It was a delightfully sunny day, as the Famous Five's train pulled into Chilsten Brisket station.

"End of the line!", shouted Atkins, the old guard.

The Famous Five grunted, before shuffling to their feet, pushing a pile of discarded cigarette packets, cans and wrappers from their laps onto the meticulously cleaned carpet.

"Fuck's sake," declared Julian, ever the leader, "didn't even get time to get comfortable."

Grumbling, they all piled onto the platform, where they were greeted by Uncle Joshua.

"Hello, children", cried the kindly old man, "ready to come back to the farm for your summer holidays then?"

"Rather not," said Anne, "is there an offy open?"

"Oh lord, you children and your fancy city ways. We haven't had an off-licence in Chilsten Brisket since old Mr. Winters passed away... in mysterious circumstances."

"Mysterious circumstances?", inquired Dick. "Well, that's jolly selfish of him. Where are we going to hang around and get our Diamond White from?"

"Oh, I expect you'll find a way. Come along; Aunt Shelly is waiting in the car."

The Famous Five shuffled out of the station, while George's faithful dog, Timmy, growled threateningly at the travellers passing them.

"Ha-ha!", laughed George, "that's right, Timmy. You show them. Fuckin' twats."

"Where's the fuckin' car, Joshua?", asked Dick, "My legs are fuckin' killin' me."

"Just outside the station gates, Dick."

Sure enough, as the Five and Joshua shuffled through the gates, there was Aunt Shelly, sitting in the front of the Ford Cortina that Uncle Joshua had spent many years reconstructing.

As they all clambered into the car, Aunt Shelly welcomed them to Chilsten. Suddenly, there was a strange tapping noise like running water; Timmy was relieving himself on the faux-leather upholstery!

"Ha ha!", laughed Anne, "he's fuckin' pissin' on the seats! Fuckin' idiot!"

It was eight thirty. The Famous Five had just tucked into a massive evening meal, cooked by Aunt Shelly, and with lashings of ginger beer. Julian had cursed the fact that they were refused 'real' beer, but all had calmed down.

"Come on then, kids," said Aunt Shelly, "it's time you lot went to bed."

"FUCK OFF!", exclaimed George, "we're going to find an off licence."

"But, didn't Uncle Joshua tell you about old Mr. Winters passing away...in mysterious circumstances?"

"Yeah, but that's shit. We'll just get in the shop and have the old stock.", laughed Dick.

And with that, they bounded out of the door, and down the road to Mr. Winters' old off licence.

"Oh, for fucks sakes!", cried Anne, "it's all boarded up. There's no way in, without some tools."

"Fuck!", shouted George.

"Fuck!", shouted Dick.

"Fuck!", shouted Julian.

"Fuck!", shouted Anne.

Timmy growled, fiercely.

An old couple walked past, and grumbled under their breath about the youth of today.

"Twats! Cunts! Fuckers!", shouted Julian.

"Hey, I've got a fuckin' excellent idea," proclaimed Anne, "why don't we just stand here all night and swear at people... for no reason?"

"Fuckin' brilliant!", shouted Dick.

And so the four children stood outside the disused off-licence all night, shouting profanities, while Timmy growled menacingly, oblivious to some foreign smugglers transporting stolen property illegally in return for drugs.