Living Upside Down. John Hickman

      John Hickman was born in the UK at the end of WWII. He grew up in the shadow of his war hero father, Bill.

      Attending numerous schools due to the family moving for Bill’s work, John learned quickly to enjoy the most of the moment, and to not take life too seriously.

      His books are a glimpse into his world and the imagination that has grown from those life experiences; working in a bank, as an hotelier, and in the Pest Control industry before migrating with his family to Australia as ‘ten pound Poms’.

      After specialising in global pest control, fumigation, and timber preservation, John and his family diversified into farming Javan Rusa deer, in the South Burnett.

      After retirement in 2003 and unable to play golf, he discovered a latent passion for writing.

      Living Upside Down is John’s debut novel to feature the adventures of Sue and Roger, after writing three true stories.

      This novel was inspired, in part by the author’s thirty-five years of experience in the global pest control industry, life in the Archipelago, and migrating as ten pound poms.

      Chapter 1

      ALWAYS AN ENGLAND

      Sue dreams about making ends meet and a better life for her family. She is now fully awake and attending to her second child, baby boy James.

      Roger is fast asleep searching for, of all things, Seal Flipper Pie.

      His ridiculous dream has clipped along at a furious pace until a change in direction, as dreams often do. He encounters a brief loving chat with his mother whose ashes were scattered five years previous, then into a spectacular nosedive. His Father’s second wife Zelda, a woman devoid of any warm fuzzy feelings for Roger, scolds him over the failure of their family hotel business, as she blames him! She is over groomed and prissy as a pampered poodle while caterwauling at him in German.

      At this point, in danger of shitting a gasket sideways thanks to Zelda and still bereft of his Seal Flipper Pie, Roger is waking up.

      Feeling fuzzy and exhausted from his dreams, Roger cautiously opens one eye.

      After a moment he realises it is a no-work-day, Saturday. All he has to do today is nothing if he can get that right.

      Dazed, he is rubbing sleep from his other eye when Fred starts his panic whining. Thinking he must get to Fred quickly, Roger attempts to become Action Man. Hampered by bedsheets and blankets, he kicks himself free; his bleary eyes trying to keep up with the rest of him.

      Before Sue can put the kettle down and attend to the dog, an animated striped pyjama of flailing arms and legs rushes through the doorway towards the back door.

      Canine Fred is now in a state of panic and performing repeated u-turns.

      Making contact with the newspapers laid down the night before as a precaution, Roger’s socked feet fail to gain traction. He slides, skips, and is sent airborne with a Nureyev double turn leap. Without a controlled touchdown, he lands spread-eagled on a sharp toy. Ouch! That has got to have hurt an important part.

      Sue’s badly stifled shrieks of laughter prevent her from assisting the prone Nureyev.

      “Oh, fuck!”

      Sue glares, “Standards, Roger!”

      “Bloody standards? I’ve nearly impaled my jewels,” hands clasping his gonads, “on…on, something.”

      “Breathe,” Sue’s holding her hand across her mouth to stifle her laughter, “BREATHE!”

      As if breathing will ease my pain,” Roger whines.

      Not breathing certainly would ease Roger’s pain but now he feels like a complete Knucklehead.

      Lying out prone, their back door rearing above him like the southern face of Everest, an excited Fred farts in Roger’s face.

      Still clutching himself Roger exclaims, “Wow! That’s got some hang time!”

      Sue screws up her nose, glaring at Roger. She is making strange noises. A little like those his Gran makes whenever she sees a live mouse.

      Sue knows well that in the first thirty minutes of any day her husband’s cognitive abilities are quite similar to those of a toddler — not a very bright toddler at that, and not a silent one.

      Sighing, Roger begins picking up the newspapers. “What an awful end for the News Of The World.”

      Sue grins, “Maybe Fred’s fussy what newspaper he puts to the sword?”

      “That’s a good, boy.” Roger praises him for not making a mess, then watches helplessly as Fred wees himself with excitement where the paper would have been.

      Roger shakes his head in exasperation. “Damn! God’s being unfair, again!”

      “Takes a lot of the fun out of it, doesn’t it?” Sue replies with a fixed grin, “Kettle’s boiled.”

      Sue cracks open the back door, gently pushes Fred outside before shivering and quickly closing it again; exactly as she had intended before Roger’s fiasco.

      Clutching at his sore jewels, Roger wraps himself in his heavy dressing gown over his winceyette pyjamas, shuffles back into his well-worn fur lined slippers.

      “It’s snowed, Sue. Damn! Now we’ll need to buy more heating coal for sure.”

      Sue turns her attention and considerable patience to preparing the first feed of the day for James.

      Roger wears his proud father grin and tickles James under his chin.

      James is unimpressed, maybe because he’s hungry. Roger remembers that when James was born, his