So last night I had a dream that all I can say was a cross between Lord of the Rings, Flash Forward, True blood and every apocalyptic film and book I’ve ever read. I was the ring bearer by the way- and now I can truly sympathize with Frodo’s pain. Oh the responsibility of saving the word from complete destruction from giant men dressed in black balaclavas with those red pointer things. You know those little red aiming lights that appear on people’s foreheads just before the hero saves the day?

So I’m rowing this little boat, a coracle really, you know the one Reepercheep uses in Voyage of the Dawn Treader up the river Thames. Trying to get to London Bridge, apart from the banks are the kind you get in jungle rivers, and the jungle is full of shape shifters turned in giant Dragon flies following my every move. I need to get to the camp, in order to bring them the ring and stop the end of the world. Apart from I don’t really know how the ring works- and it keeps utterly failing to make me invisible. Plus my fingers are too fat for it, and every time I put it on, it threatens to cut off all circulation, turning my finger a deathly white. I think I may have been lying on my arm at this point.

So I finally make it to this building in London Bridge where I have collected a rag bag group of individuals, and we have to get ourselves through this ghetto, filled with shadowy types, and I finally harness the power of the ring. In song. Yes that’s right. I lead the group in some sort of hymn, whilst holding my deathy white finger in the air, and trying to seem like I wasn’t scared shitless. I get to the camp. Where I find my father, hold my hand aloft, whisper

“I have the ring.” Where they all cheer and I collapse into a dead faint. The End.

How the Never Ending Story has so much more to teach us than it’s okay to be gay with a luck dragon. Especially if

 

you’re twelve. Next time you’re at a party, why not impress with these new social skills…

 

Wait till someone starts talking to you, gaze mysteriously past their shoulder and when they ask you what you’re looking at, flinch, say “nothing”, then trail off whispering, “nothing, the nothing, such small hands, such small hands….”

Spend most of the party in someone’s bedroom speed-reading all their books. Go for the thickest book, always be three quarters of the way through it and laugh hilariously at the most tragic bits. Laugh loudly so people realise you’re in there. If all they have are old comics or Jilly Cooper novels try doing some illegible writing of your own. If someone interrupts you, flinch, put your hand over the page and say, “The video arcade is down the street. Here we just sell small rectangular objects. They’re called books. They require a little effort on your part, and make no bee-bee-bee-bee-beeps. On your way please.”

After speed reading through most of the books, pull up the window and look out shouting “Call my name Bastion! Call my name!”…Then when someone comes in look disappointed and mumble “Hey, you’re not a racing snail”….

Learn to make your nose bleed on will, say something illegible with lots of poly-syllabic words like, ‘the enigma of the numeric pneumatic is really quite existentially satisfying, don’t you think’, clutch your head and start whisper, “to the winch wench”. People will think you’re a genius like that guy out of ‘Ԉ’.

If no one else is dancing, get on the dance floor and dance like you’ve smoked some chemical pot out of a jar labelled Kate Bush. Look pissed off if anyone joins you, leave immediately if they do. This is a one man show. Whilst doing Kate Bush dance use hand pulling motions from the ground and shout, ‘Artex, noooooooooooooooooo’…

Point to the fittest person in the room, tell the person you’re chatting up that you dumped them because they didn’t understand the special relationship you have with Falcor.

If all else fails, grab the closest person, shake them by the shoulders, scream “The princess is dying!!!!” in their face and flee the room.