Click

Click. The most frustrating thing about hindsight, Michael Philips,
Mick to his friends, reflected, is that it was always 20/20. So what
would he have done differently? Click. Could he have avoided all this?
Was Fate giving him the finger, leaving Destiny to flick its bogeys at
him? More importantly, why the fuck was there a stuffed lemur attached
to his right leg? And why was he wearing a pirate's costume? Click. All
of these questions may appear somewhat obvious to a casual observer,
but Michael Philips, Mick to his friends and the inside centre for the
London Irish was too far beyond caring. Click. He decided that he would
do all his shopping over the internet from now on, and that he would
resist the impulse to ever try and be innovative in the field of fancy
dress. Click. Click. Click.

So here he was, slumped in the corner of a small, indiscriminate
storeroom of some kind clutching a calculator. Click. His eyes were
fixed on one point - the rectangular screen of the calculator, and the
index finger on his right hand was jabbing erratically at one key in
particular, making that annoyingly repetitive 'click' sound that's sure
to annoy anyone within earshot. The black felt hat, emblazoned with the
recognisable skull and crossbones motif had fallen to an angle that
passed 'jaunty' a fair few degrees ago, and was fast approaching
'messy'. Click. This was due to the fact that even though his neck was
almost wider than his cranium, it seemed to have become unable to
support his head, which was admittedly rather large. Click. His upper
body was almost totally slumped over, with creases in his black blazer
having formed quite some time ago. The red and white horizontal stripes
of the undershirt were slightly visible between the lapels of the
blazer, slightly obscured underneath the mass of imitation gold and
silver chains that adorned each side of the jacket. Click. His stubby
fingers stabbed at the calculator, propelled by his thick, powerful
arms that seemed embarrassingly impotent in such a situation as this,
short thin wisps of black hair protruding from the sleeves of the
jacket as if trying to escape. Click. His breathing was slow yet
measured; almost like it his body had resigned itself to a future of
immobility. Every once in a while one of his heavy legs twitched in
their trouser legs, just to keep circulation going. And yes, there was
still a stuffed lemur there. Click. Click. Click.

So what could have brought such a man as this into such a situation as
this? First, some background is necessary, so as not to leave anyone
feeling left out. Michael Philips is 26 years of age, and as previously
mentioned, plays inside centre for the London Irish rugby team.
Although he wouldn't admit it, for he is a gentleman of modesty, he is
very good at playing inside centre for the London Irish, and has been
picked several times for his national team because of his evident
skill. He lives in a spacious 5 bedroom detached house in Hadley with
his delightful wife Kim and twins Kerry and Mark. While he'd never
admit to it, Michael has always harboured secret intentions for his son
to follow in his footsteps into the world of rugby union, and takes
great paternal pride and pleasure in teaching Mark the basics of his
game. Now it is possible to form a mental image of Michael Philips, yet
the events leading up to his sitting alone in a storeroom, repeatedly
pressing a single button on a calculator are still unknown. If you
would not like to know what happens, look away now.

As mentioned before, Michael Philips, Mick to his friends, plays for
the London Irish rugby team. The powers that be decided to organise a
social for all the players to celebrate their success throughout the
season, and in their infinite wisdom settled on a fancy dress ball for
the players and wives, carriages at midnight and RSVP as standard. So
it was with the official invitation nestling safely in the pocket of
his leather jacket that he confidently opened the door to 'Wizo's Fancy
Dress Emporium', Barnet's premier locale for the attainment of all
things costume-related. It was only a short drive from Hadley, since
one did not find many such establishments there; it would be very
unbecoming for the residents. Not so Michael Philips, who strode
confidently into the shop and walked to the counter, noticing as he did
that the floor had a rather amusingly quaint path marked out with
rabbits descending into a rabbit hole, all realised in the garish
colours of Rolf Harris' old friend, acrylic poster paint. Smiling as he
placed his left hand on the counter, his feet within the black hole of
the graphic he looked around for an assistant to aid him in obtaining a
suitable costume for himself and his delightful wife, Kim.

