Alien Covenant’s Effect On My Attitude Toward Nocturnal Animals In Our Loft…

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animals, fear, film, France, French, Humor

 

It’s Friday afternoon, I’ve just watched the trailer for the new Alien film: Alien Covenant.

 

It looks like standard Alien-fare, lots of scared people running away from aliens, wishing they had made better career choices. I dismiss it, thinking it will be a decent rental, and get on with my day.

 

Flash-forward (remember that tv series? dreadful stuff) to 2 a.m and I’m woken by my partner, who has heard a noise and thinks there’s something in the room.

 

We quickly realise that it’s not inside the room – it’s in the loft above our heads.

 

It’s clearly an animal, you can hear its little feet scampering to-and-fro.

 

I say little, but at 2 a.m everything takes on added menace.

 

I flash-back (maybe that will make a better tv series?) to the trailer for Ridley Scott’s latest, imagining face-huggers, and acid-blooded-beasties up there.

 

So when my partner offers to go and fetch the ladders, so I can go up there, in the dark, and find out what it is, my response is both immediate and gallant.

 

‘No, I’m not going up there, let’s leave it till the morning’.

 

It’s the morning now.

 

I still haven’t been up there.

 

Bloody Alien films!

So Yesterday We Found A Round Of Live Ammunition In Our Box Of Lego…

Tags

bizarre, bullets, dangerous, funny, guns, Humor, lego, Parenting, police, toys, weapons

I love charity shops. Those places where all the things that people don’t want, but don’t want to throw away, end up. One man’s rubbish is another man’s treasure, or so the saying goes.

One of my favourite potential treasure-troves to go to is in the centre of our town, it’s a large shop covering two floors and is run by the charity SCOPE (previously The Spastics Society). I’ve picked up many interesting items here over the years, but recently – and for fairly obvious reasons – have started to focus my searching on toys.

One of the main toy ranges I keep my eyes peeled for are Lego sets, due to them being ridiculously overpriced to buy brand-new (unless it’s reduced, then it’s only slightly-comically overpriced).

And yesterday myself and my daughter stumbled over this gem, in good condition, seemingly complete and hailing all the way from 1997.

We got back home together and we eagerly opened the box, to check the completeness of our bargain find.

This is what the contents of the box revealed:

Now this is where things get interesting because, as the keen-eyed amongst you may have noticed, this Lego set is slightly more complete than usual.

That’s not a comedy key-ring in there, or a hollowed-out souvenir, oh no.  Nestled in there, amongst the Lego bricks and dust is a live, lethal, unlikely but oh-so-real bullet.

To say this is not something one expects to come across in a Lego set is an understatement.

I am no gun-nut, I’m not even a gun-peanut butter, my knowledge of them and bullets extends to what I see on the TV and in films. I really should have paid more attention to CSI (when it was good, so not for long).

What do you do with a bullet? Can’t throw it away, some kid could find it. Can’t throw it in the bin, it could go off in the crusher. Bury it?

In the end I opt for the safest option.

I call the police (hoping that they won’t take my Lego too!).

They listen with interest, tell me they’ll send someone over, and advise me to put it somewhere safe and contact the charity shop, in case there are any other toys with dangerous objects from the same batch. A 1992 Action Man with ‘realistic’ weaponry? An ET with an extra-terrifying tomahawk? or perhaps a Spot Goes To The Park, with a razor blade in each page? The mind boggles.

I duly telephone the charity shop and explain the situation to them over the phone. ‘Does it have a barcode, or is it just the generic 320 code?’ the lady says to me. I confirm it’s just the 320 code. ‘Oh, OK, I’ll look into it’ she says ending the conversation, and displaying all the concern of someone who has just been told that she needs to move the clothes rack for middle-aged men to the back of the store. Not someone that has just been told her toys may all be filled with potentially lethal ‘bonus’ items.

I tell my cousin about her complete lack of surprise at this completely surprising piece of information. Perhaps, I say to him, this happens all the time in charity shops. ‘JST GOT TWO BULLETS WV MY BIG MAC’ he texts me ‘THEY MST B ON SPECIAL OFFER’. Always the joker my cousin.

After a couple of hours of me sweating slightly whilst the bullet rests in its ‘safe place’ outside (in the recycle bin, wrapped up in a carrier bag, standard operating procedure of the SAS I believe) the police arrive.

It’s a jovial policeman, which is nice. In my limited dealings with the police I’ve encountered two types: Jovial and serious. I’m glad it’s the former type, we can make light of the matter and things won’t be too serious.

I soon change my mind about the joviality when he jovially puts the bullet in a plastic tube and then jovially rattles it, making me take a step back and do something in my pants that we will all regret later.

