCSE results, answer 2 b) on page 26 is a full railway timetable. I�m curious so I turn to page 26. Question 2 b) reads: Can someone go to Chester Railway Station and get me a Northern Line timetable. The station is filling up with people, a Salvation Army band arrive and begin to play. They all look at me strangely; I�m beginning to get a bit paranoid. A man with a dancing bear on a chain arrives. The bear is 8 feet tall and is a dirty indigo blue colour; it has large patches of grey hair that tells me it�s quite old. It growls deeply, so deeply I can feel my insides vibrating. The trainer is looking nervous he tells everybody to get out immediately, the bear goes wild and rips the head off it�s owner. People are screaming and trampling over each other to escape. I drop my puzzle book and begin to search for it, when I see someone else�s head ripped off I decide to abandon it. I run up the stairs, the last person to leave, I can smell the bear�s breath behind me, the steps have turned sticky and I�m running in slow motion. I see an old Salvation Army Woman in front of me she is struggling for breath. I consider whether to help her but as I overtake I decide I�d be better leaving her behind; she will slow the bear down for the few seconds that might enable me to escape. As I pass her I now gain speed and take two stairs at a time. From behind I hear the Old Woman�s pathetic scream cut off abruptly by the sound of her snapping neck. I think to myself; �She could have made a bit more of an effort with that scream since it�s her last ever conscious act.� When I get to the top of the stairway and open the door I�m on the flat roof of a building. I run to the ledge and throw myself off. As I�m falling I notice a National Express Coach pulling out from a Bus stop below. Unusually it�s only half the width of normal coach, it also has a blue ribbon tied lengthways around it. I land on the roof of the Bus and hang on to the ribbon. I begin to laugh like I�ve just completed a white-knuckle fairground ride.

::: posted by steerpike Uk at 10:11:19 PM