It is worth noting that from this point, things change, as they are
wont to do.

As Michael Philips was walking across the shop, he failed to notice a
small door leading off to the left of the counter. He also failed to
notice the metallic rails, with their rows of costumes lining the
walls, replete with signs denoting the worlds of pirates, monsters and
other such character-based entertainment, the small chair placed to the
right of the counter, presumably for the younger companions of patrons
to fill while their guardians chose a suitable outfit for a night's fun
and frolics, the man clad in a full suit of armour crawling from the
aforementioned open door towards where Michael Philips stood, clutching
a diminutive lump of metal.

"What's?what's this?" mumbled the knight, brandishing what looked like
a normal spoon. He was covered from head to toe in armour, and was
sprawled across the floor, clawing his way towards where Michael
Philips stood. In his left hand was a spoon.
"It's?it's a spoon. Are you alright there?" Michael Philips looked
concernedly down at his fellow patron, bending over at the waist and
peering at him with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment.
"No?what kind?what kind of spoon is it?" came the gasped response. The
poor man seemed to be at the end of his tether as his bloodshot eyes
fixed pleadingly on Michael Philips's. "Look?that edge?the serrated bit
on one side?that makes it a special spoon?you know?" Michael Philips
looked closer?yes, it did seem to have a serrated edge on it! He
gingerly reached out and ran his finger along the side of the
spoon?first the smooth, then the rough, jagged side. He knew what kind
of spoon it was! Triumphantly he straightened his body and proclaimed
"That's a runcible spoon." With a sob of relief, the knight's head
sagged between his shoulders for a second, then looked up at his
saviour. His eyes were bloodshot, yet his face appeared to be trying to
contort itself into a smile of gratitude as he slowly hefted himself to
his feet.
"And so ends the quest of David Faraday, Knight" came a voice from
behind Michael Philips. He whirled round, not quite comprehending the
events that were unfolding. Standing in front of him was what looked
like a wizard, dressed in an electric blue robe and pointed hat. His
face was old yet benevolent, with a gentle smile playing on his cracked
lips. In his right hand he held a long stick which he was using to
support himself, and his long fingers curled around it like the talons
of a bird gripping a branch. The knight shuffled back towards the door
to the left of the counter with a series of breathless moans and
cries.
"Congratulations sir, you have liberated David Faraday from his
binding. A mighty warrior, true of heart you are. That much is
evident." he added with a wink.
"I'm sorry? What exactly do you mean?" enquired Michael Philips,
cocking his head slightly to the left and squinting his eyes, as if it
would make everything normal again.
"That brave soul," said the wizard pointing towards the slowly moving
form of the Knight "was set a quest by my learned self. And you aided
him in the fulfilment. If it were not for you, think how long he could
have been bound to such a task of ardour."
"W?what quest was he set?" asked Michael Philips, shaking his head from
side to side. The wizard took a deep breath and puffed out his chest.
He clicked the staff on the ground, and proudly said "He had to make
another human being say the word 'runcible.' And you did say it, brave
sir." The sounds of clinking metal were heard from the small room, but
Michael Philips was not disturbed.
"His quest?as a knight?was to make another person say that word?" The
wizard nodded. Michael Philips paused for a second, considering this.
"What kind of quest is that? It's rubbish! Too easy! And somewhat
pointless, if you ask me." The wizard looked slightly perturbed and
shifted his grip of the staff.
"Well?it was my quest to set. And it was all I could think of. Quite
crazy, eh?" He winked again, and nudged Michael Philips with the crook
of his elbow "Eh? Eh?" Michael Philips looked distinctly unimpressed.
"Slightly juvenile, if you ask me, as if you were making a conscious
effort to be funny." he sniffed. The wizard looked shocked, but both he
and Michael Philips turned towards the door of the storeroom as David
Faraday emerged, clad in a suit and clutching a plastic bag.
"I?I never knew a suit could feel so?orgasmic" he stuttered. He walked
towards the door of the shop, and there was a quiet click just before
he exited.
"Ah, the relief of the victorious" smiled the wizard. An invisible
force jolted him into action and he straightened his entire body up,
facing Michael Philips. "Now, to our business. I am Wizo, owner and
guardian of this establishment. How may I help you, brave and kind
sir?" Michael Philips withdrew the invitation from his pocket and
gestured with it towards the rows of costumes.
"My wife and I have been invited to this event" he motioned with the
card, "and we need some fancy dress outfits. Something fun, but
definitely comfortable." Wizo smiled, and shifted his grip on the staff
up a touch. "I have exactly what you need! Tell me sir, as a young lad,
did you ever dream of roaming the high seas?" He bent down slightly,
eyes level with Michael Philips', his left arm sticking out as if
gesturing to the horizon. "Can you see yourself, brave sir, as a pirate
adventurer?" Michael Philips exhaled, and then smiled. "Yes, yes I
can." A spark shot into Wizo's eyes, and he quickly went to the rack to
his left. Raising his staff above his head with one hand, he leafed
through the costumes, flicking through them like the pages of his
favourite book.
"Here! This one is for you sir!" Wizo walked over to where his customer
was standing holding out an ornate looking pirate costume. Spreading it
in front of Michael Philips' eyes, he smoothed it out with his free
hand, lifting up the gold chains that embellished an already impressive
costume. Michael Philips ran his fingertips over it, feeling the
different fabrics as he slowly inspected it. His eyes narrowed, and
slowly he nodded his head. "Yeah?yes, I'll take it." He stood up
straight, and brushed some invisible crumbs from his chest.
"Oh no sir, you must try it on first! I wouldn't be able to call myself
a respectable tradesman if I didn't allow my customers the right to
sample!" shrieked Wizo, pointing to the door from which the Knight had
previously emerged. "There you go, privacy awaits you?as does your
adventure" he added with a distinctly mischievous wink. Michael Philips
hesitated for a moment, and then took the costume from Wizo. He turned
on his heel and walked into the poorly-lit room. Closing the door with
his foot behind him he exhaled as he surveyed the room with a small
turn on his head. Shrugging his shoulders at the apparent
eccentricities of the apparent owner he undressed himself to his
designer boxers and thin black socks. As he slipped himself into the
attire of a million imagined cartoon pirates his mind wandered. He
needed some more petrol for the Alfa, and wanted to pick up a few
copies of the latest Rugby World for his family, since there was an
interview with him in it. With one leg in his trousers he briefly
stopped to wonder whether his family would consider this to be
shamelessly arrogant self-promotion. He didn't want this, so he decided
to buy just one copy and leave it on the table in the living room, in
front of the TV. But he'd place it under another magazine, just to make
sure. And before he knew it, he was dressed. Standing fully upright he
puffed out his chest and stretched his arms in front and above him in
order to make sure that his possible outfit was of the requisite size.
Concluding that he wanted to actually see what he looked like he
stepped out into the main shop, where there was a full length mirror.
Walking with more ease than he would have expected, considering the
amount of adornments currently about his person, he positioned himself
in front of the mirror, carefully inspecting himself.

