BIRD: "I am home now. At least I think it's home. I don't recognise my room and the people claiming to be my parents haven't yet told me what they've done with my real parents. I buried Bud this morning in a simple yet deeply moving ceremony. I have just watched the video of it, so I know what I'm talking about. RIP Bud, we love you. Well, I do, anyway. I am still afraid. In 19 days time I shall be nine."
BUFFALO: (sighs) I'm touched, dude. Rewinds me of when my dear old Goldfish Fred bit the bullet, like.
BIRD: "I have just been told that my brother has found a new girlfriend and won't be coming home any more. As a parting present, he gave me a copy of Playboy and told me to 'toss myself silly' over it. I really have no idea what he's talking about. It isn't Pancake Day and I'm rubbish at cooking, anyway. This evening, Fatty Rupert came round and asked me for money. 'That fiver you owe me, I want it back,' he said. I told him I didn't know anything about a fiver and after he shook me a few times and threatened to rearrange my face, I ran to my room and locked myself in. Fatty Rupert is banging on the door as I write. And now he's shouting, 'I'm gonna shove your head up your arse and make you swallow your own poo!' I am still afraid. In 18 days time I shall be nine years old."
BUFFALO: Gawd, is that all? I woz expecting much worse.
BIRD: "After school today, Fatty Rupert and his chums were waiting for me at the bus stop. He personally stamped on my testicles and made a determined effort to shove my head up my bottom. When he failed, he broke some of my limbs instead. I am now back in hospital, sitting on the toilet with serious diarrhoea. I am still afraid. In 17 days time I shall be nine years old."
BUFFALO: Broke your limbs, you say? How fooked is that! I hope you got yer own back on him, like.
BIRD: "The man in the next bed is incontinent. I think it means he travels a lot. He is very smelly and miserable. I requested to be moved to another ward. The nurse told me to show some compassion. So I decided to talk to him. He told me he wanted to die, because 'My grandparents are dead, my parents are dead, my wife hates me, I've lost my job, my house, my friends and I owe the bank £70,000'. I agreed to put a pillow over his face and press hard after everyone else was asleep. 'But the worst thing,' he said, 'is knowing that when you're dead you're gone forever - you'll never laugh, cry, love again. And eventually even the ashes will disappear. So what's the point of living, anyway?' I decided to put the pillow over my own face and press hard instead. Goodbye, cruel world. In 16 days time I would have been nine years old."
BUFFALO: Omigod! What did you do then?
(AGONIZING SILENCE)
BUFFALO: Speak to me, dude. Ya didn't try to lop yerself, did ya? Dude?
BIRD: (softly) They're known as The Lost Years: 9-17. Available at amazon.com. "A harrowing read" - The Litter Hairy Gazette. "A journey to hell and back with lots of chocolate and tight trousers" - Profanity Fair. "A roller coaster ride with your cock stuck in the wheels" - Wonkers Weekly.
BUFFALO: Ordering 50, no, 100 copies right now!
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
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