Amy had had enough. Life’d thrown her more than her fair share of troubles in the last few weeks. First her dog, Bonzo had died. Cheesy name of course, but she’d known a Bonzo years ago as a child, an old, fat Golden Retriever. About a 150 dog-years and seemingly as many pounds.

Then she’d lost her job. It wasn’t much, just serving at the local Bug-n-Bun. She’d done nothing wrong as far as she could tell, but some prima donna had complained and insisted she be fired. That had meant she was no longer entitled to her semi and had to move out into one of those new ‘onebeds’.

That was the personal stuff. On top of that was the political situation. Not that Amy understood it or anything, but it still bred an unrest that even she could not ignore. About a week ago had been the plane crash. Planes crash, if not exactly all the time, often enough, but this was different; it hit smack in the middle of the houses of parliament and the PM and most of the cabinet had died.

Everything went haywire after that.