We swirl for a long, long time.
Just when I think I can’t stand it any longer, the swirling stops.
‘We’re coming in for a landing,’ says Terry.
The bin lands and we all fall out onto the ground.
‘Have we gone back six and half years?’ I say.
Terry looks into the bin and checks the chronometer. ‘Oh no,’ he says. ‘We’ve travelled 650 million years back in time!’
‘But I only set it for six and a half years back,’ I say.
‘The inspector must have knocked it when he fell in,’ says Terry.
‘It’s not my fault!’ says the inspector. ‘That chronometer should have a safety guard on it. And a time machine blast-off button without an emergency override directly contravenes Regulation 3, Subsection 4.5, paragraph 6, line 22 of the Time Travel Blast-off Button Act.’
‘I didn’t even know there was a Blast-off Button Act,’ says Terry.
‘Oh yes,’ says the inspector. ‘It’s right here in this book, Rules and Regulations of the World: Past, Present and Future. I never go anywhere without it.’
‘Hey, Andy,’ says Terry, ‘look at this puddle. It’s full of pond scum, and one of the pond scum looks just like you.’
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘And that one looks just like you!’
‘Who are you calling pond scum, pal?’ says Pond Scum Andy. ‘You’re not exactly an oil painting yourself.’
‘Leave him alone,’ says Pond Scum Terry.
‘Wow,’ says Terry. ‘Talking pond scum!’
‘That’s no ordinary pond scum,’ says the inspector. ‘These are the world’s earliest simple life forms. We’re witnessing the beginnings of life on Earth!’
‘You got that right, pal,’ says Pond Scum Andy. ‘But it could be the end for us any time soon.’
‘How come?’ says Terry.
‘Because the only thing keeping our puddle from drying up is that overhanging rock ledge.’
I look up at the rock ledge Terry is standing on. I see what Pond Scum Andy means; it is the only shade around here, and the sun is really hot!
‘That’s too bad,’ I say.
‘It’s even worse for you,’ says Pond Scum Andy, ‘because if we don’t make it, you’ll never exist at all. At least we’ve had a life, even if we have spent it just floating around in a puddle. I mean, it’s better than nothing.’
‘What do you mean we won’t exist?’ says Terry.
‘If life forms like us get burned up,’ says Pond Scum Terry, ‘then complicated life forms like you will never get the chance to evolve.’
‘Oh no!’ says Terry, looking really worried.
‘Relax,’ I say, ‘they’ll probably make it. They’ve got shade.’
‘But not for long,’ says Terry. ‘This rock ledge is cracking. I think it’s about to break!’
‘You idiot, Terry!’ scream the pond scum as a large piece of rock breaks off and crashes down into the puddle.
‘That puddle should have a sun shelter over it,’ says Inspector Bubblewrap. ‘It contravenes Regulation 456, Section B, Part 2 of the Prehistoric Sun Shelter Act. I therefore declare this puddle illegal!’
‘What if we built a sun shelter?’ I say.
‘You’d need a permit for that,’ says the inspector.
‘Can you give us one?’ says Terry.
‘Well, under the circumstances and given that the future of life on Earth depends on it,’ says the inspector, ‘I think I could rush the paperwork through.’
‘Great!’ I say. ‘Let’s get started.’
Pretty soon we’ve built the most amazing 65-storey prehistoric pond scum puddle sun shelter you’ve ever seen.
‘There you go,’ says Terry. ‘That should keep you all sun safe for the next 300 million years or so!’
‘Thanks, Terry,’ says Pond Scum Terry. ‘You’re the best.’
‘No, Andy is the best,’ says Pond Scum Andy.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ says Pond Scum Terry. ‘Because Terry is the best!’
‘You’re the one who’s wrong,’ says Pond Scum Andy. ‘Because you don’t know what you’re talking about. Andy is the best. No contest!’
The pond scum continue shouting at each other.
‘TERRY!’
‘ANDY!’
‘TERRY!’
‘ANDY!’
Then things really get out of control.
‘Let’s leave them to it,’ I say. ‘We’d better be getting back to the future before this wheelie bin melts in the heat. It’s pretty soft already.’
‘I hope our prehistoric pond scum ancestors make it,’ says Terry.
‘So do I,’ I say. ‘But if they don’t and we end up not existing it’ll be all your fault.’
‘But we do exist,’ says the inspector. ‘So they must have made it.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thanks to me and my great idea about building a pond-scum sun shelter.’
‘And thanks to me for helping build it,’ says Terry.
‘And thanks to me for issuing the permit,’ says the inspector.
‘Speaking of permits,’ I say, ‘we’d better be getting to that permit office to apply for our building permit so the treehouse doesn’t have to be demolished.’
‘Sure thing, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘I’ve set the chronometer for six and a half years before we left.
Hold on, everybodyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy …’
