Stories For All The Children Of All The Worlds

By Nigel James Wilson

Fris thinks he may one day fry in his own matter.
A gigantic eye with a pupil 700 miles in diameter stares out into space.
Smokey, a friendly feline, and Russ the terrier are very good pals who meet with adventure and a jolly man in green and his dear deer team.
There are more Universes than there are grains of sand - so it goes without saying that - "We Are Not The Only Ones."
In The Six, there is a leader's Yellow Jersey but they are wearing magic boots, not cycling shoes.
If you could see into the future, do you really think that you could change it? Acer knew the answer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528958912

Nigel James Wilson

Nigel James Wilson was born in Sheffield – the City of Steel – on 20th of May, 1966. From a very young age, he was working in his and his father’s home and bicycle shop, building bikes and wheels by hand amongst a myriad of other jobs, six days a week. Later serving an apprenticeship in the shop’s cellar and workshop building hand-built bespoke steel cycle racing frames with the master frame builder himself, Nigel’s father, Mr J F Wilson. Better still, Nigel was brought home there after his birth in Jessop Hospital, to the shop house, and at the time of writing, 55 years later, he is still there, living, working and now writing in a lifestyle unique, in the 102nd year of his father’s anniversary and his shop’s 73rd anniversary, which this book happens to mark.   Also, at times when a very young boy, Nigel was entertaining the ladies in his mother’s hairdressing business, Olive’s Salon, that was upstairs in a couple of rooms of the terraced house-cum-bike-shop, just across the landing from his bedroom.

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Log

About the Author

Nigel James Wilson was born in Sheffield – the City of Steel – on May the 20th 1966. From a very young age he was working in his father’s bicycle shop building wheels by hand amongst a myriad of other jobs, six days a week. Later serving an apprenticeship in the shop’s cellar and workshop building hand built bespoke steel cycle frames with the master frame builder himself, Nigel’s father, Mr. J.F. Wilson.

Better still, Nigel was brought home there after his birth in Jessops hospital, to the shop house, and at the time of writing, 53 years later, he is still there, living, working and now writing in a lifestyle unique, in the year of his father’s 100th anniversary and his shop’s 71st anniversary, which this book happens to mark.

About the Book

Fris thinks he may one day fry in his own matter.

A gigantic eye with a pupil 700 miles in diameter stares out into space.

Smokey, a friendly feline, and Russ the terrier are very good pals who meet with adventure and a jolly man in green and his dear deer team.

There are more Universes than there are grains of sand – so it goes without saying that – We Are Not The Only Ones.

In The Six, there is a leader’s Yellow Jersey but they are wearing magic boots, not cycling shoes.

If you could see into the future, do you really think that you could change it? Acer knew the answer.

Acknowledgements

To my Inspirations: Alfie, Joanne, Olive, Jim, Margaret and Keith. And to all our Animals, Teddy Bears and Friends ― THANK YOU!

As Muhammed Ali once said to me, ‘Keep Smiling.’

Copyright Information ©

Nigel James Wilson (2019)

The right of Nigel James Wilson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528958912 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Epigraph

As a quote from a famous old winter song goes:

…To kids from one to ninety two… unquote.

If you are, or even older,

This book was written for you.

Whether you are living on a planet around another star,

And of another kind.

Or reside not quite so far,

I had you in mind.

~ NJW

Prologue

The following stories have been translated from an alien soul – alien that is to the majority of the other denizens living on a miniscule invisibility that orbits a hot speck – into a relatively common language, and so will read very angularly. If you do not understand me so far – or do not want to understand – please stop reading and go forth and do something else.

Have they gone? Yes? Good! Now we can carry on, feeling and actually being much lighter. Until one by one you drop out the back and disappear from the lead peloton; not many will make it to the finish, and the finish is not the end of the words that terminate these stories. The finish is, oh, that will be known to you at the end of your life, naturally…anyway back to the beginning…PTO.

Gerad Marple (Abridged)

Gerad Marple’s parents soon knew that they had had a child with considerable natural talents. Although these gifts at first notice may have been considered socially distasteful ones, when as early as three months old, Gerad would suddenly sneeze, fart and squarely belch in no particular order.

Yet all were presented within a certain rhythm of action that was not in any way displeasing to behold; which held the amusingly quaint display as a subconsciously positive trait long after the novelty of its humour ― to family members, regular visitors to the family or the interested and by now acquainted casual observer ― had over time ebbed away to the neighbourly but humdrumly disguised pool of familiarity.

Individual bodily functions such as these, in one so young, are seen, I am sure, as healthy outgoings. So three reactions chained into an eloquently poetic row were certainly regarded as a welcome sign, an indubitable forerunner of future accomplishments.

Also pleasing was the fact that this performance occurred naturally, just as a jolly baby would laugh out loud and long from time to time. That is to say you could sense it was not something Gerad was intentionally trying to do. Even as a bairn Gerad was never an obvious show off.

Still, having said that, it would appear that having a percipient youngster in hand with such gifts as these can embarrass the fully-aware adult guardian a little more than the norm. For instance, in public, at motorway service station cafes, when it came to other patrons trying to open their cartons of UHT milk, Gerad would crawl obligingly over to those unsuspecting, trouble-stricken consumers with an agreeable, knowing warning cry of approaching assistance, accompanied by the eurhythmic percussion thud and snaring rubbing shuffle of sprinting knees, crackling nappy and patting tom-tom hands upon and across each of the establishment’s various food patterned and patented floorings. Curiously, but not surprisingly, hands and knees being all in time, changing tempo succinctly from crochets to quavers and semiquavers depending on Gerad’s estimated amount of urgency for the given situation.

Clambering up beside the seated patron, elbows upon table, Gerad would be able to skilfully open each one of the customers’ UHT cartons of so-called milk in the friendliest of manners, with the ease and the dextrous speed and accuracy of a crab eating its sand strewn lunch, without a drop of the tapering, miniature, corrugated plastic, single lapelled strongbox’s white, ‘super-fluid’ liquid contents being lost to otherwise certain erupting and fumbling spillages.

Moreover, this helpfulness and thoughtful use of Gerad’s talents filled the heart as any great piece of music could, with the added bonus of being practical in everyday life. Thus, in my humble opinion, these precocious early abilities of Gerad Marple’s undoubtedly transcended the arts. And all from the Mozart beating age of one-and-a-half years old.

By the time Gerad was eleven and a half years old, he was blessed or rather cursed with the ability to see thirty seconds into the