across the great dark wet sea boulders it was.
Fizz waited a few moments, listening to the constant repetitive surge and crash of the waves somewhere below him. The roar of them no longer reminded him of Charles, but of tigers and sharks (even though he knew they (sharks, I mean) don’t roar), and his mind’s eyes filled in the darkness with pictures of hungry beasts swimming round the foot of the rocks. Oh, thank you, mind’s eye , he thought sarcastically.
Gathering his courage up in one super-sized bundle, he sat down on the edge of the path and lowered himself towards the first of the huge rocks. He touched it with his toe, gingerly (which considering the colour of his hair (red) was the way he touched most things), and then pushed himself upright.
He was standing on the stone. It curved under his feet and, although this may have been his imagination, it felt cold through the soles of his shoes.
Beneath him the vast dark sea crashed up the beach and round the rocks. It seemed even louder now. A mist of spray whooshed up at him, and then the crunching shuckling sound roared to itself as the waves dragged the shingle backwards, back towards the deep water.
Nevertheless, Fizz stood firm. He stood strong. He stood brave. He was coming to find his friend, he had goodness on his side, how could he fail?
He waved the torch in front of him, trying to work out his next move, how to get to the next rock, how to pick his way, boulder by boulder, along to the Aquarium’s arena and their only way in.
The top of the next rock looked miles away. He gathered himself up to make the jump . . .
Now, I feel I must interject here, just briefly. Normally, as you know, I sit quiet in the corner over there (imagine me pointing into a corner), typing the words out, telling Fizz’s story as best I can and keeping all my opinions to myself. You know I don’t like to get involved or get in the way of the story; that’s not my job. My job is just to share Fizzlebert’s adventures with you as straightforwardly as I can. I don’t meddle. I don’t fiddle. I don’t make stuff up. I don’t tell you what I think or ramble on about biscuits and suchlike; I simply recount what happened. Just the facts, ma’am. That’s all.
However, I can’t keep quiet any more.
I must speak up.
I have to say this.
If I don’t, then I won’t be able to sleep at night, worrying what might happen.
Here goes.
What Fizz and Wystan are doing is utterly stupid . It’s crazy. It’s ridiculous. But more than that, it’s dangerous.
Climbing over giant sea rocks is bad enough under normal circumstances. They’re damp, they’re covered in slime, they’re hard and slippery. You could fall and break your leg, your arm, your neck even. You could drown in a poorly placed rockpool with a faceful of angry sea anemones. You will almost certainly be attacked by crabs.
It’s dangerous even when you’ve got people nearby looking out for you. At least they can ring for the coastguard and the air ambulance when you slip. But nobody knows where Fizz and Wystan are, they’re on a secret mission. If they fall, they’ll be stuck, alone, damp, and nipped by crabs. Possibly nipped to death.
Not only that, but what if they fell and got swept out to sea by the surging incoming tide with its treacherous undertows and ensnaring weeds? There are still crabs under the water, you know.
I can only ask, ‘What on earth is he thinking?’
Add to all that the fact that they’re doing this mountaineering nonsense in the dark , and this really is not a Good Thing.
It’s an adventure, for sure. And this book wouldn’t be very interesting if there wasn’t some sort of adventure in it. But it’s a stupid adventure.
I’m not saying Fizz is stupid, because he’s not. He’s a good kid and his heart’s in the right place. He’s doing this all to save his best friend, Fish, and that’s a Good Thing, it shows he’s listening to the commands of his heart, and
Fizz waited a few moments, listening to the constant repetitive surge and crash of the waves somewhere below him. The roar of them no longer reminded him of Charles, but of tigers and sharks (even though he knew they (sharks, I mean) don’t roar), and his mind’s eyes filled in the darkness with pictures of hungry beasts swimming round the foot of the rocks. Oh, thank you, mind’s eye , he thought sarcastically.
Gathering his courage up in one super-sized bundle, he sat down on the edge of the path and lowered himself towards the first of the huge rocks. He touched it with his toe, gingerly (which considering the colour of his hair (red) was the way he touched most things), and then pushed himself upright.
He was standing on the stone. It curved under his feet and, although this may have been his imagination, it felt cold through the soles of his shoes.
Beneath him the vast dark sea crashed up the beach and round the rocks. It seemed even louder now. A mist of spray whooshed up at him, and then the crunching shuckling sound roared to itself as the waves dragged the shingle backwards, back towards the deep water.
Nevertheless, Fizz stood firm. He stood strong. He stood brave. He was coming to find his friend, he had goodness on his side, how could he fail?
He waved the torch in front of him, trying to work out his next move, how to get to the next rock, how to pick his way, boulder by boulder, along to the Aquarium’s arena and their only way in.
The top of the next rock looked miles away. He gathered himself up to make the jump . . .
Now, I feel I must interject here, just briefly. Normally, as you know, I sit quiet in the corner over there (imagine me pointing into a corner), typing the words out, telling Fizz’s story as best I can and keeping all my opinions to myself. You know I don’t like to get involved or get in the way of the story; that’s not my job. My job is just to share Fizzlebert’s adventures with you as straightforwardly as I can. I don’t meddle. I don’t fiddle. I don’t make stuff up. I don’t tell you what I think or ramble on about biscuits and suchlike; I simply recount what happened. Just the facts, ma’am. That’s all.
However, I can’t keep quiet any more.
I must speak up.
I have to say this.
If I don’t, then I won’t be able to sleep at night, worrying what might happen.
Here goes.
What Fizz and Wystan are doing is utterly stupid . It’s crazy. It’s ridiculous. But more than that, it’s dangerous.
Climbing over giant sea rocks is bad enough under normal circumstances. They’re damp, they’re covered in slime, they’re hard and slippery. You could fall and break your leg, your arm, your neck even. You could drown in a poorly placed rockpool with a faceful of angry sea anemones. You will almost certainly be attacked by crabs.
It’s dangerous even when you’ve got people nearby looking out for you. At least they can ring for the coastguard and the air ambulance when you slip. But nobody knows where Fizz and Wystan are, they’re on a secret mission. If they fall, they’ll be stuck, alone, damp, and nipped by crabs. Possibly nipped to death.
Not only that, but what if they fell and got swept out to sea by the surging incoming tide with its treacherous undertows and ensnaring weeds? There are still crabs under the water, you know.
I can only ask, ‘What on earth is he thinking?’
Add to all that the fact that they’re doing this mountaineering nonsense in the dark , and this really is not a Good Thing.
It’s an adventure, for sure. And this book wouldn’t be very interesting if there wasn’t some sort of adventure in it. But it’s a stupid adventure.
I’m not saying Fizz is stupid, because he’s not. He’s a good kid and his heart’s in the right place. He’s doing this all to save his best friend, Fish, and that’s a Good Thing, it shows he’s listening to the commands of his heart, and
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