Ron woke with a start; his mobile phone ringing shrilly on the bedside table. Ron fumbled blindly in the darkness, knocking the phone to the floor, "Urghh" groaned Ron as he stretched down to retrieve the it. 'FLUMP!'. The phone was beyond Ron's reach and an overstretch resulted in the unpleasant predicament Ron now found himself in - Face down in last nights discarded underpants.

Ron located the still ringing phone and jabbed angrily at the answer button.

"Hello?" croaked Ron.

"Harrow Mister Weecough. This is Yin calling fwom the Golden Dwagon."

"Ah Yin." replied Ron, "If it's about my tab, I'll settle-up first thing tomorrow."

"No, no Mister Weecough. It's about your shop. The alarm is winging."

Ron checked his watch; 11pm, "Thanks Yin, I'll be there as quickly as I can."

Yin stepped through entrance to 'Blitz and Pieces', a World War II memorabilia shop tucked-away in the back streets of London's east-end.

"IT'S SAFE TO COME IN MISTER WEECOUGH!" yelled the slight Chinese lady over the deafening alarm.

Ron stepped tentatively into the shop, glanced around before heading over to the alarm keypad to enter the code '1, 9, 4, 5'. The shop was plunged into silence.

"Thanks for opening up Yin." said Ron, "I would've done it myself but thought it best that I position myself outside, ready to grab any fleeing burglars."

"If you say so Mister Weecough. See you tomorrow when you come to pay bill."

"Absolutely." replied Ron, and with that Yin departed.

Ron had declared himself 'caretaker manager' of the shop since its actual owner's untimely departure some fourteen years earlier. The shop had belonged to Ron's best friend Gary Sparrow, who purchased it as a means of accessing a time-portal it harbored in its rear yard. Sounds far-fetched? Ron would have said so too, had he not experienced its time-travelling powers first-hand. The time-portal was no longer in use - It had closed behind Gary in 1999, leaving him trapped in 1945. With the consent of Gary's wife Yvonne, Ron kept the shop on; his primary reason being the hope that his best friend Gary might one day return.

Ron donned a WWII helmet and armed himself with a particularly blunt bayonet before commencing a trepidatious search of the premises. Ron checked behind the counter…

…Nothing.

Inside the small bathroom…

…Nothing.

Ron opened the back door and glimpsed out into the yard…

…N-… SOMETHING!… Something stirred at the far end. 'Probably just a cat' hoped Ron. Ron mustered what little courage he possessed then crept out into the dark, navigating his way between crates and old metal signs. 'TRIP!' Ron's foot tangled with an unseen object and for the second time in less than an hour, Ron found himself face down on the floor.

"Owww." groaned Ron.

"Owww." groaned a reply.

Ron sat bolt-upright and shuffled backwards on his bum 'til he was propped-up against an old beer barrel.

"Who's there?" asked Ron nervously.

"Me." replied the intruder.

"What are you doing here?"

"Must've nodded off." the intruder replied, "I only stepped out for some fresh air."

"Stepped out from where?" asked Ron.

"The Oak. You know, at the bottom end of Duckett's Passage."

"Duck… Duck.", stammerred Ron, as the words caught in his throat.

Duckett's Passage didn't exist in Ron's time, the passage had been demolished almost twenty years earlier to make way for the development of which 'Blitz and Pieces' was part of. Ron composed himself and 'played along'.

"Yeah sure, I know Duckett's Passage. What's going on at the Oak?" asked Ron casually.

"We're celebrating my old man's birthday." replied the intruder.

"Do I know him?" asked Ron.

"Maybe, his name's Gary. Him and me Ma used to live round these parts during the war."

"Gary, Gary, Gary." muttered Ron excitedly to himself.

"Yeah I know Gary. Wait here one moment…Errr…Michael?"

"That's me" confirmed the intruder.

Ron dashed inside, then reappeared a moment later clutching a sealed envelope, "Birthday card for your old man." said Ron passing it to Michael, "Make sure he reads it straight away."

"Righto?" replied Michael, slightly bemused by Ron's increasingly odd behavior. "How do I get out of here?"

'Good question' thought Ron not wanting to alert Michael to the truth about his whereabouts. Thinking on the spot, Ron pointed up at the sky.

"Look out!" yelled Ron.

Michael spun on the spot and gazed upwards. Ron took his cue and shoved Michael hard; Michael stumbled backwards and vanished through the locked, metal gates.

"God speed little Sparrow." muttered Ron.