In tribute to our fallen friend and colleage, Sir Jimmy Savile, who sadly passed away… um… recently, here’s an old article I wrote for a spoof news website I used to run, The Observant. I can think of no more fitting a tribute.

SIR JIMMY SAVILE SECURES GRAND NATIONAL VICTORY

First published Sat 8th April 2006

Bookmakers up and down the country were facing record payouts this afternoon, after 200-1 outsider, Sir Jimmy Savile OBE, came from behind to claim a surprise victory at the 159th Grand National at Aintree.

Savile (80) – the only competitor to race without a horse – managed to finish a full six lengths ahead of second place, Numbersixvalverde, despite stumbling and almost falling at the 25th fence after a clumsy collision with the Peter Bowen trained Ballycassidy.

Though a long time marathon veteran, this was Savile’s first attempt at the National, and pundits had all but dismissed his chances due to his age and recent race form.  At one point earlier today Ladbrokes were posting odds of 350-1 against the former Jim’ll Fix It presenter finishing in first place, though these had dropped by the time the race was due to begin.

Only one racing expert – Channel 4′s John Francome – marked the ex-Radio 1 DJ as worth watching:

“I knew the rain on Friday night would have deadened the ground a bit, just the way Savile likes it,” Francome told us after the race, “and when I spoke to him a few hours before the start he seemed relaxed and confident, but with a real desire to win burning in his eyes.”

The end of the world is coming. There’s no point crying about it, we just have to accept it and do what we can to prepare for the Day of Judgement when it eventually comes. Luckily, I’ve been given some advice on how best to get ready for The End, and being the caring sort, I thought I’d share it with you lot.

Click the image below to read my Apocalypse Dos and Don’ts. You’ll thank me for it some day.

This year the Bath Festival of Children’s Literature decided it would be a right laugh to start a blog story, co-written by a whole heap of children’s authors, illustrators, and other creative types. I was lucky enough to be asked to take part, and today is the day my little ‘chapter’ goes live.

You might want to catch up on the story so far by visiting all the blogs below. Once you’re up to speed, you’ll find my bit below.

Part 1: Bath Kids Lit Fest Blog  Part 2: The Etherington Brothers  Part 3: Annabel Pitcher
Part 4: Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell  Part 5: Hannah Shaw  Part 6: Writing from the Tub
Part 7: Lauren Kate  Part 8: Marcus Sedgwick  Part 9: Alan Gibbons  Part 10: John Boyne
Part 11: Catherine Bruton  Part 12: Achockablog Part 13: Samantha Mackintosh
Part 14: Awfully Big Blog Adventure  Part 15: Kate Maryon

And now, the story continues…

Part 16
‘Whoa, now steady on, lad,’ said Catch, fisherman of legend, submarine-builder of not inconsiderable skill. ‘You were chatting away quite the thing back in Part 12.’

Scribble grabbed for his notepad. NO I WASN’T, he wrote.

‘Yes you were. I could barely get a word in edgeways.’

WASN’T, wrote Scribble.

Catch stroked his wiry beard and narrowed his wiry eyes. ‘Well, you were, but we’ve got more important things to worry about. Like… was it my imagination, or did we just slip into present tense for a while? Summat very fishy is going on.’ He grinned. ‘Very fishy. Get it?’

Scribble, whose blue fur was growing back in at an astonishing rate – much to his relief – picked up his notepad. I GOT IT, he wrote. HA HA.

‘That was a sarcastic laugh,’ sniffed Catch. ‘You wrote that sarcastic.’

OH, I SOOOOO DIDN’T, scribbled Scribble.

‘And that,’ said Catch. ‘But enough of this. We’re back in past tense again, so let’s just pray we stay there.’

He nudged the throttle and spun the wheel. There was a creaking from outside the submarine, but they were firmly snagged in the underwater foliage. He pressed the button marked: Do Not Press This Button. He could remember building the button, but he could no longer remember why. There was a faint ping from somewhere close by, but nothing else happened. They were well and truly stuck. The sub was going nowhere.

Catch slumped down onto the bench he had nailed together just that very morning. ‘I don’t know about you, lad but this adventure is really taking its toll. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen down here, but my brain’s gone all fuzzy. I feel the need to recap what’s happened so far.’

Scribble scrawled a note on his paper: THAT’LL HELP EVERYONE TOO LAZY TO READ THE OTHER PARTS, TOO.

Catch winked. That had been the sly old rogue’s plan all along. ‘Basically, I see it like this,’ he began. ‘The moon fell into the sea, an old mermaid gave us a box of magic junk…’

MOBY DORIS, wrote Scribble, helpfully.

