Things people might want to keep secret normally fell into three main categories:

1. You’ve found something really good, like a nice fish, or an interesting piece of rubbish that’s drifted in from shore, and you want to hide it from everybody else so you don’t have to share. This is a pointless secret. I understand why you wouldn’t want to share, but imagine, what are you going to do with your brilliant item? If it’s food, you’ll have to eat it at some point, which will mean revealing it, and if it’s not food, what’s the point of it being so brilliant if you can’t flaunt its brilliance at others?

2. Gossip about somebody else. They’re either annoying, or they fancy somebody. Something like that. This sort of secret would be fine if it stayed a secret, but it’s when it doesn’t that it’s a problem. Then there’s a great old riot and everybody wants to get involved with their view. And, oh yeah, we’ve all got loads of views.

3. You’re embarrassed about something you’ve done, or a bodily function. Keeping this a secret is selfish, in my opinion, and in the opinion of everybody on here. This is a chance to laugh at you, which is the only thing that keeps us going here.

Going to the toilet could be a secret, and we have a shack for that. It’s called the Small House, obviously, and it’s right on the edge of the Jellyfish so that your business just goes over the side. But we can usually tell what somebody’s been doing in there based on the time they spend crouched down. Our bowel movements are a hot topic of conversation in some groups, probably because for some people, going to the Small House is one of the best parts of the day.

So, yeah, what with all of our non-secrets, I knew something was up.

Our morning lessons were almost over and we were still sitting towards the front of the Jellyfish, on that part near the Big House where you felt the least movement so it was easiest to write. It had been a pretty ordinary day. The birds were still circling over the cliffs as usual, the sheep were still in the scrublands as usual, the kriks were still patrolling in the coastal houses. But the other jellyfish people were not behaving as usual.

‘Three, two, one, GO!’ shouted Soldier John. There was a pounding of feet behind us, and the Jellyfish gave a sudden lurch to the left.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ muttered Lana as we grabbed our plastic sacking and our fishbone pens. ‘I wish they’d flippin’ stand still. This wobbling’s making me feel sick.’