Mum got home and there were four different types of soup on the doorstep. Dad and Ella heated them all up and brought them back to hospital and gave a cup to all the people waiting in casualty.
Everyone thought they were mad. But it got rid of the soup.
THE OCCASIONAL WARDROBE
NIGHTCLUB
13th January
It was Mrs Willis who told me about things to do. She said we should make a list.
“Things I want to do. Or just things I want. Preferably achievable but not necessarily.”
There are lots of things I want to do. I liked writing them down. Mrs Willis liked it too. She wrote:
1. Go to the Grand Canyon.
2. Clean out the attic.
3. Get the use of a proper laboratory.
4. Learn how to make meringues.
5. Train the dog.
“Train the dog!” said Felix. “What sort of a wish is that?”
“You haven’t met the dog,” said Mrs Willis.
Felix’s list was very short. It said:
1. Be rich and famous.
2. Nuke all doctors.
3. See Green Day in concert.
“You’ve already seen Green Day in concert,” I pointed out. “You went with your brother.”
Felix bent over his list again. “There,” he said. “Happy?”
It now said:
3. See Green Day in concert AGAIN.
It was a good lesson. We spent the rest of it drawing pictures of people nuking Green Day from airships, with borders of beer-drinking ghosts going up escalators.
After Mrs Willis had gone, Felix and I stayed at the table. I started laying out my Warhammer army, in the hope that he might give me a game. Felix bent over my list with his hat pulled down over his eyes. He wears hats a lot because the drugs they gave him last year made his hair fall out. They made mine fall out too, but it’s grown back now. Felix’s hasn’t. He was wearing his fedora today, which is sort of like a squashed bowler hat. It made him look like a scruffy James Bond.
“Are you going to actually do these?” he said.
“I dunno,” I said. I was more interested in laying out my scenery. “Probably not. Why?”
“Well, we could. Couldn’t we?” He looked across at me, daring me to argue. I sifted through my box of pieces, trying to find another archer.
“They aren’t things to do really,” I explained. “They’re more like . . . wishes. Not real things.”
Felix leaned forward. He likes an argument. “So?” he said. “Mrs Willis is going to make meringues, isn’t she? So why can’t we watch horror films? Mickey’s got loads at home.”
He shoved the list across the table towards me. I looked at it.
“We could do two of them,” I said. I knelt on the seat of my chair and leaned across the table to show him. “Look. We could watch horror films and go up down-escalators. Maybe. We couldn’t do the others.”
“We could do a world record.”
“You don’t just do world records.”
I went and fetched my Guinness Book of Records to show him. I love world records. I love how certain they are. The quickest anyone has ever jumped up the steps of the CN tower on a pogo stick is fifty-seven minutes and fifty-one seconds. 1 The longest word in English with each letter in it at least twice is “unprosperousness”. There it is, a true fact, written down in this book, and if you can beat it you just send a letter to the record people and they check it and then you go in the book as a true fact too. Plus, you get to be famous.
Felix took the book from me and started flicking through it, looking for an easy one.
“Most worms eaten in thirty seconds! Do that one!”
I remembered that record. I peered over his shoulder. “That guy ate two hundred worms. I’m not eating two hundred worms!”
“Two hundred and one,” said Felix. I ignored him. He flicked over the pages. “Smallest nightclub in the world: 2.4 × 2.4 × 1.2 metres. That’s not a proper record! How old is this book?”
“I got it for Christmas.”
Felix shook his head. “Anyone can build a nightclub. What d’you need – music?”
“And strobe
Everyone thought they were mad. But it got rid of the soup.
THE OCCASIONAL WARDROBE
NIGHTCLUB
13th January
It was Mrs Willis who told me about things to do. She said we should make a list.
“Things I want to do. Or just things I want. Preferably achievable but not necessarily.”
There are lots of things I want to do. I liked writing them down. Mrs Willis liked it too. She wrote:
1. Go to the Grand Canyon.
2. Clean out the attic.
3. Get the use of a proper laboratory.
4. Learn how to make meringues.
5. Train the dog.
“Train the dog!” said Felix. “What sort of a wish is that?”
“You haven’t met the dog,” said Mrs Willis.
Felix’s list was very short. It said:
1. Be rich and famous.
2. Nuke all doctors.
3. See Green Day in concert.
“You’ve already seen Green Day in concert,” I pointed out. “You went with your brother.”
Felix bent over his list again. “There,” he said. “Happy?”
It now said:
3. See Green Day in concert AGAIN.
It was a good lesson. We spent the rest of it drawing pictures of people nuking Green Day from airships, with borders of beer-drinking ghosts going up escalators.
After Mrs Willis had gone, Felix and I stayed at the table. I started laying out my Warhammer army, in the hope that he might give me a game. Felix bent over my list with his hat pulled down over his eyes. He wears hats a lot because the drugs they gave him last year made his hair fall out. They made mine fall out too, but it’s grown back now. Felix’s hasn’t. He was wearing his fedora today, which is sort of like a squashed bowler hat. It made him look like a scruffy James Bond.
“Are you going to actually do these?” he said.
“I dunno,” I said. I was more interested in laying out my scenery. “Probably not. Why?”
“Well, we could. Couldn’t we?” He looked across at me, daring me to argue. I sifted through my box of pieces, trying to find another archer.
“They aren’t things to do really,” I explained. “They’re more like . . . wishes. Not real things.”
Felix leaned forward. He likes an argument. “So?” he said. “Mrs Willis is going to make meringues, isn’t she? So why can’t we watch horror films? Mickey’s got loads at home.”
He shoved the list across the table towards me. I looked at it.
“We could do two of them,” I said. I knelt on the seat of my chair and leaned across the table to show him. “Look. We could watch horror films and go up down-escalators. Maybe. We couldn’t do the others.”
“We could do a world record.”
“You don’t just do world records.”
I went and fetched my Guinness Book of Records to show him. I love world records. I love how certain they are. The quickest anyone has ever jumped up the steps of the CN tower on a pogo stick is fifty-seven minutes and fifty-one seconds. 1 The longest word in English with each letter in it at least twice is “unprosperousness”. There it is, a true fact, written down in this book, and if you can beat it you just send a letter to the record people and they check it and then you go in the book as a true fact too. Plus, you get to be famous.
Felix took the book from me and started flicking through it, looking for an easy one.
“Most worms eaten in thirty seconds! Do that one!”
I remembered that record. I peered over his shoulder. “That guy ate two hundred worms. I’m not eating two hundred worms!”
“Two hundred and one,” said Felix. I ignored him. He flicked over the pages. “Smallest nightclub in the world: 2.4 × 2.4 × 1.2 metres. That’s not a proper record! How old is this book?”
“I got it for Christmas.”
Felix shook his head. “Anyone can build a nightclub. What d’you need – music?”
“And strobe
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