‘I wish you’d just talk again,’ sighed Catch. ‘You have a voice that enchants and delights like the giggle of a baby angel.’

Scribble wrote on his page and held it up:

‘Harsh but fair,’ Catch conceded. ‘So, Moby Doris gave us the magic junk, we built this submarine, your hair fell out, grew back, you spoke, you didn’t, and now we’re stuck at the bottom of the ocean.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I haven’t met her yet, but I’m getting the feeling the moon’s going to turn out to be a right miserable cow. Have I missed anything?’

YES, wrote Scribble. MINNALOUSHE.

Catch’s wrinkled old brow wrinkled even further. ‘Minnaloushe? That was one of the words you wrote a minute ago, when you were going mental, wasn’t it? That and something about Scotland. What’s Minnaloushe?’

NOT WHAT, Scribble wrote. WHO.

‘Oh,’ said Catch. ‘Well who’s Minnaloushe, then?’

Scribble slid his pencil into the spiral binding of his pad, then set the pad down on the floor. His stubby fingers reached around to the back of his head and fumbled there for a moment. There was a sound, short and quiet, but deafening in the silence of the submarine.

ZZZZZIP.

Scribble’s fur fell away – not in clumps this time, but suddenly and all at once. It landed on the floor of the submersible with a soft thud. A black shape was revealed where Scribble had stood. It stepped out of the furry blue suit and Catch gave a sharp gasp. The figure that had until a moment ago been Scribble gestured down at the white T-Shirt it wore. The words: I AM MINNALOUSHE were printed on the front of the shirt.

And below that, in smaller writing: DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU?

____________________________________________________________

So that was my contribution to the story. I hope you enjoyed it, and will follow along to see what happens when My Favourite Books takes up the tale on Monday 10th October.

I’ve done a guest blog post for the Edinburgh International Book Festival, all about the short story I wrote for them as part of the Elsewhere project.

Go, check it out. Clicky clicky.

I recently found a load of old newspaper style articles I wrote for a website I used to run, and have decided to start updating some of them and reprinting them here. What better way to start, on his most historic of days, than with a Royal announcement from Her Maj? You might have to click the image to make it large enough to read properly.

Late last year, I was asked to write a short story for the Edinburgh International Book Festival’s website, based on the theme of “Elsewhere”. The story could be about anything, as long as it incorporated the theme of new, different places in some form or another.

My interpretation of the theme was a story called THE UNCLAIMED GIRL. It is now available to read online for free on the festival’s website. To read the story on the page, click here. There’s a link next to my photo to download the story as a PDF file. I recommend doing that, as it makes it much easier to read. PDF files can be opened by most computers without any problems.

It’s nothing at all like INVISIBLE FIENDS, so I’d be interested to hear what everyone thinks.

Because the first part of this list became a bit image heavy, I thought it was best to break it into two posts. Also, I couldn’t be bothered finishing it at the time, if I’m being completely honest.

I’m not even going to finish it this time, either. I’m going to do another two things from my list, and then hit you with the last one later in the week. How d’you like THEM apples?

It’s not even Hallowe’en any more, so I don’t even know why I’m doing this, but here goes…

3. The Theme Tune to News at Ten

Some of my readers will be too young to remember the News at Ten theme as it sounded when I was growing up in the 1980s. If you haven’t heard it, or if you need a refresher, have a listen now.

ITN News at Ten – 1982

It actually starts out reasonably OK, but quickly builds to a frenzied, ominous finale designed to chill your very soul.

Somehow, the News at Ten theme manages to go beyond being merely a scary piece of music, and becomes a musical representation of terror itself. News bulletins rarely report happy news, but the News at Ten theme was so sinister and foreboding I always expected the headline story to concern the imminent end of the world, complete with graphic depictions of blood pouring from the sky and plagues of insects descending on terrified children.

In fact, it could very well be the theme tune to Armageddon itself. Come the Day of Judgement, we will all be lined up as the News at Ten music is pumped out of hidden speakers at a bone-shattering volume. Then, with each Apocalyptic BONG, another million souls will be sent hurtling headlong into the fiery pits of Damnation.

“Death is coming” – that’s the warning implied by the News at Ten theme. “And it is coming for you.”

2. Inhaling a Wasp

I’ve had my share of problems with wasps over the years, leading to me writing an open letter to their entire species a few years back. Like a lot of people, I’m wary of being stung by wasps, although the number of stings I’ve had mean I’m quite relaxed about the whole experience now.

