
Scene one. A lavish ocean-side mansion at an idyllic retreat. On a nearby golf course, a fat man with a fake tan and ridiculous hair slices another shot into a sand bunker.
“Perfect shot!” beams King Windbottom, who is now several shots over par and losing badly.
“This is my best ever performance,” he declares. “I may even break the course record today.”
With the threat from the north escalating and his administration in crisis, King Windbottom wrestles with difficult decisions on a daily basis.
“Hmm, a nine iron or a seven? I’m sure I can make the green from here.”
His opponent and the caddies look sceptical.
“Oh look, a fire-dragon!” says Windbottom.
The others dutifully look away, as he kicks his ball out of the bunker. They exchange glances but pretend to not notice.
A messenger brings the latest news regarding the ‘mad king of the north’, king Wrong-un.
“He claims to have fire-dragons, sire. With long range capabilities. He says he will attack our forward outpost and sink all our boats.”
King Windbottom suddenly begins to sob uncontrollably. The others stare at their shoes. An assistant quickly steps forward, with pictures of kittens and inspirational affirmations:
YOU ARE THE GREATEST LIVING PERSON!
ALL PEOPLE LOVE AND ADMIRE YOU!
EVERY WOMAN WANTS TO BE WITH YOU!






It was almost a year to the day since Peter Pike – AKA Procrastination Man – had last donned his ill-fitting spandex outfit and battled the forces of evil. But Peter had not been idle, far from it. In that time he had thoroughly reorganised his cutlery drawer, joined a gym (although not actually visited it) and made detailed plans to re-decorate the lounge and repair the kitchen window. There had even been a few half-hearted attempts to start writing his autobiography.
I’m writing this latest post beneath gently swaying palms and an azure-blue sky. I have temporarily left behind the green fields and fine pastries of Denmark to visit my family in sunny Spain.
He watches patiently, staying low and out of sight. In the darkness, he creeps forward silently, staying in the shadows, avoiding the pools of light from the street lamps. He has sighted his prey.