December 1

Jigger's Journal, Day One, December 1

The name is Jiggers. James Jiggers.

That sound's cool, but it's not true. My name is actually JJ Jiggers. Most of us have only one name, and mine should be just Jiggers. But my father had a stutter, so it became JJ Jiggers. Not the sort of name you would associate with a spy. Yet that is what I am.

I am no ordinary spy. I am a super spy.

I am the head of the SES, a secret service so secret I don't even know who the other members are. This creates a problem; because I don't know who works for me I end up doing all the work myself. I travel all over the world, sorting out problems. Today I am going to Bunratty Castle in the West of Ireland.

The call to send me there came in on my banana phone two days ago. Don't ask me why someone thought it would be a good idea to have a phone in a banana. I think it's bonkers. But Morley, the head of our lab, came up with it. The banana also doubles up as a biro. I think he's watched too many spy movies. He gave me a gun as well, but the gun is made of chocolate, and I can eat it in case of emergencies. If the emergency involves someone trying to hold me up, the gun is useless. Morley is one of the few people I know in the SES – even though I run it – and sometimes I wish I didn't know him.

There are several ways to get to Ireland, and I chose the simplest. I got into a small box and got a friend to wrap it in bright wrapping paper. He write the address on the side and popped it in the post. Two days later I arrived in a post office in Limerick and was thrown into the back of a delivery van. I was bumped around in the back of the van for half an hour, then it stopped and I could feel myself swinging all over the place before the box was thrown down outside the door of the castle. I presume it was outside the door of the castle; I was inside and had no windows.

The first thing was to get away from the door in case someone picked me up and opened me. I didn't want that. So I stood up in the box and began jumping against the wall to move it. I hit the wall very hard and the box rolled onto it's side. I fell on the floor, but I was used to that after two days of being bumped around at the pleasure of the postal service. I picked myself up again and jumped at the side of the box. It rolled some more. I got into a rhythm. Jump at the wall. The box rolls over. I fall on the floor. I pick myself up and jump again. The box rolls some more. After a while I was bruised and tired and fairly sure I was far enough away from the door to open the box without being spotted.

I was delighted. If you have never been stuck in a box for two days, take my advice and don't try it. It is very boring. And to make it worse, I had packed the box in a hurry. Aside from a bag of cucumber sandwiches and a flask of berry juice I had brought nothing with me. So I wanted fresh air and food, and to get on with the mission and go home.

So I straightened up in the box and got ready to open it and jump out. I checked everything. Aside from the things I had forgotten to pack, I had all I wanted. The guide book told me that Bunratty was a medieval castle, built in 1425. I was only a toddler back then. That was in the days before electricity, cars, banana phones and post offices. I made sure I looked medieval. I had leather boots and a rough tunic, and a stupid hat with three bells on it that made me look like a court jester. I had a little bag tied to a stick over my shoulder, and I looked just like a medieval peddlar. Stupid, in other words.

The little bag contained my purse, where I kept my suitcase. I was ready.

So I tore a hole in the box, and ripped at the wrapping paper. Light flooded it. At least I had landed during the day. Water flooded in. Had I rolled into a river? No – it was raining. I hate rain, even when I am wearing a stupid hat with three bells. Give me snow any day. I looked up and a drop landed right in my eye. Could this day get any worse?

I ripped a bit more of the wrapping paper. More rain got in. But at least now the box was soggy, so it was getting easier and easier to tear. Soon I had a hole big enough for my head to squeeze out, so I squeezed it out. I must have looked like a Jack in the Box.

Before me was a beautiful tower with four tall turrets, and a huge wooden door that was shut and looked like it hadn't been opened in centuries. To the side was a big yellow pub, with lovely smells coming out of it. Dinner!

I pulled my head back in and kept working on the box. Soon there was a hole big enough for little old me to squeeze out fully. But a big hole meant more rain. I was drenched through already. And there was a horrible roaring noise filling the small space. I didn't know rain was that loud.

I pulled the final bits away and jumped up, pulling myself out of the box. I looked longingly at the pub with the lovely smells.

Then I looked the other way. And my heart jumped sideways in me. The rain wasn't making the noise. A huge truck was making the noise, and the noise was getting louder and louder. Which meant the truck was getting nearer and nearer.

In fact, it was about to squash me flatter than spilled milk. Would this be the end of JJ Jiggers, superspy?