I think my Dad may be a terrorist!
He made me go with him to Balclava Hardware.
He knows I don’t like it in there. Its a strange little shop at the end of a lane off the High Street. I always get a cold shudder down my back when I see it.
Mr. Gregory is a short man with thick round glasses who is always wearing a long brown coat. I think he lives in there amongst all the junk. Everything is labled and kept in plastic containers on lines and lines of shelves. I’m sure he sleeps on once of those shelves, high up in a box labeled ‘slumber’.
Dad always heads in there when he’s up to something. Usually it turns out to be just painting a wall or stocking up on sticky tape but not today. He was looking for something a lot more sinister. Mr. Gregory and him were muttering to each other with their backs to me. Always a sign. I heard the word BOMB!
They shouldn’t be selling them. Surely there are laws against such things . I’ve heard about this. He’s been radishised! He has some funny ideas, Mum is always saying as much.
I blame the library. He’s always in there looking at their wares. They peddle all sorts in there.