I'm simply Simon! Simon Flunkert!

A confidence trickster? Oh, that's mean! And I'm not a nerd either! But I would go for the smart boy. Well, joking aside - I'm Simon Flunkert, and I'm thirteen. If you don't know me and you live in Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom or the States or some other exciting place far away from here, never mind! But if you don't know me and you live in Germany, Austria or Switzerland, well, what have you been doing for the past four years, I wonder. He he he! Okay, that's no problem. Let me just tell you that the Ki.Ka (a very cool German TV channel broadcasting programs for kids like ourselves) have been publishing my adventures on their videotext pages since I was nine years old. Puuh, that's been a long time, hasn't it?

Mom and Dad

The only two people I've known all my life, I reckon.
Dad met Mom on Christmas Eve. He had no one to celebrate with, so he went for a walk. He spotted Mom on a snowy potato field. She was alone, too, and was building a twenty-metres tall snowman. Dad told her how much he admired her snowman when she was just about to climb up the snowman and put a street lamp in his face as a nose. I was born on September 24th, by the way.
I wonder whether Dad had this beer-belly then. He has it now, as you see. He repairs cars for a living, but he never finds time to fix the Volkswagen he bought from that Ukrainian-born youth-choir master in Yougoslavia.
Mom often works night-shift because she is a nurse at the hospital. She's a strong woman, as you might guess.
I don't have much trouble with my parents. Actually no one does. They are so reasonable it sometimes hurts. The most disturbing thing about them, however, is that we have cabbage for dinner so often. I never get pizza.
Oh, have I told you I like sandwiches with chocolate cream and spicy peperoni?

My younger sister Claudia

I have known her all HER life. Claudia is eleven now, two years younger than myself. Actually we get along quite well together, even though we are brother and sister.
However, it was easier when we were younger and she always did what I ... well ... advised her to do. Even when she made a boob - for example, when she disguised as pirate Claudia Stoertebeker and stole (or "freed") our neighbour's garden gnomes, or when she went to a beauty parlour and sipped at all nail-polish bottles to find out what the most disgusting brand was - I always felt that I was in control.
But I'm not so sure now. She seems to have her own mind these days. When we both were hosts of a records show on TV together, we couldn't agree on who was whose assistant. And when she falls in love with a boy or something, she does without asking me before. Well, ...

My classmate Sirpa Hundelainen

We haven't known each other all our lives, but from our first year at school.
Oh, Sirpa has saved me quite a few times. When I am too enthusiastic about something, she holds me back when it's necessary. And when I am too lazy, she pushes me forward. But sometimes she also gets too keen on something. In Australia, where we were both as members of this theatre company, she won an Australian football match for our team - or thought she would win because she didn't know it was forbidden to crush the opponents' feet.
Sirpa was born in Mikkeli in Finland. She is a good friend to me and I really have a crush ... well, I really like her. Some people say I am in love with her, but that's not true. Okay - maybe a bit in love. Alright, alright, I AM in love with her. But don't let anybody know, okay? And I won't mention to you that we have kissed before. Oh no, what have I just done?!!!

My classmate Sepp Tember

He's Bavarian, and he's proud of it: Sepp Tember. He moved to our town two years ago, after his father bought a pub in Sehnde, which is called "Bavarian Embassy". It is Bavarian hoompa music Sepp is after, he plays the zither and yodels all the time. He prefers wearing his Bavarian traditional costume complete with lederhosen and tuft of chamois hair.
When he was introduced to our class, I hated him because all the girls loved him - he is so tall and strong. But after I realized Sirpa still liked me more than him, I even became his friend.

Baron von Primelhausen, my teacher of biology

I have got quite a lot of foreign teachers. For example, my American English teacher, Ms Cannat-Readman. Or my Turkish-born teacher of music, Mr Atonal Müsük, who is still so fond of New Wave. And, of course, Ms Agnzeta Kratochvilewski-Wospolotchensky, our Polish teacher of German, who only speaks broken German. But we usually help her when she makes gross mistakes.
But my weirdest teacher is a German nobleman: Eugen Friedrich Alexander Baron von Primelhausen zu Schöngeist auf der Erika-Inderheide-Gesternfrüh. (Dad always says this isn't a name, but a story.) He is very "sophisticated and distinguished" (whatever these words mean) and always wears expensive suits - even when he goes to the puddle to catch tadpoles.
But I have discovered his darkest secret. Once a month he sneaks into the local purification plant to take a bath in the sewage - and even WITH HIS BEST SUIT. I have promised not to tell anyone about his obsession. And I have kept my promise - or haven't I?

Daniel Roy - my secretary

As a school student, who has so many adventures to boot, I haven't got the time to write all my stories myself. So I have delegated this work to Daniel Roy, who holds a university degree of English Literature, French Linguistics and Sociology. Today he lives in Bruehl near Cologne and makes huge efforts to be taken seriously as a software engineer.
The guy made me up four ... well, he met me four years ago and knows all my stories by heart. (Well, not quite by heart.)

