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Go to Comic Con done up as Cheetara from the Thundercats? Not bloody likely.

Go to Comic Con at all?

Oh my God. How many nerds dressed up as Han Skywalker or Captain Spock is it possible to experience without ripping the latex pointy ears from the nearest nerd skull and shoving them down your own throat to choke yourself?

For Carl I’d do most things, but not that. So we reached a deal. I won’t be Cheetara in public, but how about Cheetara in private, if you get my meaning? And Carl did, once I’d explained it three or four times.

But let’s back up a moment. The Thundercats are a kid’s animated series from the nineteen eighties about a race of humanoid cats who flee their doomed planet (Thundera) in search of a new home. Their leader is Lion-O, a muscled young figure in tight light blue lycra shorts and vest. Cheetara is the sexy cheetah woman, complete with sexy cheetah hair and voluptuous breasts cradled in the comforting embrace of more skintight lycra.

You might be thinking – bonking while done up as characters from a kid’s show? That’s weird.

Yep.

But also. Bonking while done up as characters from a kid’s show? That’s fucking hot.

If only I hadn’t giggled.

Lion-O’s costume has a hole in the middle to show off his washboard abs. In Carl’s case it’s more cheeseboard than washboard, but I made it past that point no problem. I made it all the way to the point where he took off his tiny blue shorts.

Let’s back up another moment. Lion-O carries a small sword, about the size of a bread knife I’d say. But it’s a magic sword, and he’s able to raise it and shout, “Thundercats! Ho!”, and this teeny-tiny sword experiences a massive growth in shaft length, becoming a weapon of such mighty proportions that lionesses the world over abruptly find themselves on heat.

You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to guess what Carl said when he took off his shorts.

And then Christ on a bike coming a cropper on the peg of a misplaced wigwam, he was out of there in a huff and not a dicky out of him for a fortnight.

What happened next is all Carl’s own fault.

I went to Comic Con.

I went to Comic Con as Cheetara from the Thundercats.

I went to Comic Con as Cheetara from the Thundercats in nothing but a pair of yellow bikini bottoms and all over body paint.

I went to Comic Con and I screwed a dude done up as Scar from the Lion King. I couldn’t help it. My favourite character? This guy done up in all over body paint, barely the whites of his eyes showing, and his skinny arms and bulbous tummy were the perfect backdrop for Scar’s bony frame. It was the hottest thing ever, boning the evil uncle lion whilst done up as your boyfriend’s favourite lust character from his childhood.

Oh. God.

Carl is coming over soon. He says he has something to confess, but come on – what could Carl possibly have done at Comic Con worse than what I did?

No one knows for sure when the Wigwam was first built, but legend says it was made one night by Mad Riley, on the run from the FBI for a triple murder and caught in a terrible storm. Desperately seeking shelter he hid in the middle of the forest and crafted the structure, staying for three weeks before disappearing never to be seen again.

It was Joe who first suggested we meet there, all those years ago. The Thunder Children, as we called ourselves, in a misguided homage to the storm that was Mad Riley’s salvation and curse, met every month, come what may. Joe was geek sheek, the intelligent glasses, calm but distant, a casual shrug of the shoulders that told you he was way more intelligent than you, a long journey from the fantasy bookworm of our first meeting. He saw himself as a ‘Sherlock Holmes’, and me as his Watson. Or rather the ‘bodyguard’ as he’d say. Violence had a way of sniffing me out; I wasn’t big, but I wasn’t small either and I was quick with my fists. Beca; well she was the ‘mentalist’, eyes too close together and too dark for comfort, quick to anger, slow to forgive and the ringleader in most of our hairbrained escapades. Of course others came and went, but we three were the heart.

The night of the accident was a dark October night like so many others. Jenny arrived with a wheelbarrow of ‘goodies’, refuting my complaints with her logic of: “they're only fireworks, everybody knows fireworks never hurt nobody that's why they use them on Guy Fawkes' Night, because he didn't actually do anything.” I asked Joe if he thought she was being crazy? “Can the rain stop being wet?” He replied irritatingly.

The first rocket launched with initially, great excitement, followed by the inevitable disappointment of a distant bang. The next was aimed at a tree, with a satisfying gasp of wonder. The next went into the Wigwam, a festival of sound and light for the merest of seconds. Before we knew it the remaining fireworks including the aptly named Thunderbird Titan had been strapped together and placed in the centre of the Wigwam; in our ever increasing quest for more. We three stood inside waiting; a wave of uncertainty deep in each of us, kept at bay by the stronger desire to not back down in front of another.

Jenny the branded Thunder ‘mentalist’ was the 1st to hesitate. “I'm not sure this is a good idea” and then, “actually this is a terrible idea”. I was about to agree but Joe stepped forward, match in hand, smiling. “We’re not kids any more.”

Perhaps to him it was all an intellectual computation of what would happen next, or maybe he was tired of his quiet persona and wanted to evolve to the next stage. And he was right, we weren’t kids anymore, well not compared to back then. We weren't just friends anymore either; we had grown to know more about each other than our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers combined. We were Thunder Children, becoming Thunder Adults. We knew the value of caution, because as young adults we had learnt it. But as old children we also knew how to ignore it. Maybe he was just carried away in the moment.

I grabbed Jenny’s hand as Joe crouched and lit the match.

This is how the downward spiral starts. From nowhere comes the chance of making everything start again. Forty six years of evolution, of gradual advance, starts to look like a dirty stain, then gets thrown onto a bonfire. Scratching the accrued experiences of a lifetime at a stroke, reclaiming a new view of the world. Like you had at 16.

