Here’s a book that I seldom mention. Check out the opening few lines; then buy the book at any decent e-book retailer.
Chapter One: Began the Day Badly
As a young male hamster, Wetpatch Wilson didn’t make a particularly inspiring sight. His age was against him of course – being that he was currently suffering that difficult period in a young male hamster’s life when he faces the imminent appearance of his Right to Adult Existence Examination during his final term at school. Also a recent ‘spurt’ in his growth had meant that his trousers now hung half way between his knees and his ankles, which tended to make him look like a simpleton. And to add insult to injury, his testes had decided that they far preferred being of the un-descended variety, which meant that his voice remained several octaves too high in the register for his age group. This made him sound very silly upon the soccer pitch, and positively turned off girls in their droves.
This latter situation particularly annoyed him because he really liked girls, and would have liked nothing more than unclipping the bra straps of several young females that had caught his eye in the bus shelter on the way home from school. So naturally Wetpatch wasn’t at his most affable and responsive when the young new local Police Constable called him aside as he raced from the school bus in the direction of Hamster Heath High School’s main gate…
“Excuse me, young male hamster,” PC Roman Chest called out as he stepped into the path of the rushing rodent, and held aloft the mighty paw of the law. “Don’t you realise that under the new health and safety regulations so recently enacted by our unpopular local socialist government, it’s forbidden to race along the sidewalk – even when wearing your sturdy school plimsolls, and your haversack tightened securely about your shoulders?”
Wetpatch was well aware that the new PC was a born-again pedant, so he was ready for an interminable lecture to follow, and therefore quickly disengaged his brain before terminal boredom set in. So it wasn’t until the name of his aunt, Amy Crumpet, cropped up that he finally began paying any attention to the monotonous drone that emanated from the ceaselessly orating maw of PC Roman Chest.
“You what?” He said rudely whilst his gaze shifted to take in Amy as she stood in the centre of the road, with a huge fluorescent coat enveloping her diminutive frame, and waving a large lollipop-shaped placard that read ‘Stop: Children Crossing’ upon it. He then added, “What do you mean? My Auntie Amy isn’t a Road Safety Technician: She’s the school lollipop lady. In any case – how could my running endanger her? I’m safely on the sidewalk: She’s the one standing in the middle of the road by choice. If she gets knocked down by a passing milk wagon, you can hardly lay the blame for it at my hind paws. For a police hamster you certainly do talk a load of arsy bollocks.”
Roman wasn’t used to hearing the words ‘arsy’ and ‘bollocks’ used in the same sentence whilst aimed squarely at him: He’d never been taught about such behaviour at Police College. As a consequence he found himself quite flustered by the sensation of inadequacy that reared up within his sensitive psyche, and threatened to engulf his fragile ego. He decided to fall back upon the old ways of his gypsy upbringing.
“Up your jacksey, you little turd.” He said entirely upon auto-pilot, “Just shut the fluff up, and get into class, before I stick my boot up your furry little arse hole.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan