MWAHAHAHAHAHA! We have them.

This is a very brief, and hopefully offensive, message to anybody who has been following this adventures of spunky young Timmy and his cretinous brother. They have not found their frog. In fact, we have captured them, and they are in our deepest, darkest, grimiest, filthiest, smelliest, most horrible dungeon, and we are going to treat them absolutely appallingly, for a very, very long time, and we are going to continue with our nefarious, dastardly and FABULOUSLY deranged plans for Clyde the frog, and in the meantime we hope everybody who has been reading about their exploits - if, in fact, anyone has been, because we can’t imagine why anyone would find them remotely interesting - has their Christmas ruined by a combination of dry rot, mouldy vegetables, unexpected secretions and more oozing gunk than they can take.




Remember the noise I heard? The one that caused me to abruptly stop blogging? Well, it was nothing. The wind.

Not that that matters, not now.

We were ready. We had our plan, we had our kit, we were all ready. The Dark Citadel was less than a mile away.

We took a deep breath.

We stormed towards it…

And there was no-one there.



Just a note.

I really don’t know what to say.


Finally we can rest. And there’s Wi-Fi here! I can’t believe our good luck. Timmy has informed me that ‘Fortune is smiling upon us.’


So we arrived in this weird other dimension, whose name we can’t pronounce, late Friday night (or early Saturday morning) and quickly realised that we weren’t anywhere near where the Hunchmen have taken Clyde. Our guide Sqknnnnnwg, who we met shortly afterwards, said we probably didn’t let the music play for long enough before we stepped through the doorway (which was bright and purple and flashy and pretty darn cool). Where you end up when you arrive depends on the duration of the music.

Anyway. We materialised in a blue field, with no landmarks for miles, although luckily we could see pretty well because this world has SIX MOONS.

Yes. Which means that it’s bright as you like during the day, and not much dimmer at night. Everyone wears sunglasses to bed.

The second thing we realised when we arrived (the first being “we’re not supposed to be here”) was that although we had come through the gateway, none of our stuff had. So we were in a field, in an alien universe, with no stuff. Not even the Vimto. I started to panic, I’m not ashamed to admit, but Timmy kept a cool head and immediately said ‘let’s go this way’. There was no reason that we should be going that way, but Timmy said it and I agreed, because there was nothing else to do.

After a while we came across Sqknnnnnwg, whose species, the Numkumberbumpwins, are indigenous to this world. He looks kind of like one of those trolls you used to get with the brightly coloured hair, except fatter and covered in brown jam. He doesn’t speak much English, just enough to get by. Apparently he visited our world once, and is not keen to return. Timmy eventually worked out that he’d visited Scunthorpe, which explains why he didn’t want to come back.

He knew of the Hunchmen, but not of Clyde. He explained that he was a farmer, but that a mysterious plague had killed all of his livestock. It was the same all the way across the country (it’s a really, really, really big country, by the way, hence us walking pretty much solidly for five days). He’s been trying to make a living harvesting the slime that occasionally pops up from blisters beneath the blue grass in the fields, but nobody really wants it because it’s useless. So he was just wandering around and happened to find us, and we explained our predicament and he made some calls.

When I say calls, I mean literally. He has a kind of a mouth organ / trumpet contraption which he uses to shout to people far away. They pick up on the specific frequency of his call and then reply. After a lot of really tuneless shouting he managed to tell us that the Hunchmen took Clyde to The Dark Citadel, home of some extremely evil, extremely mysterious creatures that no-one really knows anything about. Nobody goes near them, and I was fully expecting Sqknnnnnwg to tell us to hop it, but he’s pretty happy go lucky, and said he was bored.

So he helped us gather some supplies, and we started to walk. Miles and miles of blue fields. Blue trees as tall as the sky. Weird blisters that pop when you walk on them, covering your shoes in a purple gunk which smells like brown sauce. And occasionally a six-trunked elephant so big I couldn’t see its top. They just amble around the place not doing very much. Every now and then they crush a village.

Timmy loves it here. I can’t wait to go home.

A couple of times we came across bandits, other members of Sqknnnnnwg’s species who’ve taken up lives of crime. Each time, Sqknnnnnwg fought them off, not with weapons but with a technique he calls Psy Expulsion. Basically, it’s a hallucinogenic burp. He burps in their faces, and something in the expelled air gets into their brains and makes them hallucinate wildly, giving us time to run away.

Timmy loves Sqknnnnnwg. He’s starting to grow on me, to be honest, although he has accidentally burped in my face a couple of times. The first time I thought I was being eaten alive by shoes. The second time was so terrifying I’ve actually repressed it. I don’t have a clue what happened. I’m sure it’ll come back to haunt me.

So nearly five days of walking, with the occasional stop for food and to try and find Wi-Fi. Patches of Wi-Fi just occur naturally in this world, and they’re the only concrete (for want of a better word) link back to our world. This is the first time we’ve been able to stop for long enough to do a proper blog post. I’m using Sqknnnnnwg’s computer, which is kind of like a toy piano and a typewriter that have had an accident and become fused together. It’s quite hard to use.

So that’s the story so far. We’re doing OK, although I spent most of the time being terrified for my life. Even when there’s nothing there.

Don’t worry, Clyde.

We’re coming for you…

Hold on…

What was that noise…

We’re OK! So Far!

I don’t have long! Timmy and I are all right. It’s been a fairly gobsmacking few days, but we’re alive and in one piece. Just about.

It’s not safe to write much at the moment, hopefully tomorrow we’ll be able to stop for longer and…


Time to go!

Wish Us Luck!

So we’re about to leave. Timmy has spent the last two days meticulously planning and preparing. We have weapons (one sword, one rolling pin, one saucepan), food supplies (several loaves of bread, one jar of jam, one jar of peanut butter, one jar of Marmite, a bag of carrots, a jumbo bag of Skittles and two litre bottles of Vimto) and other supplies (one tent, one Thunderbirds sleeping bag, one Reservoir Dogs sleeping bag, 40 metres of rope, 50 metres of string, one skateboard, lots of balled-up socks, one stepladder, one pogo stick, one jumbo-sized sketch pad, multi-coloured pantaloons, one Welsh tea towel, one Scottish tea towel, one Jamaican tea towel and one Rastamouse tea towel). Just after midnight, Timmy is going to play the four songs at the exact same time, and we are going to pass across to the other world. We are also taking a laptop, as it seems that despite being a parallel dimension, this other world has wireless Internet. So I may be blogging from the other side. Not sure though. Depends how much time we have in between rescuing Clyde.

Timmy has insisted that I include the following. This is a picture of the sword I made out of cardboard.

Timmy took one look at it, said ‘That’s PATHETIC’ and promptly produced the following sword. ‘Here’s one I made earlier,’ he said, triumphantly. You wouldn’t think to look at it, but this sword is also made out of cardboard.

Timmy has also insisted I upload the following photo as a size comparison.

He says I’m a pathetic excuse for a swordsmith, which is fair enough. But he’s glad I’m coming along, because I’m about this much (he held up his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart to illustrate this point) tougher than him.

It’s enough to make a big brother feel really needed, no?

So yes. We are going to break through to the other dimension with all our stuff - I seem to have ended up carrying everything - and if we return our house will be full of cake.

'WHEN we return,' Timmy has just corrected me. 'Not if.'

Yes. WHEN. When we return, with Clyde in tow.

Oops! It’s just gone midnight. Best be off.

Wish us luck…

This is going to be interesting.


Timmy has found Clyde, or at least a Facebook page masquerading as Clyde -

Not sure if that will work, but anyway. On the Facebook page was a note.

"Dear Timmy

I have been kidnapped by a species called the Hunchmen. They are a particularly disgusting, squashed, slimy half-slug half-man creature, and they live by sucking the energy from lightbulbs.

