Welcome to the House of Fun!

You would be forgiven if your mind harked back to the zany year of 1982, when Madness swept the nation and gave us one of the most infectious hits of the decade. But wait, madness also swept Renee and Renato to the Christmas number 1 in the same year...

Oh what fun we had.

Anyway back to my world, where small doses of fun were in hot demand yesterday. Fun bags of Mars and Milky Way  mini sized confections to be precise. The reason? We had been invited to an evening of star gazing high into the clear nights above Arkles Bay, and the theme was celestial.

With my creativity reserves in somewhat of a low ebb, we decided to go festooned with the aforesaid confectionery, representing the red planet, and the galactic swirl that you can eat between meals with out ruining your satellite.

I launched myself like the Mars Avenger to the local shop in search of the treasured fun bags.... and upon entering, scoured the immediate shelves in search of planetary evidence. As I continued to monitor the vast void of space, a grim voice announced itself across the airwaves.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"
Spinning round I spied a lone form hovering in the corner of the shop, frowning.

Fun bags, I'm looking for fun bags....

It stared and rasped..."Fun bags? What are they?"

A reasonable question I supposed, especially if your only knowledge of the word fun is garnered from the dictionary.

Ummm Bags of "fun" sized Mars bars and Milky Way.....?

I received a frown and a shrug from the life form in the corner. "Why are they called fun?"

A good question, I noted for enquiry later. Since I was not involved in the marketing department of the global confectionery giant, or interested in a semantic debate of the use of the word fun, I merely grimaced awkwardly and shrugged in reply. She grumbled and looked unpleasantly at her stock, like it had been annoying her all day. I expected a sharp retort.

Like the conclusion of Prometheus the ending surprised, and yet was not totally unexpected. 

"Over there" a pale hand showed me to a distant point. I hurriedly grabbed the bags of "fun" and having paid, made a reverse exit.

I wasted no time in voyaging home to start sellotaping mini Mars bars to my hat, reflecting that perhaps Ridley Scott was right. 

In space no-one can hear you scream.