"So begins the quest of Michael Philips, pirate adventurer" came the
now-familiar voice of Wizo, followed by a short blast on what appeared
to be a kazoo, but whatever it was disappeared into one of the folds of
Wizo's robe.
"Excuse me?" enquired Michael Philips, raising his eyebrows
inquisitively but still keeping his stare fixed on his
reflection.
"I was simply thinking to myself," grinned Wizo, "that this quite
impressive garment (and Michael Philips agreed inwardly that it was
indeed and impressive garment) lacks a certain accessory. And what is
it that all the self-respecting pirates had with them at all times?"
Michael Philips was silent. "A parrot, of course! A glorious, colourful
parrot accompanying the brave explorer wherever he went, sitting
watchfully on his left shoulder." Michael Philips nodded slightly,
agreeing with a non-committal snort. "However, I regret to inform you
that Wizo's Fancy Dress Emporium is all out of parrots." He looked at
the floor as he admitted this, seemingly embarrassed that he had failed
in such an apparently elementary task of fancy dress-related business.
A brief silence ensued. Michael Philips broke it with a tentative
"Maybe I could use something else? Instead of a parrot, I mean" since
he did not want to upset the kindly old man. At this, Wizo raised his
head with a triumphant look in his eyes, the corners of his mouth
beginning to curl upwards into that loaded smile of his. Raising his
hand, index finger extended and pointing to the ceiling he thought for
a moment, then shuffled off to a corner of the room. Michael Philips
stood and watched the old man, who was evidently in his element,
rummage through a brown cardboard box which was being held together
with reams of gaffer tape. Colourful and furry items spilled out over
the side of the box - a blue limb here, a pink head there - as Wizo's
arms delved into its depths.
"Ah-ha!" He rose, clutching what appeared to be a small stuffed animal
of some kind. Walking over to where Michael Philips remained, he handed
him the result of his search.
"What?is it?"
"The perfect substitute for a parrot, that's what it is!" Michael
Philips, not for the first time, remained silent. "Instead of a parrot
on your left shoulder, surely a stuffed lemur on your right leg is the
ideal replacement? Here, let me show you." The old man knelt down with
considerable effort in front of Michael Philips and wrapped the
Velcro-clad arms of the stuffed lemur round his leg, smoothing and
fastening them as he did. "There. Michael Philips, pirate adventurer."
Michael Philips raised his right leg a few degrees, inspected what was
now attached to his person, and shrugged. Maybe if he just agreed, the
old man would let him leave?
"Yes, I'll take it. Thank you for your help." He reached into the
bundle of clothes that he was holding, hands searching for his soft
leather wallet "And how much will it be?" The wizard shook his head, a
wry smile lighting up his face. "Sir, the charge takes the form of a
quest, like that of the brave David Faraday. You must complete a task
in order to leave my domain." The intonation of his voice now carried a
weight that was hitherto not present. He looked directly at Michael
Philips.
"Excuse me? You expect me to do something for you? I'm prepared to pay
you, surely that's enough!" began Michael Philips, slightly agitated by
this unforeseen turn of events. "You may leave when you have completed
the task. That is the rule. It will not be a difficult task, you have
my word." On hearing this, Michael Philips simply turned away from the
wizard and walked along the painted rabbit path towards the door.
Without even looking at Wizo as he reached the door, he said "So I may
not leave now? What if I do?" he pushed the door "?this?" The door did
not move one bit. Michael Philips pushed harder, then again and again.
Spinning round to face his captor he stared at him, confusion in his
eyes.
"I informed you that you could only leave once you complete the quest.
It is not my doing that the door is now impassable. It is simply a
facet of this place. Surely you should have realised by now that the
normal rules of the world you inhabit do not necessarily apply here?
Why else would the brave David Faraday have endured such a task? You
saw him with your own eyes - would he have chosen to do such a thing? I
am merely the mouthpiece for a force that is stronger than both your
good self and mine." Michael Philips stood dumfounded. All he wanted
was a reasonably-priced and cheerful costume for an official function,
and he got this. With a resigned sigh he nodded. "So you are prepared
to receive your quest?" enunciated the wizard, solemnly. "Yes, what is
it?" sniffed Michael Philips, clearly losing patience. From one of the
folds of his robe he produced a pocket calculator. With a gesture that
looked like the crashing of a wave on the shore he extended his arm
towards the pirate adventurer who took it. On inspection, Michael
Philips realised that it only had one button, which was marked
'R'.
"You quest is to make a whole number appear on that screen. The one
button is a random number generator, and the odds of making it produce
a whole number, rather than a decimal number are rather high. By
repeated pressing of said button, you should eventually find yourself
with a display reading just one digit. That is all."
A pained, pregnant silence marked the end of this speech, during which
Michael Philips' face slowly turned redder. "Are you serious? You want
me to just stand here and press that button until I get a number? And
only then I can go? Are you crazy?" "You can sit if you like, brave
adventurer. And as I mentioned earlier, it is not my doing. You can try
to leave as much as you like, but you will only be able to once the
quest is fulfilled." replied Wizo, calmly. "Go on, try the door again."
Michael Philips did so, with the same result. With a dejected look on
his face, he pressed the button marked 'R'. Click. Nope. Click. Nope.
Click. 3.013 - so close! He walked into the storeroom and sat down on
the floor. Click. Click. Click.

