Larry & Mick Build a Rocket to the Moon

'Do you remember when we built a rocket to the moon, friend Mick?'
'Ahh, those heady days of youth...'
'How old were we then?'
'We were fourteen, friend Larry.'
'Fourteen years of age and misunderstood.'
'Even I didn't understand us.'
'Well you always were a bit slow...'

Nineteen Years Earlier...

[Bang! Bang!]
[Crash! Crash!]
[K'dunk! K'dunk!]

What, in the name of Holly Johnson and his band of curiously-follicled disco-boys, is going on up there, Larry?' 'Just painting my lead figures, mum!'
'Well Frankie say: relax! Don't do it! It sounds like two tribes are going to war up there!' 'Frankie say: welcome to the pleasuredome,' mumbled Larry, ironically.
'What was that?' said Larry's mum, who had oddly acute hearing for a ninety-two year-old.
'Nothing, mother.'
There was nothing more embarrassing than a ninety-two year-old mum who was a big fan of Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Except perhaps a ninety-two year-old mum who was a big fan of Frankie Goes to Hollywood and thought she could carry off dressing like Suzi Quatro. And was convinced Musical Youth ran the local chippy.
Speaking of which...
'Pa-a-ass the dutchie pon de left han' side,' came Mrs Lampshade's less than delightful intonations into her son's fragile young ears.
'Lord give me strength,' said Larry, very quietly indeed, as he resumed his [Bang! Bang!]ing, [Crash! Crash!]ing and [K'dunk! K'dunk!]ing.
It was then that his good friend Mick knocked on the window.
'Eh?' said Larry, as he turned to see who it was.
It was Mick.
'What you doing there, Mick?'
'Can I come in, friend Larry?'
'You surely can, friend Mick.'
Larry opened the window. Mick climbed through and plonked himself down on Larry's pile of stuff.
'Mind my pile of stuff,' said Larry.
'Sorry,' said Mick.
'S'okay,' said Larry. 'Just don't move around too much - it's fragile.'
'Remaining perfectly still,' said Mick.
'See that you do,' said Larry.
'What are you doing there, Larry?' said Mick, who had just noticed the thing that Larry was working on.
'What, this old thing?'
Mick nodded.
'Oh, it's just a rocket.'
'A rocket?'
Larry nodded.
'And what would be the purpose of your... as you say... "rocket... friend Larry?'
'So I don't have to get up so early of a morning.'
Mick frowned inquisitively.
'I can get to school quicker,' explained Larry, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Mick looked at the rocket. Then he looked at Larry. Then he looked outside. He had thoughts. But he wasn't yet sure what they were. He looked at the palms of his hands. Then he looked back at Larry.
'Pass me that Allen key,' said Larry.
Mick did as he was bid.
[Squeak! Squeak!]
[Crunch! Crunch!]
[Sp'dang! Sp'dang!] 'This will slice twelve minutes off my journey when it's done,' said Larry.
'Splendid,' said Mick. 'But surely...'
'What?'
'Nothing.'
'Nothing, my fedora! Come on, out with it...'
'Well I just...'
'You just...?'
'I just thought...'
'You thought...?'
'I thought that maybe...'
'That maybe...?'
'...you could go further with it than school.'
'Your spam'n'mushy pea sandwiches are ready!' came the screeching, ear-splitting, decibel-defying voice of Larry's mum.
'We'll discuss this later,' said Larry to Mick. 'Now make yourself scarce.'
Mick made himself scarce. Larry went down for his lunch. And nothing more was said on the subject of Larry's rocket. Until it was brought up in conversation later, that is.

Later...

'Well here we are, cycling around on our Choppers in the adventure playground, avoiding the glue-sniffers,' said Larry.
'Thank you for the commentary,' said Mick.
'Just setting the scene,' said Larry.
'So then,' said Mick, as he bunny-hopped over a bit of wood. 'As I was saying...'
'What?' said Larry, as he slammed on his brakes, balanced on his front wheel, flung his legs behind him and swung round his rear wheel in a 360-degree rotation.
'About this so-called "rocket of yours,' said Mick, as he leapt backwards off his bike, whilst simultaneously projecting said vehicle directly upwards, then did a bit of body-popping, a moonwalk and juggled three onions he had in his pocket, which he returned just in time to catch the descending Chopper on his left little finger, spin it round three times in the manner of the Harlem Globe Trotters, flip it back onto its wheels, jump back onto it and recommence peddlage thereof.
'That's just showing off,' said Larry.
'What is?' said Mick.
'Never mind,' said Larry. 'So what about my rocket then?'
'Well,' said Mick, as he did nothing unusual or interesting whatsoever with his bike; 'you could go to the moon in it.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' said Larry.
And that was that.