Malcolm McGookin of Asterisk* Productions, the "painter" responsible for my red hair:
Well, maybe you don't know the name Malcolm McGookin yet, but you will know for sure some of the animation work he has been involved with: Tabaluga has been the hero not only of German kiddies. Dangermouse and Count Duckula have also been favorites with children below and beyond the age of eighteen. And you might also have come across Victor + Hugo - no, I really didn't mean "Victor Hugo", that's a French writer, who is dead already -, Crocadoo II and Li'l Elvis Jones and the Truckstoppers.
Malcolm is from Scotland actually, but instead of having to do "tossing the cabre" (throwing tree trunks) like his fellow-Scots still do in the Scottish Highlands, he may live (and work) in sunny Queensland. Queensland is the northeastern state of Australia. Queensland has a subtropical climate, which is why the inhabitants of the state are called "banana benders".
And as Malcolm lives there "down under", he will introduce you soon to two of the most Australian Australians: Bunbury and Dubbo, two bunyips (???!!!!), that is, originally Australian mythical creatures - who have their very own everyday problems, as you will be able to see on your TV screens.

And Malcolm McGookin has even proposed to Ki.Ka to make an animated series of some of my stories. Isn't that goooorgeous?

Hi, fellow-kids

A couple of weeks ago I wasn't in a good mood at all. The reason for that had a name: Pete Bull. Pete Bull is a seventeen-year-old bully at our school. He's in the eighth grade with the fourteen-year-old students. He had been held back a grade before - three times in a row. He was always stopping me after school and threatening he would beat me up and have my guts for rope-skipping unless I gave him five deutschmarks every day. Yes - Pete Bull was about to scare me to death.

At home there was some chaos as well. Mom and Dad had so much work to do, so they almost forgot to look after my little sister Claudia and me, and they didn't do anything in and around the house either any more. The tap in the kitchen had been dripping for weeks - so loud I could hear it in my own room, and it was waking me up time and again night after night. Dad kept saying: "I'll fix that tap as soon as I've got the time" - but that time never ever came. He didn't even have the time to call a plumber. The exhaust on our old VW utility car, which Dad had bought from a Ukrainian-born youth-choir leader in Yugoslavia during a summer holiday, was wrecked, too: It made a noise like an army-tank. And fixing that exhaust - well, Dad didn't manage to start doing that either. Even though he is a car mechanic. Crazy, eh? Oh well - all that was getting on my nerves so much!

Then came that Friday evening when my parents went on a journey and took Claudia with them. A friend of Mom's would marry (for the fourth time!), and Mom was to be her witness to the marriage (for the fourth time, too!). As the wedding would be in Bruehl near Cologne, the three of them had to leave that Friday evening already. They went there by train. Since I didn't wanna join them, and, after all, I'm old enough to stay at home alone for a while (I'm twelve, see?), Mom and Dad allowed me to stay at home in Sehnde. But that doesn't mean that I could sleep very well during the night that followed. I always had to think of Pete Bull, that disgusting jerk, who was still bugging me day by day. Apart from that, this dripping tap was driving me mad as hell - drip drip drop drip drip ...

So I couldn't sleep at all, and it was four o'clock in the morning already. I didn't want to watch TV instead: There are no children's programs at night anyway. And I don't know why I had the craziest idea of my life then: In front of the entrance of the house that we live in some rugrats had tossed around such a lot of sand that it all looked like a sandy desert out there. Actually it would have been Dad's turn to do the sweeping in the morning. But he wasn't at home. In addition, he wouldn't have had the time to do it either. Anyway, I decided to be a good boy and to relieve him and to do that bit of sweeping in his place. And since I couldn't sleep, I got up right then in the night, got that broom from the cubbyhole, put on my clothes and went outside to sweep up that mess.

Honestly speaking, I found it to be a bit creepy to be outside at that time of the day - or rather night. It was even a little misty to boot, and apart from myself, everyone in town seemed to be fast asleep. Nevertheless I was enjoying my work and silently sang to myself the "street sweeper's song": "I'm sweeping in the rain, I'm sweeping in the rain, I'm sweeping and dancing in the rain...". Then I really got scared. "Hullo, hullo, my boy" a voice greeted me - and out of the mist appeared two men. They were dressed like workmen, and they had tools with them as well. The chubby one of the two, who had also said "Hullo", told me: "We're on our way to the Flunkerts' house. There's a dripping tap to fix." Oh, I see - so Dad did phone the plumber after all. I didn't wanna admit that I'd been scared (have I mentioned that I'm twelve?), and I replied: "That's great, gentlemen. I'm Simon, the son of Mister and Misses Flunkert. You're quite early, aren't you?" The men took this for praise. "Yeah - we're at work all the time where we come from", the chubby one answered proudly.