Click. And so we rejoin Michael Philips, at the point at which we first
encountered him. The clicking has been explained (even though it might
seem a trifle silly), as has the stuffed lemur, and his general attire.
Click. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been there, but his brain was
already starting to go numb with the total monotony and surreal ness of
how the day had turned out. Inventing new swear phrases had occupied a
lot of his time, as he had had the revelation that using one rude word
in conjunction with another, more innocuous word brought hilarious
results. Cock tree. Bollock cake. Twat spot. And so on and so forth.
Click. He could hear Wizo wandering around in the main room of the
shop, mumbling to himself, and wondered just how long it would be until
he could finally leave. Surely he could just go? Another exit perhaps?
Click. A back door? That's it! He stood up and carefully looked through
the crack in the door and slipped into the main room once he was sure
that the wizard would not detect him. Crouching for what he imagined to
be stealth he crept round the counter, only for Wizo to startle him
with a "Aaah, the adventurer! How goes the quest?" It seemed friendly
enough, but Michael Philips simply could not take any more. Flinging
the calculator at the floor with a howl, he tore the stuffed lemur off
his leg and held it in front of him.
"Enough! ENOUGH! I am leaving! Have your lemur, have your costume! I'm
going, I won't stand for any more!" He yelled, his fingers trembling.
The wizard stayed calm. "But I explained to you good sir, you cannot
just go?"
"Oh I can!" roared the pirate. He stomped over to Wizo and pushed the
lemur into his chest. He did not fully realise his own strength, as
with a pained cry the old man crumpled, and fell to the floor. Michael
Philips stepped out of himself for a second. He had just assaulted an
elderly gentleman, and this was thoroughly not in his character.
Kneeling, he tenderly grasped the old man's shoulder, raising him
slowly to his feet. As the wizard was brushing himself off, something
small and metallic was left on the floor where he fell, and Michael
Philips stooped to pick it up before Wizo noticed. It was a small metal
object, about two inches by one inch, with a black plastic button
bearing the legend 'DOOR' in white lettering. Michael Philips pressed
it. Click.