The Present Day...

'But we did go to the moon, didn't we, friend Larry?'
'Aye, we did that, friend Mick.'
'Although we did almost come to blows that time.'
'What was that about then?'
'I believe it was over the choice of transfers.'
Ahh yes, The Great Transfer Debacle of 1986!'
'Who could forget it...?'

The Great Transfer Debacle of 1986 (a little bit later than before)...

'Pass me those transfers, would you, Mick?'
'You mean these ones, Larry?'
'We've had conversations about this, Mick. You know I don't want to use the Spiderman ones.'
'But Spiderman's a superhero!'
'Who can't fly!'
'But he can jump great heights and swing from building to building!'
'We can't web-sling our way to the moon!'
'The web-slinging's a metaphor!'
'For what?'
'Well, you know...'
'Firing sticky stuff out of your wrists?'
'Don't be facetious.'
'Go on then, tell me what web-slinging is supposedly a metaphor for.'
'A metaphor for?'
'A metaphor for.'
'Okay, well it's actually four things...'
'Four metaphors for?'
'Shut up.'
'Okay.'
'It's a metaphor for freedom, reclaiming your power, escaping the bonds of social convention and... erm... catching flies.'
'Catching flies?'
'Which, in itself, is a metaphor for fending for yourself and not relying on your mum to make you spam'n'mushy pea sandwiches.'
'Is that a dig?'
'Just a gentle nudge.'
'Anyway, I still don't wanna use Spiderman.'
'Ahh, Lar-r-y-y-y-y-y!!!'
'Mi-i-i-i-i-ick!!!'
But Spiderman's the best!'
'He's rubbish!'
'He's ace!'
'He's stupid!'
'He's fab!'
'He's an idiot!'
'He's a genius!'
'He's a burk!'
'He's a hero!'
'He's a wally!'
'He's a crimefighter!'
'He's a spaz!'
'He is not a spaz!'
'He doesn't have a cape!'
'He doesn't need a flippin' cape!'
'He's a weakling!'
'He's an ass-kicking super-dude!'
'He's a nerd!'
'He has the best costume evah!' 'He doesn't have a girlfriend!'
'He doesn't have time for a flippin' girlfriend!'
'His dad's an orang-utan!'
'No, he isn't.'
'Isn't he?'
'Not Spiderman's.'
'I must be thinking of someone else, then.'
'Idiot.'
'Durr-brain.'
'Headcase.'
'Fuckwit.'
Larry & Mick sulked and fiddled with bits of fluff.
'I'm still not using Spiderman.'
'Don't blame me if it blows up.'
Larry got out the Dennis the Menace transfers he had got free with the latest Beano and stuck them to the outside of the rocket.
'I'm going down for my spam'n'mushy pea sandwiches now.'
'You're mum's a prostitute.'
'Shut up.'
'Okay.'
And Mick went home for his tea.

The Present Day (again)...

'Sorry I called your mum a prostitute, friend Larry.'
'Sorry I said Spiderman was a spaz.'
'So when did we go to the moon then?'
'I believe it was after Dungeons & Dragons and before The A-Team on the following Saturday afternoon.'
'Yes, that was it...'

After Dungeons & Dragons and Before the A-Team on the Following Saturday Afternoon...

'Daniel is travelling tonight on a plane,' said Mick.
'I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain,' said Larry.
'Oh and I can see Daniel waving goodbye,' said Mick.
'God it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my - hang on,' said Larry.
'What?' said Mick.
'There's something wrong here,' said Larry.
'What?' said Mick.
'We're playing, whilst simultaneously singing tuneless along to the wrong Elton John song,' said Larry.
'What?!' said Mick.
'It should be Rocket Man,' said Larry.
'Well never mind. Just fast forward the tape then,' said Mick.
'It's not on this tape,' said Larry.
'What??!!' said Mick.
'It's on the self-compiled collection entitled Rocket Man and Other Songs Appropriate for Listening to Whilst Travelling in a Home-Made Rocket.' 'And where might that tape be?' said Mick, who was somewhat fearful as to what the answer might be.
'I left it back at home in my duffel bag,' said Larry.
'What????!!!!?!?!?!!!' said Mick. 'But we're halfway to the moon!'
'We can't fly to the moon without playing, whilst simultaneously singing tunelessly along to Mr. John's masterpiece of tunesmithery, Rocket Man,' said Larry.
'Turn around,' said Mick.
And so they did.

Back to the Present Day...

'Did we get to the moon in the end?' said Mick.
'Did we 'eckers like,' said Larry.
'Why not?' said Mick.
'Couldn't be bothered,' said Larry.
'Elton John, eh?' said Mick.
'Genius,' said Larry.
And that was that.

[FIN]