‘Well, everyone thinks they’re a bit mad,’ said Yo-less. ‘It’s part of being normal.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I’m mad,’ said Johnny.

‘You don’t?’

‘Well—’

‘Ah-aha!’ said Wobbler.

‘I mean – the whole world seems kind of weird right now. You watch the telly, don’t you? How can you be the good guys if you’re dropping clever bombs right down people’s chimneys? And blowing people up just because they’re being bossed around by a loony?’

‘Shouldn’t let ’emselves be bossed around, then,’ said Bigmac. Johnny looked at him. Bigmac deflated a bit. ‘It’s their own fault. They don’t have to. That’s what my brother says, anyway,’ he mumbled.

‘Is it?’ said Johnny.

Bigmac shrugged.

‘Oh, well, yes,’ said Wobbler. ‘How? It’s hard enough to get rid of prime ministers and at least they don’t have people taken out and shot. Not any more, anyway.’

‘My brother’s stupid,’ said Bigmac, so quietly under his breath that Johnny wondered if anyone else even heard it.

‘There was a man on the box saying that the bomb-aimers were so good because they all grew up playing computer games,’ said Wobbler.

‘See?’ said Johnny. ‘That’s what I mean. Games look real. Real things look like games. And . . . and . . . it all kind of runs together in my head.’

‘Ah,’ said Yo-less, knowingly. ‘That’s not mental. That’s shamanism. I read a book about it.’

‘What’s shamanism?’

‘Shamans used to be these kind of people who lived partly in a dream world and partly in the real world,’ said Wobbler. ‘Like medicine men and druids and guys like that. They used to be very important. They used to guide people.’

‘Guide?’ said Johnny. ‘Where to?’

‘Not sure. Anyway, my mother says they were creations of Satan.’

‘Yes, but your mother says that about practically everything,’ said Wobbler.

‘This is true,’ said Yo-less gravely. ‘It’s her hobby.’

‘She said role-playing games were creations of Satan,’ said Wobbler.

‘True.’

‘Dead clever of him,’ said Wobbler. ‘I mean, sitting down there in Hell, working out all the combat tables and everything. I bet he used to really swear every time the dice caught fire . . .’

Shamanism, thought Johnny. Yes. I could be a shaman. A guide. That’s better than being mental, at any rate.

It was Maths again. As far as Johnny was concerned, the future would be a better place if it didn’t contain 3y + x². He had problems enough without people giving him pages of them.

He was trying to put off the idea of ringing someone up.

And then there was Social Education. Normally you could ignore Social Education, which tended to be about anything anyone had on their minds at the time or, failing that, AIDS. Really the day ended with Maths. SE was just there to keep you off the streets for another three-quarters of an hour.

He could try ringing up. You just needed the phone book and a bit of thought . . .