FIVE HAVE FUN IN LONDON
It was a beautiful day on Kirrin Island, but then again it always seemed to be a beautiful day there, as long as there weren’t any nasty types getting up to mischief. Anne and Dick were playing catch whilst Julian drank ginger beer. George and Timmy were off exploring, although heaven knew if there was any part of the island they hadn’t yet become acquainted with. Suddenly, there was a commotion as George came running up.
“I say!” she shouted. “You must all come and look at what Timmy and I have found”
“Woof” said Timmy, as if in agreement, and they all followed obediently.
They caught up with George, who led them to the old ruined cottage. This certainly wasn’t new, but they followed her in, only to find an eerie white light hovering in the living room.
“How queer,” said Anne. “I wonder what it is.”
“Look!” said George. She picked up a stick from the floor and threw it at the light. It simply disappeared like it had never even been there. As the four stood, mouths agape, Timmy did what dogs are supposed to do - he fetched the stick.
“Timmy!” shrieked George. “No!” But she was too late, and Timmy disappeared as well.
“Gosh!” Exclaimed Dick. “Whatever are we going to do?”
“We have to follow him,” stated Julian in his most grown up voice (the one that always gave Anne a strange tingle in the gusset).
They all agreed and, linking arms, stepped into the light…
… and into a war zone.
The first thing they saw was Timmy, bleeding on the street.
“Sorry luv,” said a deep, authoritative voice. “Din’t know it was anyone’s pooch - thought he was a Volgan attack hound.”
The big man looked very common indeed, and rather frightening with his steely eyes and smoking shotgun.
“Bill Savage,” he said, extending his hand. “What the fuck are you kids doin’ out on the streets?”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Julian, shaking the man’s hand and nearly yelping in pain from the grip, “but we don’t actually know where we are. We were on Kirrin Island and there was this light…”
“Volgan time tech,” said Savage knowingly. “Been dragging up all sorts shouldn’t be here. What year are you from?”
“N-Ninteen Forty six,” stammered Ann.
“Well you’re in 1990 now, kiddiewinks, and Britain’s been invaded by the Volgs. Any of you use a shooter before?”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Julian, but George had other ideas.
“They killed my fuckin’ DOG!” she snarled, picking up a pistol from a fallen Volg. “Let’s get the bastards!”
“That’s the spirit luv,” said Savage. “What’s yer name anyway?”
“Georgina,” said George, “But I hate that name. Just call me, I dunno, Silk”
“Silk it is,” grinned Savage. “Let’s go and fuck up some Volgs.”
As Savage and “Silk” scoooted off, Julian, Dick and Ann stood bemused.
They never even heard the mortar that blew them into tiny bits.
Bad show!
