Nearby a bubble.

Bad lands. The Bad Lands. Albert Bosch called the Bad Lands home. He lived there. That’s right, lived there. “Why in olden times” he would say “I didn’t used to live there at all so I never called it home, like”. A little tune would play. Deee deee deet. The car revved. Imagine a post apocalyptic world and the sort of vehicle that you would get there. Like a dune buggy with mesh on it, bits of rag and water bottles. It was nothing like that. A 1970’s New York yellow cab with a dome for a passenger cabin. Albert was at the wheel or the wheel was at Albert. It was hard to tell with these new fangled cars. The radio was permanently tuned to Radio Wool.

Three red folders looking out of the window. What are they thinking? What is their purpose? The purpose is to reflect light,minutely, not so you’d notice. Even if you were looking.

I am Sam the soldier and I strut about the place and sometimes I stand up straight. It’s tradition. Under my uniform I wear a t-shirt that says “Breakdancer”. I’m not a breakdancer, I just liked the t-shirt. I am not interested in breakdancing. I wish people would stop asking me about it. It’s just a t-shirt. I don’t ask them if they are into Nike. I have nothing against breakdancing.

The chair loomed into view once again. Albert gunned the throttle, he had no other choice. His nerves jangled. The keys in the ignition jangled. The chair sat. Oooh I like that! The Chair sat. Ha! I am rather pleased with myself.

A big map of Britain. I pointed to a place at random. Chichingsshire. I departed at once. I returned quickly to plan out the journey more carefully. Studying the map I found that I lived in Chichingsshire. I sat in my easy chair and chilled out. It was easy. I began to think that I could make a career for myself. But who would pay me? No-one probably. Some-ones always got to spoil it.

Charlie Bridle, huddled against the sharp wind and rain. He felt the side of his face going numb. He couldn’t turn his head another way because the wind would catch his hat. He couldn’t hold his hat because his hands were in his pockets. He couldn’t take his hands out of his pockets because he was an android cyborg robot and was programmed to keep his hands in his pockets. He lurched towards an immovable looking chair. It didn’t move. Nearby a bubble dome car revved it’s jet engine. Next to the car was a garden shed. The door opened a crack then opened fully. A handsome athletic man galloped elegantly away and dove majestically behind a rock. Seconds later he was peering furtively from behind the boulder. The robot smashed the chair with its big clomping feet.

The hair-cut was grand. The barber flicked the hair from his neck with a little brush. Where do you buy these brushes? The barbers shop was left far behind. The hair cut made him feel lighter. It started to rain and a cold wind whipped up. His head felt really cold. By the time he got home he had a serious sniffle. He’d have to buy a hat. One of those woolly skull caps that burglars wear.

Brain, brain, brain, brain. Brain hummmmmm. The electronic brain. A dream for all humanity. The scientist so close to realising this dream but possibly aeons away worked eagerly with bunsen burners. There was a discovery waiting to be discovered. This discovery would be called “infix outfox cacti relation” were it ever discovered. The laws laid down by Albert Bosch regarding initial rules for the artificial brain read; 1. Never, ever, immerse the artificial brain in water. 2. Switch on brain using the “brain on” switch. 3. Do not use brain during lightening storm. 4. Do not use the brain as a radio, instead buy a radio. 5. During settling in process do no use a pogo stick.

Ink. The Thermos Detect Allure Theory of Ink. Compression must be between 10 and 15%. Lower compression will cause ink to codify. Higher compression will create creptation. In between will be aaaaaall right. Test specimens should be black ink. Blue ink can give varying results. Ink will derek by 8% over a period of 15 weeks. Paper should be 150msg. Draw a picture of a horse. Then a picture of a house with a happy man at the window. Imagine the man is happy because the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. Ignore the fact that you are rubbish at drawing houses and the windows are in unlikely places.

Some people go on and on and on and on about things. Why can’t they just shut up? I would like to take them to the side, presuming they are not to the side already. If they are already to the side I will take them to the centre and have a quiet word with them. Shoosh.

Willingborough in the West Midlands is a lovely spot. The A987 runs through it like a stream through a meadow. Butterflies are in abundance.

Wall, why are you so tall?

I don’t care what the weatherman says because I live in a bio-dome. Inside the bio-dome is fantastic and I can do lots of thinks like looking out of the windows and looking at plants. Of course it’s not all roses. One day I threw a stone. I wasn’t supposed to but I did and a very important man glared at me. I acted nonchalant. I was very upset even though I hadn’t broken anything. I wish I’d thrown another stone at the important man now. To see his surprised face would fill me with glee!