Happy Birthday to me ?

Fri 13th March “Happy Birthday to me.”

I’m Harry Van Goth and most people say I’m well… a bit Weird. But that’s a matter of opinion, and in my opinion, which of course is the most important opinion of all. It’s the rest of the world that’s weird. I know what’s really going on around here and by the time you’ve finished reading this diary so will you. A word of warning though, things can get pretty odd and a bit scary around this town, not your normal riding on a rollercoaster kind of scary, but proper teeth chatteringly, nail bitingly, knee knockingly scary.
Today’s my Birthday and I got a whole load of fantastic presents. Mum and Dad got me the Jef Metal and the Zombie Killers Live dvd, which is awesome, my favourite band ever. From my Sister I got a video game gift voucher and who wouldn’t want that?. But then came the “iffy present’s” Item number one; A matching Slug Man vest, pants and socks set from Mrs Simpleton next door. (her real name is Mrs Stephenson, but Simpleton suits her a lot better.). I mean Slug Man! come on. That’s the worst super hero ever. His super power is “the awfully sticky slug trail” and what use is that to anyone? he can’t even fight off salt!! What’s even worse is that Slug Man is Mrs Simpletons own creation and she knitted the vest, pants and Socks herself. And it gets even worse, she used wool that was unpicked from old jumble sale jumpers. This means that second hand wool which has probably been under someone’s sweaty armpit, has now been turned into under wear especially for me. How thoughtful. I might as well just rub my bottom on a strangers armpit and save Mrs Simpleton the bother of Knitting. I’m all for recycling but that’s going just a little bit too far. Maybe next year she’ll just knit me a card instead. I can live in hope.
Then came item number two; A Diary from Great Aunt Beryl. I bet you’re thinking what’s wrong with a diary? Well normally there’d be nothing at all wrong with a diary? but this particular one is 3 years out of date and partially used, by someone called Mrs B. A. frayed, ooooooh Be Afraid be very Afraid. Not only does THE BAG (that’s GAB backwards, which is short for Great Aunt Beryl ) obviously not like me, she then gives me a rubbish present just to make sure I know it, and then she tries to scare me
by putting a made up “spooky” name in the Diary. “I do hope it’s not a haunted Diary Harry my dear” she cackled when I opened the diary and read the name out loud. “I’ll give her “Harry My dear” the old bat.” Well I‘m going to ruin her fun. I’ve decided to use the diary, partially to annoy The BAG, but also to keep a record of all the bizarreness, oddness and unexplainable things that are bound to happen this year. You see unexplained things are my thing, because everything that’s unexplained has a reasonable explanation. And you have to be able to see that something’s weird in the first place before you can explain why it’s weird. And like I‘ve said, I know that the world and some of the things that go on in it are very, very, very weird.


Sat 14th March
Today started as an extraordinarily ordinary Saturday. I woke up at 8am, actually it was more a case of opening one eye looking at the clock, yawning and going back to sleep. I woke up properly at 9:35 and 12 seconds precisely and spent a good few minutes trying to lick my elbow, someone had told me it’s impossible to lick your own elbow and after 15 attempts I think I agree. I eventually got up at 10 am, brushed my teeth, went downstairs and had a huge bowl of rice crispie’s and ketchup, my favourite. Just as well really as I’m allergic to milk. It was no added sugar ketchup of course, sugar’s very bad for you. After breakfast I went into the lounge where something very, very far from ordinary had occurred. My pet Cat Frankenstein was DEAD!!
I found him stiff as a board on the living room floor. He looked more like a crispy ginger wig than a cat. But Frankenstein wasn’t just any old kind of dead, he was dead from food poisoning and unfortunately the food that had poisoned him was my pet Fish R2D2 the Third. I don’t have much luck with fish, you probably guessed that from the “the Third” bit of my departed aquatic friends name. The evidence was there on the floor right before my eyes. Frankenstein was laying next to the overturned fish bowl which was a bit of a give away. Obviously I was very upset, a double whammy. I mean buy one get one free in a supermarket is great but this wasn‘t great at all. Something smelled fishy about this and it wasn’t R2D2 the third. The real question was, who had poisoned my fish in the first place? Although I’m pretty sure Goldfish don’t make the best sushi, I’ve never heard of a poisonous one. There could be only one logical explanation. Aliens had abducted my Fish, taken him to their spaceship and performed tests on him. Then they erased his memory so he couldn‘t tell anyone about their visits to Earth. Once he’d been returned to his bowl he’d totally forgotten that he was actually a fish. So he’d leapt out of his Bowl and flipped and flopped his way to the kitchen, the kitchen floor was smothered in floor cleaner from Mum’s over enthusiastic cleaning, poor R2 was covered from gill to tail in the stuff, but that didn’t stop him he was on a mission to get to Frankenstein’s Cat food. Poor R2 the memory erasing thingy must have made him think he was a catfish. Anyway the combination of rolling in floor cleaner and eating the cat food obviously poisoned him. Frankenstein had attempted a heroic rescue, he’d nipped into the kitchen for a spot of breakfast and found R2. He’d picked R2 up in his teeth to take him back to his bowl. But when he jumped up on the table where the fish bowl lived, he’d slipped on the water that R2 had splashed everywhere, slid and crashed into the fish bowl and knocked it on the floor, then he’d slipped off the table and accidentally swallowed R2D2 the Third who he‘d still been carrying in his mouth. It was glaringly obvious and tragic…. Those pesky Aliens. So tonight I’m staying up with my binoculars, a packet of custard creams and my used Hankie on Alien watch. There’s no way I’m letting them abduct R2D2 the Fourth. Why the hankie? Everyone knows Aliens can’t handle Earth germs, and my hankie is as germy as Frankenstein’s (R.I.P) litter tray.