David couldn’t explain it, he was just a family man. A good man mostly.

Heidi the new marketing assistant was just so ….shiny! So new looking, with her young tits and blonde hair. Classic. Idiotic , but in the moment his instincts seemed pure and new and strong and brave rather than the opposite of those things.

He quickly found himself in a lust so desperate that his reason deserted him? And he spent a ton of money on her in a couple of weeks, hotels, lingerie, drinking and eating and going to young people’s places where he felt out of place, trying to look a man of the world.

Now he had a hangover of debt and a lurking sense of something unfinished. Had he come to his senses? Or had she lost interest the moment his man of the world façade crumbled? The brief affair was mutually abandoned.

Now the immediate problem was the great big next year’s summer holiday-sized hole in the finances, the hole he couldn’t explain to Elaine.

He had options. He could just lie and cover his tracks. He could borrow it off a mate. He could even own up and probably get through it eventually. Some damage limiting combination of all these was probably the safest way forward for a cautious and regretful man who’d made a mistake.

For the old David.

The new David’s lust had evolved into a thirst for danger. His affair had made him feel braver more ready to grasp the prize, be instinctive!

That’s why he stood here now in Corals, the bookies, on his lunch break. With his last £227.41p of holiday money on the nose on a horse in the 4.30 at Kempton Park.

12-1.

When it caught his eye on the bbc sports website he knew. That phrase David hadn’t said in his entire 46 years on this earth.

“It’s In the stars!”

“Exocet Missile from Winter Wonderland from Dave’s Redemption, Dave’s Redemption looking strong two furlongs from home” Said the commentator

David was murmuring “come on Dave’s Redemption , Come on boy”. An old man with yellow fingers next to him littered the air with indecipherable swear words.

David’s fists were clenched, he felt alive, awake, excited and controlled as Dave’s Redemption hit the front and then within a horrifying half moment he was desperate again as it suddenly went into slow motion.

“And at the line Evolution is the winner, from Wigwam Accident and Sherlock Holmes. Reluctant Thunder Mentalist is fourth with Dave’s Redemption tailing off.”

During the next six months David found no redemption in alcohol either, or cocaine, or embezzling money from the work safe either and it took 15 years to get him back to almost where he had been, an average Joe with a new wife, a patched up relationship with his kids and a job as a driving instructor. Whatever urge had destroyed him eventually released him so that he could barely remember it’s power. He felt nothing now when he saw Heidi across a road, or got a tip on a dead cert from a friendly barber. He just wondered why on earth he’d chosen to suddenly devolve.

What had started out as ‘Mum’s new friend Gavin’ escalated far too quickly for Chloe’s liking.

He wasn’t like Mum’s friend Sue, or Mum’s friend Lisa. They just drank coffee and giggled in the kitchen on a Sunday morning. These days Chloe couldn’t even go for a Toby Carvery with Mum without Gavin being there.

At first Chloe pretended it was like mum had said, even though she knew it wasn’t really. When Gavin came over they didn’t drink coffee in the kitchen, they curled up on the sofa or ordered food that Chloe heard being delivered after she’d gone to bed.

But when Gavin came and found her in her wigwam by himself, Chloe knew things were definitely different.

He crawled inside, still wearing his leather shoes and smelling of the thick, spicy smell that Mum liked and sat beside her, looking all hunched and silly. He nearly pulled too hard on one of the more integral blankets and collapsed the whole structure in on them by accident, but he managed to stop himself, just in time.

At first Chloe thought that if she didn’t look up from her book then he might think she was rude and go away. Maybe he’d go away from the house altogether and she could have Mum back.

But he didn’t.

“You like books, don’t you Chloe?”

She didn’t answer.

“What are you reading now?”

She didn’t even look up from the page.

“My favourite was always Sherlock Holmes” Gavin continued, unfazed “There’s one about escaped convicts and stolen treasure and a murder.”

Despite herself, Chloe felt herself listening.

“Is that The Famous Five?” he asked and Chloe felt herself nodding despite herself.

“Maybe one day we can swap - you can lend me one of your Famous Five Books and I’ll lend you a Sherlock Holmes. He’s a detective too.”

“I like detective stories” Chloe told him, allowing her eyes to slide from the page up to his face. She held the book out for him to see. Gavin took it from her and studiously read the back.

“This looks great. Please can I borrow it? When you’ve finished of course.”

Slowly Chloe nodded and Gavin smiled at her.

When he left the wigwam she heard him go down to Mum and their voices drifted up the stairs to her.

“Did she let you in?”

“Yup. She even promised to lend me a book.”

“Not a Famous Five?”

“Yup.”

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“I told her about Sherlock Holmes. We’re going to swap.”

“Wasn’t Conan Doyle some kind of rampant fundamentalist? Will he be alright for an eight year old?”

“The man just believed in fairies, Han, but Sherlock Holmes is very logical - great stories.”

Their voices faded as they moved into the kitchen. Sherlock Holmes sounded interesting, especially if he believed in fairies. And she liked detectives, even if she wasn’t sure what a reluctant thunder mentalist was. Maybe Gavin wasn’t so bad; Lisa had never asked Chloe about books.

Next time they went to meet Gavin at the Toby Carvery, Chloe remembered to take her newly finished copy of Five Got To Smuggler’s top for him. And, waiting for her when they arrived, Chloe saw a brand new copy of The Sign of the Four on the table