"No! Not that! That's it!" shrieked the old man, reaching pitifully for
it. Michael Philips evaded him, and held the item out of reach. He
walked slowly to the door and pushed it. It opened. Clicking the button
again, he re-tried the door. It did not move. Another click. The door
opened. The wizard sagged.
"You duplicitous old bastard. You sad old man. What kind of trick was
that?" The old man did not reply. He looked at his feet. "Dressing up
like a wizard, just for a fancy dress shop? What the hell is that all
about? You're a fraud." No answer. The door opened, and a woman
entered. Late 20s, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and her handbag
in the other, she paused for a second, surveying the scene of a pirate
and a wizard having a disagreement.
"Dad?you haven't?have you?" she gingerly asked. The old man still did
not reply. "Come on, let's get you out of those silly clothes, and back
into your own. I'm sorry sir; this has been happening a bit too much
recently. He offered to watch the shop today while I had lunch?I
apologise."
"Oh?it's?alright." Michael Philips was quite taken aback. He did not
expect this to be the full stop to the sentencing he had apparently
received at the hands of Wizo, but to be fair nothing that happened now
could surprise him really. "Here, just put the costume on its hanger,
and I'll give it to you for free. 2 night hire?" "Oh?yes?" said Michael
Philips absent-mindedly. The old man was now shuffling around, trying
to remove his robe and hat, eyes red and face puffy. He looked like a
lost child, even more so when his daughter took him by the hand and sat
him down on a chair. He did not speak.