Monthly Archives: April 2012



You spend your nights painting intricate patterns on delicate eggs.

During the day, you throw a satsuma in the air.

You aim to throw it as high as you can without hitting the ceiling.

When you feel sad, you draw pictures of octopuses and send them to your friends.

You want to turn the house into a botanical garden.

So far you only have a tiny sunflower, a pot of cress, and some basil that won’t grow.


Chapter 1


Wiggely Wu is flailing madly around the house. Up and down the stairs he zooms, taking three steps at a time. He finds it really liberating, running freely about before anyone else is up.  He smiles to himself, grateful for his enviogorating morning routine. He rushes from room to room, collecting picking up bits and bobs on his way.  ‘Tea! Tea, tea, tea!’ he sings. ‘Tea and toast, it’s what I love the most!’

He points his toes and raises his arms in the air, ready to plié out of the front door. Suddenly, he stops, realising something of fundamental importance. He doesn’t have his camera. ‘What use is a day without a camera, what use is a day without film’ he sings as he gallops back upstairs. Taking pictures is his biggest passion. After singing. And dancing, of course. He likes to document everything, ‘just in case’. ‘You never know when you might need to remember something that your brain won’t allow you to’, he tells his friends. ‘Where would that guy from Momento have been without his polaroids?’ He likes to compare his life to films, it makes him feel important.

‘Wigggelllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!! Wigelllyyyyyyyyyyyyy, NO!’ wails Clive.

Clive is Wiggely’s flatmate. He is small and chubby, and people always comment that he has many features in common with a shiitake mushroom. His head is large, flat and bald, and his body small in the height sense of the word, but ‘large’ in the weight sense. Large is actually being polite, many have previously referred to his as ‘a man mountain’ and ‘Clive the house’.

Clive is a fairly understanding person, he reckons. However, everyone has their limits. Wiggely’s morning routine exceeds Clive’s limits.

‘Wiggely!! My shift at the Mushroom Bar only finished one hour ago!! Why must you disturb my slumber like this? One day, fine, two days, OK!! But four years! Enough is enough. Either you learn to move a little less like a galluphing platypus or I’m leaving! I’m gone! Gone I tell you!’

Clive stops abruptly. He hears nothing. Yes, he thinks joyously to himself. Wiggely Wu has finally got the message. I can stay, I don’t have to move, everything is fine and wonderful, and me and Wiggely are best friends as always. He leans back on his pillow and begins to snore so loud, he drowns out Wiggely’s rendition of Kate Bush drifting up the stairs.