Charlie and the War Against the Grannies by Alan Brough

objective and hope he helps us.
Me :
Slam =
I bet he’s a cannibal.
Hils :
Dryer-Squirt-Slam-Flush-Crumple-Dryer =
Negative.
    â€˜We’re looking for a secret headquarters,’ I said.
    â€˜Well you’ve come to the right place,’ said Mr Norma Michaels. ‘Underground is positively teeming with secret headquarters. May I be so bold as to enquire who might headquarter themselves in the particular secret headquarters you seek?’
    â€˜Two Stinkly Wrinklys . . . I mean, two grandmothers,’ I said.
    â€˜Is one Mrs Cyclopolos?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I said. ‘There’s a small round one with a really wrinkly neck . . .’
    â€˜Mrs Cyclopolos,’ said Mr Norma Michaels.
    â€˜And,’ I said, ‘a tall skinny one . . .’
    â€˜We call her The Skrink,’ said Mr Norma Michaels.
    â€˜The Skrink?’ I said.
    â€˜Skinny plus wrinkly equals The Skrink,’ said Mr Norma Michaels.
    â€˜You know them?’ I said.
    â€˜Are you working with them?’ said Hils.
    I dropped to my knees and covered my eyes.
    â€˜OFFENSIVE. They are appalling old tosspots,’ said Mr Norma Michaels.
    He was angry again.
    â€˜REVOLTING. Their reign of terror must end. Those wizened old hags have scared too many of the people down here. One day we shall rise. We shall rise and they shall fall.’
    â€˜We are planning a war against the grannies,’ said Hils.
    â€˜Well, young madam and young sir, you may consider Us your allies. May the road rise to meet you and may the wind be always at your back as you continue on your mighty quest. Young sir, why is it that you are kneeling on the ground with your hands covering your eyes?’
    â€˜Rooster brand chilli sauce,’ I said.

34
THE US
    I stood up.
    â€˜Who exactly are the “us” you just referred to when you said “you may consider us your allies”?’ I said. ‘Is that the “us” working in this office? What do the “us” do?’
    â€˜The “us” I refer to are “The Us” with a capital U,’ said Mr Norma Michaels. ‘The Us do work here in this office but they also work everywhere. Unbeknownst to all normal people, The Us are constantly toiling throughout our fair city.’
    â€˜Doing what?’ I said.
    â€˜The job of The Us is to make the city more interesting in little, unexpected ways.’
    â€˜I see,’ said Hils.
    â€˜I don’t see,’ I said. (I don’t think Hils did see but she never wants anyone to think that she doesn’t know what’s going on. She says it puts her at an ‘operational disadvantage’.)
    â€˜Even though cities are big and full of shops and theatres and supermarkets and taverns, they are, on the whole, fairly boring, predictable places. The Us believe that it is the little touches that make a city interesting. The small. The unexplainable. The mysterious. Have you ever been walking through the city and smelled a delicious smell? A delicious smell that smells familiar even though you have never smelled it before and will never smell it again? A smell that no matter how hard you try to discover where it is coming from, you never can?’
    â€˜That happened to me last week,’ said Hils. ‘I was going to buy a new pair of night vision goggles. I turned into a lane and my nose filled up with the most outstanding smell. It smelled like bread baking. Then it smelled like warm butter. Then it smelled like opening a bag of brown sugar. I conducted a mission to uncover the source of the smell but I failed.’
    â€˜That,’ said Mr Norma Michaels, ‘is The Us at work.’
    â€˜What else do The Us do?’ I said.
    â€˜We write rude words where only small children can see them. We place small plastic fairies on the top of no-parking signs. We pick letters off signs to make them say funny things. We smile and say hello to people who look like