Excerpt: All our Heroes are Busy at the Moment

"I want to go home."
They were out of sight of the road now, in the lee of the bramble hedge that ran between the fields.
"Well, you can't," said Al, finally, "because you haven't got one."
Stew sighed. "You're right. I'm still in the squat. At my age."
"Well, go there, then, if you don't want to help."
"I'll stay and help," said Stew, after leaning on his shovel and thinking carefully for several minutes. "The squat's a dreadful, mucky place and it stinks of rotten fish."
"Well, you shouldn't keep leaving fish lying about it," said Al, picking up the second shovel as he spoke, "You should put 'em in water. The floor kills 'em, and then they start to smell."
"Is that a potato?"
"Don't try changing the subject."
"We could have some decent chips off that'n."

"Hey, those are _my_ potatoes you're stealin'. Get off my land, you tramps!" The shout came from somewhere behind the hedgerow. "Or I shall try out my new rifle."
Al laughed heartily. "Try it out, then. You can take your time because we ain't going anywhere."
"All right, well, you asked for it."
"Gie it your best shot, Mookie."
From behind the hedge came a loud bang and an even louder scream. "Aargh, shit!" it cried.
"Are you all right, Farmer?" hollered Stew.
"No, I'm bloody not. I've shot my own ear off."
"I've told you before, you hold it with the pointy end facin' the trespasser and you..." Al couldn't speak for laughter. "Oh, there's no point explainin', 'cos you'll never learn. You should stick to what you're good at."
"And what's that?" Stew enquired.
"Claimin' subsidies."

Al and Stew pushed through the hedge towards the echo of the loud bang. Farmer Mook was lying on the ground, too shaken to stand up. There were a puddle of blood and an ear on the ground.
"You're in severe shock, mate." Stew observed. "Do you want a drink?"
"It's all right, I've got one ear."
"I thought we'd best get that out of the way."
A huge cow wandered over to see what was going on. Mook grabbed hold of her and struggled to his feet. He was mud and dirt all over.
While Stew picked up Mook's ear and handed it to him, Al examined the smoking rifle. "Made in China," he read.
"What, my ear?"
"So, Mookie, can we get on with the potato harvest or do you need medical assistance?"
Mook didn't say anything, but the answer was obvious.
"Come on," said Stew, "I'll walk to the cottage hospital with you and they'll patch you up. How many times is that ye've nearly killed yersel'?"
Al watched them as far as the road and then wandered back to the potato patch. They probably needed three each.