However, they’re not the ones to be worried about. They were just doing a job, for some much more unpleasant people. I can’t go in to what they want to do to me now, but rest assured it’s not going to be fun, and I only have until Saturday. Luckily, there’s pretty good Wi-Fi in the tower where they’re keeping me, and I managed to smuggle my smartphone out when they kidnapped me. They’re keeping tabs on the Internet, so getting clues to you has been hard - I started a blog, and I wanted to do a Wikipedia entry for the Hunchmen but it was too complicated - but then I overheard two Hunchmen talking. Apparently, they don’t take Facebook seriously - they think it’s just a passing fad - so they’re not tracking it. So I made a profile, and hopefully you’ll find it.

They’ve taken me to The Dark Citadel, in a parallel dimension. I can’t actually pronounce or spell its name, it sounds kind of like the noise you’d make if you sucked the words “old silver cow” backwards down your throat. But that doesn’t matter. All you need to know is how to get here.

The Hunchmen use music to travel between worlds. Harmonic and melodic combinations - like specific songs being played AT THE EXACT SAME TIME. But each melodic combination only works for a week - and the one I’ve given you will become obsolete on Saturday. Finding another one will be pretty much impossible.

Please, please, please come and get me Timmy. And bring your brother along. He’s not much of a brain but I’m sure he could be handy with a sword.

They’re keeping me in the top room of The Dark Citadel, probably the wonkiest castle I’ve ever seen.

I hope to see you soon.”

So there we have it. Clyde’s in a parallel universe. Where else would he be?

More later. I need to calm Timmy down.


No developments today. Timmy has barely left his office. Dad’s Edinburgh Gateaux now fills most of the first floor of our house.

If it starts to come up the stairs, I’m going to move out and live in the shed.

Only three days until Saturday…

I hope Clyde is all right.

The Plot Thickens… Again

Another post from the mysterious blogger. This time there was a picture of Clyde. Have a look -

It’s got Timmy pretty worried. Me too, to be honest. At least this person seems like they’re a friend, but it’s somewhat on the cryptic side. They say we only have until Saturday… what does that mean?

They haven’t hurt Clyde… yet. What does that mean?

'Well,' said Timmy, as if talking to someone very young, old or stupid, or all three, 'obviously it means they're going to hurt him. But they haven't yet.'

Thinking about it, that was pretty obvious, I suppose.

Timmy still hasn’t managed to glean any clues from the songs. He’s learned to play them all on the piano - his Minute Waltz is particularly impressive - and learned all the lyrics off by heart. But there’s still nothing to connect them. And if Timmy can’t work it out, I certainly can’t. I’m barely hanging on to my sanity as it is. Dad’s started talking with a Scottish accent and he’s filled the whole kitchen with what he’s calling The Great Edinburgh Gateaux, and I’ve been living off old cereal for the last couple of days. There was a moth in my Weetabix this morning.

'I'm going to figure this out,' said Timmy, after reading the new blog post for the umpteenth time, 'and then we're going to go and rescue Clyde.'

'Of course,' I said.

'Get back to your sword,' he added, and then went and shut himself in his office again.

I suppose I’d better be getting back to my sword, then.

Here’s the song, if you’re interested… please, PLEASE, if someone can put us out of our misery, then do! I’ve started having strange dreams about frogs and blogs.

The Last Song

Song number four of four is up at

Once again, I am baffled. Timmy keeps stroking his chin like some bearded child genius, and he nodded as though the new song made some kind of sense. However, he wouldn’t explain it to me and went and locked himself back in his room.

So. We have Magic Moments, My Patch, Chopin’s Minute Waltz and now Unsquare Dance. Not much links them. The first two are similar-ish. The latter two both feature the piano. Don’t think any of them are in the same key, although I don’t know anything about keys (my dad smashed my trombone because he said the sound made him want to give me up for adoption). I don’t want to say this to Timmy, but I can’t help but think that maybe this whole blog is some kind of red herring.

We’ll see, I suppose…