It is indeed live, he informs my daughter and I, and it’s a 556 round, as used by our lads in the armed forces. ‘Great’, I say to him, ‘I’ve been pushing a pram around town for two hours with live ammo in the basket underneath’ (I’ll accept my father of the year award now, thank you very much).

He takes down the relevant details, doesn’t take my Lego – much to my relief – and pockets the bullet; incredibly casually I might add. ‘We get a few of these each week’, he says to me, heading out the door ‘The lads at the station will probably stick it in a tube and fire it’ (he’s almost giggling while he says this).

As he heads off up the path he has some final words of wisdom for me ‘Just don’t ring us if you find a live hand-grenade, we’re not interested in those’.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief at now having a bullet-free household. It’s been a memorable day, not so much the bullet as other people’s reactions. For me it was such a bizarre and EXTREMELY dangerous thing to find, particularly in the context in which I found it. The charity shop people and the police reacted with a scary degree of casualness about it.

Maybe there are more guns and bullets in my ‘Gun-Free’ country than I previously thought.

Or maybe it’s just that Charity shops are fronts, for shady arms-dealing gangs, the police are in on it and this could be my last blog post.

Hold on, there’s someone at the door………………………………..

 

 

A ruin with a view…

Tags

stay-at-home Dad

We decide to take a trip out to our local site of historical interest, a castle. They’ve tried to big it up in my local area, putting in a visitor’s centre, better signage and even installing a set of steps up to the main viewing area.

But there’s not really much castle left when all’s said and done, just a few walls and some interesting grates that descend into murky depths littered with empty cans of Fosters, Carling, Red Bull and more Fosters. I think the locals are having a drinking game to see which happens quickest – the rest of the castle decays or they fill up the wells with empty beer cans.

Criticism aside it is set in beautiful rolling countryside and has plenty of room for little monsters to run around, which is exactly why I decide to let my two loose, on a lovely sunny day.

I generally keep the little one locked down in either her trike or pram. Today however I decide to let her stretch her legs and enjoy the remains of the castle.

This all goes well until her brother decides to go adventuring to the lower parts of this lovely, lovely ruin accessed via steps.

Now I’m a patient guy, but I’m also keenly aware that I have shopping to do, clothes that need ironing and Christmas cards to write. In short my daughter takes her sweet time moving. Unless there’s food involved, then she can reach 88-miles-an-hour in times that Marty McFly would be envious of.

So, to stave of starvation and old age, I decide to pick her up and carry her up and down the stairs, and around the castle, as she is prone to just coming to a dead stop and refusing to budge. This doesn’t go down well though, and she voices her dissatisfaction very loudly.

I notice a couple of ladies stood a little apart, with their dogs, watching us approach. I don’t think much of this having gotten used to people staring at me when one (or both) of the kids is crying.

However I know something is up when one of them approaches me. ‘Excuse me’ she says with a very worried expression on her face. I immediately put my daughter down. Had I been carrying her incorrectly? I thought. Surely using just one leg is sufficient and she hadn’t been upside-down that long. ‘Could you have a look over here’ I look and see what she is pointing at. Next to one of the larger walls of the castle is a bundle of quilts, with a pair of shoes next to them.

Her friend is on the phone, and judging by the conversation she’s talking to the police. ‘We don’t know what to do and it’s freaking me out’ she continues ‘I’ve tried saying something but there’s been no reaction. I’m not sure if there’s a person under there or what…’ she trails off with worry in her eyes.

I check the kids are OK, they are, the girl is watching events unfold with interest while the boy is clambering around on what possibly used to be a WC.

I approach the pile of quilts, shouting out ‘Hello!’ several times, and wondering what to do. After all, unless they’ve been left out for charity I’m unaccustomed to seeing quilts and shoes outdoors. I’ve just about decided to pull them up and go ‘AHA!’ in my best Alan Partridge voice when there’s movement.

A tall hairy man throws the quilt covers back, as though his alarm’s just gone off and he’s got to go to work, and stands up. ’Are you ok?’ I say to him, several times. He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even look me in the eye, just calmly folds up his quilt, puts on his shoes and ambles off. He doesn’t have a bag for the quilt. I wonder where he’s come from? Has he had a falling out with the missus? Come over from Calais? Maybe I’ll see him next month on one of the many Channel 5 Benefits programmes?

I tell the lady and her friend that they can call off the police. He’s going, and he’s not dead. ‘At least he had a lovely view during his stay here’ I say to the two ladies heading back to my kids. The laddo is clambering round one of the larger walls now. He starts moving round the corner of one, then stops and comes back the other way. The man-with-no name must really like the view. He’s relocated twelve feet to the left, got back under his quilts and gone back to sleep. His shoes neatly placed next to the quilt. Now there’s something you don’t see every day.