King of Cannons

Welcome to Saturday! Jof went to work but you can't have everything.
I had the Ultimate Breakfast which is a banana, and peanut butter on toast and jam on even more toast. Now you may be saying well I'm sure I've had a better breakfast than that, and maybe you have. But I could eat that in front of the computer and get an hour of Minecraft Youtube videos in even before the day had started, and all it cost was some jam on the computer mouse.
Then we drove down to my first appointment of the day. The Kings Theatre does a youth group and my teacher told me to check it out. This time it was at the Salvation Army Citadel on Albert Road but the nice lady said it isn't always there.
So it was me, 3 other boys and about 12 girls, one of whom was Honey from my old school and one of whom should have been Poppy but she was on a Sabbatical. The room is basically a church hall with the plastic chairs stacked up to one side, doors off to the place where the grannies make tea and those special interlocking rectangular wooden blocks on the floor.
There was also a lot of jesus-related artwork on the walls with soldiers of Christ doing the good deeds and being generally thankful for how truly delightful god is, and stuff.
I particularly liked the cutting and sticking mural of how nasty life is in Afghanistan, more on that later. It tells me that the sivel war involves rape, and there is a drawing of a Balitan (related to the Taliban) fighter with trademark beard and AK47 shooting a christian.
Anyway, they have lots of gung-ho helpers aged about 18 and we did the Buzzing Bee song which is quite like the Rubber Chicken song of the other Theatre School and we played Guess What I Am With Letters and I was a snake and I slithered to prove it.
Anyway it was really fun and very Happy. Very Happy, Clappy, Singy and Dancy. Plus I discovered that out of the 10 lessons in the last term, they had occupied the Kings Theatre Stage for .. 1.
They gave us a script to learn and guess what, I was a Munchkin again, srsly, am I getting typecast already. In meedle of no time, the session was up and Bud collected me and we drove through the unreasonable traffic to Fort Nelson.
Now, I've been there before, I investigated it when I was about 4, then took the JoniBobs, then took Ben, so it's not new. But it's still all rather good with the Iraqi supergun and some 15th century artillery nightmares and the original Barking Dog.
So I got all 4 squashed pennies from the turning-wheel machine and bought a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun in the shop because it reminds me of Terminator 2 (don't worry, it's just a keyring, although a good one. My other real guns are in the basement...)
They also have a new (ok, it's 100 years old) 18 inch railway gun on actual railway tracks, Holy Firkin Poldarks, it's so big it makes you want to say bad words.
But I had tuna sweetcorn jacket potato in the restaurant and we watched the 25-pounder Howitzer being shot by a guest shooter who paid £40 for the privilege. This is the gun they wouldn't let me shoot, just because I'm 9. I mean, all the guy had to do was pull the lanyard. But let's not dwell on lost battles, Poldarks to all of them.
In the end it was too cold to go round again although we did do a tour of the tunnels and we got back home right into football traffic. The roads were full of Police horses with hi-vis jackets and meat wagons and walking cops and police bikes and a helicopter, which usually only happens with a visiting team with whom we argue.
Once we'd finally found a parking space we asked a Policeperson who we were playing: Luton. Do we argue with them, we asked. Yes, said the nice Rozzer, in fact some of them had a spirited discussion with fisticuffs right in front of us so it was easy to see who were the winners and nab them totally.
At home Bud said he'd deliberately bought the Naked Gun trilogy and Ghostbusters so I could watch some funny movies instead of Predator and stuff so I thought about it, considered my options and chose Rambo 3, set mostly in war-torn Afghanistan, apart from where he's a Buddhist monk, easy to get those guys mixed up.
In which ... Rambo cauterises his own wound by pouring gunpowder in it and setting it off, and then plays chicken driving a Soviet tank against a nasty Colonel on a helicopter gunship. But what more could a 9 year-old need. We laughed so much I had to have more chocolate.
At a quarter to 11 I was still writing my new screenplay. It involves a muscular army-person who has to survive ...