Radio Boy and the Revenge of Grandad. Christian O’Connell

on earth was I going to tell a desperate and unstable man like him that he was fired from a kids’ radio show? I had to sleep on it. On the inflatable bed of nails on the floor, listening to Grandad Ray’s snoring as he slept on my comfortable bed.

      The answer came the next day from an unlikely source.

      I leaped out of bed the following morning, before my alarm could wake Grandad. I was also hoping to catch Dad before he headed off to work at the supermarket, but Mum said he’d had to leave early. Maybe no bad thing anyway, as Dad would’ve been angry with Grandad when he heard how he had ruined our radio show. He might have thrown him out on to the streets! I couldn’t ask Mum as she’d just defend him; she was totally under his spell. Or maybe the aftershave fog surrounding him had affected her brain? In her eyes, either way, Grandad could do no wrong.

      I headed to school, with my head and heart full of dread. Sensei Terry was on his post round, with his postbag bursting with letters and parcels. ‘Morning, Spike. I see a young man heavy in thought,’ he said in his wise karate-warrior way.

      ‘Really? How do you know?’ I asked.

      ‘Samurai training. I can read a man easier than a book. If I see someone wiggling their fingers, they could be about to attack with that hand. I’ve already thought through my options to neutralise the attack. It’s over before it’s begun,’ he said casually.

      ‘Wow! Have you ever had to use this knowledge in practice?’

      ‘Oh yes. A man was once loitering near my car, Spike, looking very shifty indeed. I crept up on him. He spun round and went to withdraw something from his pocket. This could’ve been a knife or gun so I was compelled to react FAST. The best form of defence is attack. I grabbed him at lightning speed and threw him over my hip, classic hip throw, Spike. Correctly known as O-Goshi. KABLAM! On the pavement.’

      ‘WOW! A knife-wielding maniac?’

      ‘Not exactly, as it turns out. A traffic warden who was trying to get my parking ticket out of his pocket. Still, we had a laugh about it, once he got out of Casualty a few days later. I never did get that ticket …’

      At that precise moment Grandad Ray came strutting past us. ‘Have a good day at school, Spike. This weirdo bothering you?’ He gestured at Sensei Terry.

      ‘Oh no. This is Sensei Terry. He’s not just a postman, Grandad, he’s also the local karate instructor,’ I explained.

      Sensei Terry, upon hearing his introduction, gave a half-bow to Grandad Ray.