But those are stings on the outside. I have recently found myself wondering what would a sting on the inside be like? Specifically, what would it be like to be stung repeatedly on the lining of my lungs, following the accidental inhalation of a wasp or wasps?

I don’t know why I specifically mentioned the “accidental inhalation” of wasps there, as if anyone would ever deliberately inhale one. Still, you never know, I suppose.

Picture the scene – you’re out walking on a pleasant summer’s day. You’ve fed the ducks, watched children playing with their dogs, and you decide to take a stroll up a nearby hill to enjoy the view. You’re halfway to the top, breathing heavily, but feeling more alive than you’ve felt in years when – BAM! – you inhale a wasp.

You cough and splutter, but it’s too late – the wasp has already been sucked into your respiratory system. In one sharp intake of breath it has been pulled through your windpipe, and has become trapped in the mucus membrane lining of one of your lungs.

What would happen next is anyone’s guess, but in the eight-hundred or more times I have imagined this exact scenario, the wasp would quickly become panicked and enraged, and start attacking for all its tiny life was worth. Again and again it would plunge its venomous stinger into the inside of your lung, causing wave after wave of excruciating pain.

What’s more, because of the steady flow of air into your lungs, the wasp would likely stay alive for hours in there, if not days, stinging you over and over again until it eventually died of hunger or thirst. That’s assuming, of course, that it couldn’t eat and drink your lungs mucus lining – if it could, then it’d stay alive for anything up to 25 days, before eventually dying of old age. Inside your lung. Where it would remain, slowly decomposing, for years to come. The nasty little bugger.

Right, that’s it for part two of Five Frightening Fings. Come back tomorr… er, some time quite soon for the Grand Finale.

In honour of All Hallow’s Eve, today I’m going to take you through some of the things that cause me fear, distress and alarm. I’ve mentioned a few of my irrational fears in the past, so I won’t be going back over those again today. Instead, I’ll be digging deeper into my disturbed psyche, right down into the darkest depths. Let’s see what gets dredged up in my FIVE FRIGHTENING FINGS!

5. Stuffed animals

No, I don’t mean teddy bears and the like, I mean this sort of glassy-eyed unpleasantness:

Taxidermy. The art of taking a dead animal, tearing out its guts, then ramming it full of sawdust. The result? A dignity-free afterlife for the animal, a dose of unrelenting terror for me.

I mean… why? What’s the purpose? Who can honestly say they would enjoy being inside that room, with all those vacant, yet somehow accusing expressions staring blankly down? I think if I ever found myself inside such a room, my brain and central nervous system would simply switch themselves off, killing me instantly. That’s how scared I’d be.

I found this image on a Taxidermy site online. Perhaps the most worrying thing is, it isn’t even the worst image. Check out this gallery and see for yourself.

Actually, I’ve just looked back myself and found this picture:

What in God’s name is that red thing in the middle?? The thing with the demon’s eyes and teeth? What is that? That’s no animal I’ve ever seen. Not while awake, anyway.

Right, onto the next one before a panic attack renders me immobile.

4. Everything in the sea

Now, I don’t just mean this sort of thing…

…although, that picture is probably enough to stop me so much as washing my face for at least four days. But no, I literally mean everything in the sea. Little fishies like the ones in Finding Nemo, seahorses, turtles, crabs, seaweed, jellyfish, starfish, Michael Fish – whatever, if it lives in the sea, and it isn’t on a plate with chips, I want nowt to do with it.

Why? Because the sea is dark and cold and filled with things that can sting, or bite, or nip, or – in some cases – impale human beings until they die in horrific agony. Going for a swim in the sea is the equivalent of going for a picnic in a monster’s cave. Oh, sure, there’s always a chance the monster won’t be around, but what if he is, people? What if he is??

Don’t believe me? Here’s some things you’ll find waiting for you in our oceans…

The Frillshark.

The Viperfish

The Blobfish. I have a recurring nightmare involving waking up and finding one of these lying on my chest and/or face.

I have no idea. Seriously, not a clue.

See what I mean? When you go into the sea, you are entering uninvited into these creatures’ home. So, if anything happens to you, you’ve only yourself to blame.

That’s it for part 1. Come back later for Five Frightening Fings Part 2.

There I am, earlier today, playing a quiz machine in a well known family restaurant chain while we await our main course. I’m playing the game with my eight-year-old son, Kyle, but of course I mean I’m pressing the buttons the nanosecond I know the answer, while he sits patiently by, hoping to get a chance to contribute in some way.

