The T-Team With Mr B (14)

At the mouth of Walpa gorge, Kata Tjuta, we dumped our baggage under a tree, and then advanced up and into the gorge. The heat and flies evaporated as the dank shadows of the gorge’s walls towered over us.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (14)

Last Friday, no different from every other Friday, Clarke, the robot streamed Queen through the quadraphonic amplified speakers, and we clapped, stomping our feet in the air to the beat. Nathan screwed up his dark face and mimed the chords on his air guitar:
‘Another one bites the dust! Doof! Doof!’ Liesel whooped while I raised my hands to cheer.

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Out of the Chocolate box (13)

We plunged through the stormy red spot of Jupiter; a centuries-old hurricane to the observers on Earth, but to Star travellers, a worm hole in a constant state of flux. Intelligence from ISF headquarters suggested Boris and his fleet of cockroaches lurked on the outskirts of Betelgeux, a red supergiant about to explode into a supernova.

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The T-Team with Mr B (12)

As there were more tourists in their Land Rovers and cars also circling the Rock, Richard and I descended from our high status on the top of the Rover and crammed into the back cabin. The roads, though not sealed, were better graded with gravel tempering the bull dust, so though the dust was still a nuisance, it didn’t make me cough.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (11)

As I negotiated the now lime green corridors on the Sister Ship, I met a willowy young mother, Monica and her two-year-old son. Her boy was so cute with Mediterranean features, olive complexion, wide brown eyes and a tumble of dark curls. Dr Mario’s, Minna had told me. Poor Liesel, the blonde, I mean, Monica, had won that battle.

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