Now, this is normally the moment at which the birthday child – whose name in this case (as you may have worked out) is Malcolm – would blow out the candles on their cake.

But the Baileys – that was his full name, Malcolm Bailey – had a family tradition, which was that they also sang ‘Happy Birthday’ when giving the children their birthday presents. So this song wasn’t being sung at a party, and it was not accompanied by a cake. It was just Malcolm’s mum and dad (Jackie and Stewart), his grandpa (Theo), his teenage sister (Libby) and his little brother (Bert), on the morning of his eleventh birthday, standing in a circle, in the living room, round a box, covered in wrapping paper (which actually did have printed candles on it).

Malcolm waited for the singing to finish. It was a bit of an annoying tradition, to be honest, because what he wanted to do was tear open that wrapping paper. Because he knew that inside the box was what he really, really wanted: a laptop computer.

He had given his parents the exact specification. An FZY Apache 321. Hi-Def screen. 4.0 GHz processor speed. Quad speakers with Nahimic virtual surround sound. The fastest and coolest and baddest laptop on the planet. He could almost see it in his hands, touch its LED display backlit keyboard.

“… Happy birthday

Toooo …

You!”

Smiling at his family, Malcolm reached over to pick up his present.

Finally, he thought.

“For … he’s a jolly good fellow!

For he’s a jolly good fellow!”

Malcolm leant back, away from the present, still smiling, but through gritted teeth. Do they normally do this bit? he thought.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow …

And so say all of us!”

“Great! Great singing, guys! Good job! Thanks!” said Malcolm, reaching forward for the present again.

“And … so say all of us!

And so say all of us!

For he’s a jolly good fe-eh-llowwww …

And …

So say all of us!!”

His mum and dad and grandpa and sister and brother harmonised – surprisingly well, actually – on the word us, making Malcolm think the song must, at last, be over. Not wishing to be disappointed again, he waited five seconds, in case it wasn’t. But everyone was just smiling. In fact, his mum was nodding, encouragingly, at the present.

Great, thought Malcolm. And tore open the wrapping.

Oh yes! That computer! With its shiny sleek aluminium cover! And its hyper-sensitive touch pad! And its enormous furry ears!

Malcolm frowned, screwing up his noticeably blue eyes. Its enormous furry ears …? He didn’t remember reading that specification when he was flicking through photos on BaddestComputer.Net.

But before he could quite work out what was going on, all the others were bending over and putting their faces very, very close to what was being revealed as the wrapping came off.

Which was not, in fact, a computer, or even a cardboard box containing a computer, but … a cage.

“Isn’t he the cutest thing?” his mum was saying.

“Look at that sweet face!” his dad was saying.

“OMG! I want to stroke him,” his sister was saying.

“I want to eat him!” his little brother was saying.

“He reminds me of Lord Kitchener!” his grandpa was saying.

“Sorry,” said Malcolm. “What is this?”

“Well, Malc …” said Jackie.

“Mum!”

“Sorry.”

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