Zoom, neeeooaaam, crash. These were the sounds that pre-empted the end of my grand-dad's potting shed. Rushing, as fast as an eighty year old can, he marched hell-for-leather on a Zimmer-frame towards the shiny thing that occupied the spot where his third-placed courgettes used to reside. Little did he know what it was that now wedged itself firmly into his garden, but it mattered little. Wanting answers he assaulted the silvery mass with the rubber-stoppered end of the Zimmer and waited with frustration as a piercing light shot from a sliver and then expanded to an opening large enough for a mid-sized dog. A mist seemed to emanate from within and out popped a rather aggrieved looking thing, standing all of three feet off the ground, red in complexion and staunch in stature. Looking my grand-dad head to toe, the little “fellow” opened “his” mouth and proceeded as such;
“I’m most terribly sorry, I must have taken a wrong turn. Might you direct me to Andromeda?”
So full of vigour and umbrage not a minute ago, grand-dad now felt as though he were tilting at windmills.
“Hello, Sir? Are you OK?” the fellow asked.
“You…squished my courgettes” was all he managed.
When my grand-dad awoke, the garden was empty, save for the hole where the shed had until very recently stood. Now, finding himself in the study, he contemplated his Thursday evening.

Upon reflection he found his eyes wandering the shelves, searching vacantly for answers. 
Hmm, the thought, where’s my A_Z?

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