Anyway, we’re motoring on fine, one question away from winning five shiny £1 coins. It’s a tense moment, but – thank the gods – an Entertainment question comes up. I’m good at Entertainment category questions. Actually, I’m only good at Entertainment category questions, so this is a good sign of some riches to come.

Up comes the question:

Q. Which actor did NOT appear in the 1972 movie ‘Sleuth’?

And the three possible answers:

1) Michael Caine

2) Roger Moore

3) Laurence Olivier

I’m excited. I know Michael Caine was definitely in it, and I have a Try Again left, so even if I guess wrong the first time, I can choose the other answer I know, by default, must be right.

I’m so confident, in fact, that I choose 3) Laurence Olivier, even though I’ve got a hazy memory of him being in the film (which I saw, once, when I was twelve). Sure enough, the screen flashes red, and I’m told to Try Again.

My finger moves up the screen and hovers over 2) Roger Moore. Just as I am about to press it, though, a woman at the fruit machine next to me leans in and says, “It’s Michael Caine.”

“No,” I reply, pointing to the question. “It’s which actor was NOT in Sleuth.”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Michael Caine.”

From the corner of my eye I see question time limit ticking down. “Michael Caine was in it,” I say. Suddenly, I’m not sure, though. Suddenly, I’m doubting myself. “Michael Caine was in Sleuth, wasn’t he?”

“He was in the remake, not the first one.”

Tick, tick, tick.

She’s right, he was in the remake, but he was in the original, too, I’m sure of it.

Only I’m not sure any more. And there are three seconds left. Panicking, I jab a thumb against 1) Michael Caine. The screen flashes red. GAME OVER fills the monitor.

I look over to the woman on my left. She nods.

“See?” she says, and then returns to her fruit machine as if nothing had happened.

I frickin’ knew it was Roger Moore, as well.

On the day before the 250th blog post we’re taking a look back at the very 1st one. It was written on my mobile phone, using a tiny bluetooth keyboard, as I travelled to Glasgow to meet Kathryn Ross, who would soon after become my agent. Back then, Invisible Fiends was still called Imaginary Friends Reunited, and had yet to be sent to a publisher. I had written Beastly! for Egmont, but hadn’t yet done any of the now-too-many-to-count Ben 10 books.

I wasn’t yet engaged, my daughter, Mia, hadn’t been born, I slept more… So many things have changed since that first post, so why not remind yourself of a simpler time by reading it now?

As for today’s thing that scared me…

I’m not sure if I was ‘scared’ by this so much as sickened by it. Let’s see what it is first, and then I’ll explain why it had such a horrible effect on me.

Holy two-way communication device!

In the 1960s Batman TV show, the Gotham City Police Department elected not to summon Batman by projecting his Bat-Signal into the sky, but rather just to call him up on the Batphone, as depicted above. It’s a much more sensible option, not only because of the money saved on electricity – high-powered searchlights cost a fortune to run – but also because the Bat-Signal only works when it’s cloudy. Also, it only works at night, and since Batman battled evil during the day in that show, the Bat-Signal was all sorts of pointless.

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I had a part time job at a local supermarket. Every Saturday morning, I’d be awoken by my alarm at 5am, so I could get up and get ready to start work at 6am. Being a teenager, I had no idea 5am even existed until I started that job, and so when my alarm screeched out at me as the rest of the world slept, I often felt like crying.

It was made worse by the fact that A) the job was terrible, and B) my immediate superior – and the only other person on duty with me at the time – was a 19 year old half-wit with a curly mullet (the hairstyle I mean, not the fish). Those early Saturday mornings were among the least pleasant of my life, and it was always with a heavy heart that I dragged myself out of bed to walk – through the dark and the wind and the rain – to work.

What’s any of that got to do with the Batphone? The noise the Batphone makes when it rings is the exact noise my old alarm clock used to make when it went off. As a result, whenever I catch an episode of Batman and the Batphone rings, my heart sinks and I am transported back to those agonisingly unpleasant mornings from 17 years ago. I feel my chest tighten and my breathing begin to race, as I suffer what can only be a mild panic attack.

So that’s yer lot for the Countdown to 250. Join me tomorrow, for a special 250th blog post, on the day the winner of the first ever Author Blog Awards is due to be announced at the London Book Fair (assuming anyone can get there, what with the volcano an’ that). I’m not going to win it, obviously, but it has been fun to be in the running all the same. My money’s on Neil Gaiman, but I’ve been known to be wrong before.

Once.

A long, long time ago.