Gone Fishing

I sat by the river watching the rain drops expand in little circles on the surface. It was peaceful here. I like places like this. The rain didn't bother me because, although it was now quite heavy, my coat was more than a match - it had survived Welsh hillsides.


I had picked this spot on the bank as it was nicely away from everyone. There are times to be sociable and times when even two is a crowd. I was thusly a little annoyed when an old chap, wearing full fisherman's clothes came and sat beside me.

He stuck up conversation. It wasn't what I wanted, but I'm not a rude man. I just hoped he'd get bored and move on.

"So what bait are you using?"

"None at all."

"And are you being successful?"

"Indeed." It was true. Before coming here I was quite tense. Now I was relaxed and quite at peace.

He looked at my fishing rod and then back at me. "That must be quite some technique you have there."

I couldn't think of anything to say, and as I wasn't trying very hard, I said nothing.

"That's very thin line you must be using. I don't think I can see it."

"Line?"

"Yes, fishing line. Some of the brand new Dyneema stuff?"

"Oh no, there's no line there at all. Can't stand fish."

Clock Watching

"Remind me why we've climbed all the way up here?" I said as the wind whistled past my ears.

"It's a fantastic view, isn't it?"

"Roth, you just answered a question with a question. That's supposed to be rude."

"Look down there. Eolist is doing a great job holding off the security people." he paused. "Oooh, that's gonna hurt in the morning!"

Below I could see a small woman, coffee cup outstretched in one hand to prevent spillage facing a burly security guard. It looked a truly unfair match. That said two other security guards were sitting on the ground, back to back rubbing their heads. The uneven opponents were circling each other. In a lightning move Eolist lurched forward and tweaked his knee. He went rigid and fell.

"First time I've seen that - the Eolist Knee Pinch. Like the Vulcan Nerve Pinch but so much lower down."

"I'm done. Time to climb down, if you'll excuse the pun."

We reached ground floor. Eolist was just finishing coffee. "Did you get it done?"

Roth answered, "We've got five minutes to get away from here. We should go."

We dashed through the backstreets and finally stopped by a little cafe. Then it happened. The noise was deafening.

CUCKOOOOO! BOING.

Out of Context

It was completely black. Up was black, left and right were black. The sofa we were sitting on was black. Down was black. I'm sure that if I checked, behind us would be black too. Occasionally there would be a shimmer in the distance and then the black would re-assert itself.

"Where are my legs?" asked Roth.

"We are both a little out of context here. Actually, quite a long way out of context," I replied. "It's probably normal."

"How am I going to eat a pizza off my lap? I don't seem to have one."

"Don't worry, there won't be a pizza delivery for at least 13.75 billion years."

Roth became the only white thing I could see and passed out.

Time passed, I looked at my watch and nudged Roth awake. I pointed him to a tiny pinpoint of light an indeterminate distance in front of us.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Possibly."

"It's fabulous."

"It might be. It has the potential to be. I've seen this a few times before and it doesn't always make it."

The tiny pinpoint expanded to a blindingly bright patch like the sun, only blue-white. Like the sun after it had been given a really good wash on a soap powder commercial. Then the patch forged outwards and overwhelmed us. The shimmer turned into ripples as the light hit us.

This time it had made it. The brightness calmed down and things shot past us, buffeting the shimmer. It was impossible to identify the things. They just weren't things we'd recognise.

"So that dot of light is the universe, and we were outside it watching it expand? The Big Bang."

"Yes, except we're not outside it, because there is no outside to be out in?"

"Then where are we?"

"Does the sofa seem familiar?"

"Yes. Are we still in my living room?"

"Does the Big Bang happen often in your living room?"

"I didn't think so, although admittedly now I'm not so sure."

"This whole construct is generated from the power of our minds. The mind can travel where physically we couldn't be."

"How do we get back?"

"It's very similar to the Wizard Of Oz. A sort of there's no place like home. To make it easy I have put the suggestion in our minds that we'll return when the stop button of the remote control is pressed."

"Where is the remote control?"

"Oh, bugger!"

Several minutes go by whilst we hunt for the remote control down the back of the sofa. It isn't helped by the black sofa, black remote control and generally black surroundings.

Roth succeeded. "Found it. Shall I push the stop button?"

"Yes, but make sure your mind is clear when you do. Remember this place is a construct of our minds."

There was a blinding flash. We were back in Roth's living room.

"Roth?"

"Yes."

"You didn't clear your mind, did you?"

"I did so."

"Then why is there a zebra sitting on my lap with a swirl of cream on it's head topped with a cherry?"

"Oh!"

I am not iDifficult

"I am not iDifficult" to paraphrase the title of Leonard Nimoy's autobiography "I am not Spock" (Although it should be noted the second volume of his autobiography is entitled "I am Spock").

I have changed the name of my unwholesome blog and my even more disreputable twitter account. I just got fed up with iDifficult. It started as weak joke and then developed life of its own. It was like using a placeholder name in a novel, and then discovering after publication that it was still there. Thankfully, I hadn't picked John Thomas. So for a while now I have looked for a new Non de Plume, or I guess since this is all typed, a Nom Du Clavier.