I brought the two guys to our house and right into our kitchen with that dripping tap. Somehow I had an idea I knew that chubby plumber. I felt I had seen him on a photo or something a long time ago. But I wasn't sure. However, as he seemed to be a very nice man, I just asked him straightaway: "Excuse me, Sir - I don't think we have met before, but I have a feeling I do know you." 'Chubby' laughed in a friendly way and said: "You're quite right, dear Simon. You do know me, and I do know you. I'm your Granddad Erwin. Your Dad's Dad." Oh yes, right. Now I remembered him clearly. I had seen him on loads of pictures in Dad's old family album. "Hey, that's cool you've popped in, Granddad!" I welcomed him. But then something struck me that couldn't be. I got scared! I was terrified! "What's the matter with you, my one and only and favorite grandson? Why are you trembling like a leaf?" he wondered. I replied hesitantly: "This can't be real. You can't be here. Dad always told me you were dead. You and Grandma Heidi, you both died in a car crash a long time before I was born - when you were not even forty years old." Granddad nodded his head: "That's true, yes, unfortunately. I simply saw that bloody truck just seconds too late. Bugger the eye doctor who thought I needed no spectacles. Oh by the way, Grandma asked me to give you her love. She's sorry she couldn't come with me tonight - she's busy washing them cotton-wool clouds." I got even more terrified: "Does this mean you're a ghost?" Again Granddad nodded: "Yip. That must be what I am, my boy." And to prove it to me, he took off the kitchen floor and hovered around in our kitchen. And oh, I had almost forgotten about the second man. "Are you a ghost, too?" I wanted to know. He started swirling around up in the air and then stood upside down on the kitchen ceiling, grinning: "Yes, lad. I've been one for quite a few years. But you don't know me. I'm Fritz, a mate of your grandfather, and I'm here to give him a hand later tonight."

Some way I managed to calm down even though I was so amazed, and I said: "Nice to meet you guys. How 'bout breakfast? I can make some sandwiches for you, and wouldn't you like two cans of coke to go with them? I'm afraid we don't have Pepsi." The ghosts giggled and came back to stand on the kitchen floor like normal people do. Granddad answered for both of them: "No, that's very nice, my boy, but it's not necessary. Let me fix that tap now." Cool! Granddad Erwin, a ghost, really meant to repair our dripping tap! He explained to me: "I've been watching that blasted tap dripping for weeks, and your father is too lazy to fix it. But after all, your Granddad Erwin was a skilled plumber in professional life. Well, it will be just a minute." You won't believe what happened then! Granddad transformed into a cloud of mist and crept right into the tap. He was really banging around there. After only a few seconds the cloud of mist came out of the tap and ... well ... re-materialized; Granddad took his former chubby shape again. He was so proud and all smiles: "Finished. Let's do a test ... yes, now the tap's awright again. Well, when I was a mortal plumber, it wasn't as easy as it is now. Oh, you ought to shut your mouth, Grandson!" I'd been so stunned I really must have stood there with my mouth opened wide.

"Okay, Fritz, your turn", Granddad said to his mate. They told me that Fritz had been a car mechanic before his death and was now going to fix the exhaust of our car. We went outside to the car on the car park. Without further explanation, Fritz transformed into a cloud of mist and crept through the exhaust pipe right into the exhaust silencer. However, he wasn't silent in there himself, but made quite a noise. Granddad became impatient: "You're awright in there, mate?" Fritz's resounding voice replied from the exhaust: "Just one more moment, folks. Don't forget I died more than seventy-five years ago. In 1924 or something. I'm simply not that familiar with modern automobile technology." As a matter of fact, there was silence for a moment after that, and all of a sudden the motor was started as if by an invisible hand - or even literally by an invisible hand. The motor was running smoothly. Fritz had fixed the exhaust perfectly.

After Fritz had turned off the motor, crept out of the exhaust pipe and taken his former shape ("Oh, feeling more comfortable now"), Granddad said to me: "It's a pity we have to say good-bye already, my boy. It's been so nice meeting you." - "Will you come again?" I wanted to know. "We'll have to wait and see, my dear grandson. But I'm with you more often than you might think. And oh - DON'T tell your father I was here. He wouldn't believe you, would he? We've got one more important job to do before it gets daylight. We are going to slaughter that bull." He was still able to confuse me: "Whaaaaat?" I asked. "Well, we shall go and call in at the house of that Pete Bull who bullies you at school, and I think we'll scare him a little bit to death. Good-bye, my boy." And before I could say one more word, the two of them disappeared into the mist.

They haven't scared Pete Bull TO DEATH. However, Pete Bull has been leaving me alone since that night - even running away head over heels when seeing me. I have no idea what Granddad and his mate did to him, but it must have impressed him very much indeed. And Dad? Well, he is wondering "how on earth" the exhaust and the tap can have stopped being broken. "A miracle" he says - and he won't know how right he is there, will he? I hope that I'll see Granddad Erwin again soon and that he will introduce me to Grandma Heidi this time.

Yours,
Simon Flunkert