Author's note:

For reasons I'm not prepared to give right at the moment; but which you may guess; some of the following dialogue has been translated from its original language into English without prior notification (except this of course). Actually, any of the ensuing dialogue that is not spoken or otherwise communicated in English will appear here in English whether you like it or not. I've made that decision and there's no going back. Furthermore, if I hadn't, then there are parts of this book which would have been unintelligible, unreadable and un-a lot of other things. Ok? Deal with it.

Names however are trickier in this context, so I've had to be a bit creative. You'll see....

Of course when this book becomes an international best seller, this first bit is going to have to alter a bit but I'll cross that road when I get to it.

Huh?!

Which, under the circumstances I thought, is undoubtedly a statement of some complexity, portraying, as it does, the full gamut of emotions which my current situation unquestionably seems to warrant.

Ok. It's dark. Now. Is that because it's actually dark or are my eyes shut? At the moment, difficult to tell.

That noise. Is it the sea or a rushing in my ears? Also difficult to tell.

Take a breath. Take stock.

If my eyes are  open, the darkness can only be source of worry. Probably worth making a conscious effort to open them (assuming they're shut).

Ok. Have my perception altered? No. The likelihood is therefore that they were open all the time. That roaring sound definitely sounds like the sea but....

Time for some rational thinking. That would be a first...might even get reported in the local newspaper.

Think

The last thing I remember was standing in the supermarket trying to make the monumental decision of whether to go with the brown sauce on special offer or the better one. Not, you may think, the kind of decision which may bring on a trauma of this kind of magnitude (since some kind of trauma this clearly is); whilst still pondering the purchase, I vaguely recall a popping sound (not dissimilar to one of those party thingys only without the annoying paper stream), and; here I am.

Where?

It's fair to say that wherever it is I find myself, disoriented is the only state that I can reliable say is accurate, so my next step is to establish; am I sitting down, standing up...? if I can take a step then, ipso facto, I'm standing up. Genius. However. Do I want to know? It might be bad news (and it's more than likely not good). Um.

Tell you what. While I'm debating my next move (or not), let me introduce myself.

My name is Hiram. Hiram Sludge. Stop tittering at the back. It's a nice name. I come from a long line of Sludges dating back to Tudor times. From the minimal research I have done, it seems that the name derives (in a manner similar to a Carter being a wheel maker and a Fletcher being an arrow maker) from our families occupation. Ah. Sludge. I wonder what...Oh dear. Not really considered the implications before. The mind boggles.

I'm rambling a bit aren't I? (and I don't even own a pair of walking boots) Sorry, but I suspect you might do the same in similar circumstances; and to be honest, it seems I'm the kind of bloke that rambles when plucked inexplicably from a supermarket and deposited into the unknown.

Maybe it's some kind of marketing campaign from Heinz (other sauce companies are available), where, if you even consider not buying their condiments, you're whipped away to who knows where to stop you investing in another companies products. Seems a bit unlikely to be honest that's a bit of a step up from free gifts and competitions but who knows? These sauce manufacturers can be pretty aggressive so I've heard.

Up to now, life has been fairly mundane. Learnt to walk, talk, and house trained at the expected points in life; had an average school life and ended up studying Engineering at University; more as something to do than anything else, and, like most graduates, completely failed to find any decent work related to my degree (ooh bitter....). So I drifted from menial job to menial job, eking out a living to the best of my (limited) ability.

Up until the fateful day when a friend asked me to help him locate a lost relative (careless if you ask me). The story is one I'll maybe tell you another day (assuming there is one), but suffice it to say I seem to have a natural flair for such things and was successful; getting coverage on national TV etc. The resulting tumult led to various arrests (not mine) and a reward which helped me set up my "Hiram Sludge P.I." (being an engineer I had considered the name Hiram Sludge 3.14 (that's a maths joke - look it up)) company which also became quite successful...until recently, when a there seemed to be a real downturn in people being nasty to each other; on one hand welcome but bad for business. Taking a leaf from the history book of commercial desperation, I chose the route of special offers: "Two dodgy characters followed for the price of one", "Free framed photograph of partner in compromising position" etc. All of which kind of leads me to the position I'm in now; i.e. hunting for the best value condiments.....

Hang on, there's movement.

"Have you acclimatised yet Mr Sludge?" A strange electronic sounding voice like those 80's pop songs which used electronic devices to disguise the fact their voices weren't up to much.

I found my voice (it was cowering in the corner hiding behind a small chair). "well....depends what you mean by acclimatised"

That voice again "oh - hang on a bit..." followed by a pause, the sharp sound of metal against metal and some muttering "errm - and I'm quoting here you understand - human English is not my first language you know....."to cause to change to suit different conditions of life, weather etc." Yes I think acclimatise is the correct word; I'm interested in your well being you see. I must apologise, we've only just recently programmed our universal translator and it may be a little inaccurate in places"

I felt as though I should play along with whatever weirdness was occurring.."No problem", I began, trying to sound both reassuring and reassured at the same time with varying degrees of success "you have to realise that I was in the middle of a major decision making process in the field of condiments, and now I find myself..well where do I find myself? and the use of your phrases "Human English" and "universal translator" coupled with the darkness and general feeling of weightlessness, the darkness (did I mention the darkness?) all together are, I must admit, causing me a little concern"

"I'm so sorry" came the reply "must be disorientating if your not used to it. After all you've travelled a very big distance in a very short time"

(read author's note)

"Dinner's ready"

Mrs Brown pushed her latest prized possession - a second hand but well looked after Hostess trolley - into the dining room with a flourish not dissimilar to that which one might encounter in a small child with a new toy.

"...and what has my wonderful wife created for our delectation today?" enquired Mr Brown with no small amount of undetected sarcasm.

"roast Tootlebird with ALL the trimmings" answered Mrs Brown , who, you will have noticed, either ignored or was unaware of the increased tension in the room.

"but", started her daughter Angela "we had that...." Mr Brown shot her a look from his utility eye (the one in the middle - grown by the male of the species when their children reached puberty for specifically this purpose i.e. the survival of the species)) "....as a special treat yesterday; I didn't imagine for a second that we'd be lucky enough to have it again" continued  Angela , who had a well earned reputation for quick thinking. (clearly, species is not an issue; females are always right)

Just at that moment, a dull "mnaw-mwaw-mwaw" sound was heard from the street outside; "oh no...." cried Peter , the youngest child of the Brown family, also, it should be noted, a child voted by his peers at school to be the least likely ever to become noticeably sentient anytime in the near future ".....another attack"

"ok, stay calm" Mr Brown was taking charge... "it's only another digistorm - let's make our way to the shelter"; "but that's the third time today" opined Mrs Brown "and now dinners going to be ruined". Angela had her own opinions on whether further ruination was indeed possible but for once kept her council.

Once inside the shelter, the Brown family set about their usual routine of bickering and complaining about the cramped conditions inside the area designated as "safe". "switch on the radio - lets see what's going on" suggested Peter , clearly in one of his more lucid moments. "Not if it's one of those half soaked, talentless bunch you call musicians" warned his father (whose idea of good music would put a coffee bean to sleep) "no no - lets find out who's copped it this time" argued Peter.

"......and so we suffer yet again from this constant barrage of binary code and random electronic particles" intoned the radio "when is anybody going to do anything about this scourge, this bain on our lives ...haven't we suffered enough?"