I thought about why I needed a pen name. Some of my friends write under their own names, so why shouldn't I? Mostly because the contents of this blog are works of fiction. It's not about my life, but about the lives of make believe characters doing odd and hopefully fun things. It doesn't feel right writing fiction using my own name. I also don't want comments made by my fictional character to be attributed to me just by googling my name. I'm proud of what I write (mostly), but I don't want words from my first person character(s) being taken of as my own personal viewpoint.

So after nearly ten minutes of really hard thinking, I have come up with a Non de Plume of Dr Maximilian Tunguska. I have renamed this blog to The Tunguska Event, as that is nicely fitting.

My blog's old URL http://www.idifficult.org or http://iDifficult.org will be around until the end of March after which it will no longer work. http://iDifficult.blogspot.com has already gone the way of the pink finned dodo. The new URL is http://TheTunguskaEvent.blogspot.com .

Likewise I have changed my twitter account from @iDifficult to @Dr_Tunguska. I'm applying the same rules - try to sell me something and I block you. Instantly.

I'm sure the character formerly known as iDifficult shall appear in a blog near you with Indigo Roth and Eolist Petite wearing a large friendly badge saying "Hi, I'm Dr Max" soon.

Memories of Unreal Things

I don't dream often. Or rather I dream as much as everyone else, but I seldom remember them. Occasionally I wake during the night, catch the edge of a dream and think, "gosh, that was interesting, I must remember it." Come morning, I've forgotten the dream, but annoyingly not the feeling of how fantastic the dream was, or of my desire to hold onto it.

So last night was a bit special. I had a most splendid dream and I can tell you about it now.

In my dream I went to see a film and it was a film I was really looking forward to seeing. I'd been to the concession stall and bought a bucket of coca-cola, some salty popcorn and something with melted cheese and nachos.

As I sat down and watched, the story unfolded. Now here's the weird bit - all the characters in this film were friends. Freud would have been taking notes furiously. The victorian doctors would have prepared me for a lobotomy.

The movie was fantastic. As I left, I turned an looked at the poster:

Never Rush

Honestly, please don't. I did and I fell over one of these:

So nice of them to warn me, I thought.

The Man From The Ministry

Night falls quickly this time of year. I was sitting looking out of the open window drinking a cup of tea. In the garden beyond something moved. I couldn't make out what it was in the gloom. A cat screeched and scrambled over the fence. But still something moved.

I heard wood splinter and could just about see one of my sheds leaning at an odd angle. There was more shattering of wood, a creak and the shed disappeared from view.

I shut the window and bolted the back door. As I sat back down, a dark shape cut across the window. A metal dustbin lid fell to the floor.

Since October things had been going missing at dusk. Everything from garden chairs, a particularly promising Stilton to a neighbour's Pomeranian. Equally strange was the complete absence of Roth. Could the events be connected? Was, even now, Roth sitting with his feet up eating cheese with a small dog bouncing around his feet?

There was a knock on the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Given the strange goings on in the garden, I found myself in need of a change of underwear. I picked up a heavy metal torch and walked over to the door. I had no idea what to expect. I mean, who lives in the cupboard under the stairs?

Slowly I opened the door and a man walked out, stretching up to his full height.

"What were you doing in there? Waiting for the Hogwarts Express?"

"I was in your basement."

"I don't have a basement."

"You do now - I dug one. I needed a base of operations to overlook the strange goings on in your garden."

I hadn't noticed until now that he was dressed in full Victorian hunting gear and carrying a blunderbuss. The look in his eyes gave the impression he hadn't slept for some days.


He held out his hand and said, "I'm Jenkins from the Ministry of Dangerous Vegetables."

"There's a Ministry for that?"

"Indeed sir, your tax money is hard at work."

"I have reason to believe that you have an infestation of Crepuscular Rhubarb in your garden."

"Crepuscular Rhubarb?"

"Very nasty sir. Hunts in packs at dusk and dawn, very dangerous. Although this lot doesn't do much at dawn, as it is a late variety."

We sat down and I made the man from the Ministry a cup of tea, for which, like most Englishmen he was disproportionately grateful. I spoke of the strange goings on in the garden. My shed, garden chair and cheese. My neighbour's dog-napping.

"We've not heard of a case like this well, erm, ever. It's very serious."

"Are there many cases of dangerous vegetables The Ministry investigates?"

"You're the first."

"How long has this ministry been going?"

"Since the Great War."

"This is the first case since it was set up? Why?"

"Mostly I suspect we weren't looking in the right places."

"No, I meant why have a ministry set up for a problem we don't have?"

"Not read much about British Politics have you?"

"I guess not. Do you think you'll be long?"

"Could be another few months before I've cleared the your garden of this menace. In the meantime, you can feel safe the government is on your side and feels your pain. Also lock all your doors and windows after dusk." With this he disappeared back into the cupboard under the stairs and locked the door after him.

Shortly afterwards there was a tap on the backdoor. I walked over threw it open and Roth stepped in. He was wearing a suit and had his pockets stuffed with huge leafed vegetables. He had one extra large leaf on this head. From a distance he looked like a market garden.

"Brandy?"

"Oh, yes please. Goodness this is hard work. Gave the Pom back yesterday - his continuous yapping was driving me potty. Oh and sorry about your shed."