#3. All roads lead to Treadwell 15/06/11

One James Treadwell locked in a police cell, another James Treadwell on the hunt for answers, a shark walking the streets with his head in a washing up bowl and the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.


Me and the shark were back in the van and driving towards an abandoned mine on the edge of town. It is where the shark had become attracted by my urination and sought me out looking for a deeper, warmer scent that I have been told I can offer. I had once tried to bottle and sell it but quickly found I had very little market, lost several thousand pounds and now have boxes of the stuff piled high in my bedroom. Suddenly, it felt like another van had shunted my right hand and sure enough, as I looked right, another van had shunted me on the right hand side. I went into a vicious spin and time travelled to a distant land only to return after a non eventful 11 months. Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.


The van that hit us waited for a moment before deciding to tear away into the distance. He had put a dent in my door that looked remarkably like the Virgin Mary. I had a sudden brain wave. When all this is over and I want to make some money, I should have another go at selling that piss. All this talk of pissing was making me hungry for a beer. Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.


The shark had lost a few inches of water from his bowl and was once again struggling to breath. He was being a real pain in the ass and wanted to talk about nothing but Knight Rider. I remember the shows premise but not individual story lines and a shark, sitting in your passenger seat, reliving every moment of season 1 is as bad as it sounds. I had concerns over whether I could walk the last 4 miles to the abandoned mine listening to the shark. I was also worried that someone might be trying to kill us, and, ultimately, whether Michael could rescue Sherry and her little brother from the Scorpion biker gang. Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.


We arrived at the abandoned mine in little under three minutes. Either I had drastically misjudged the distance or, during the spin we had both grown dramatically, extending each stride we took to several hundred feet. It turned out to be my lack of judgement. Or was it? Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.


All that stood waiting for us at the abandoned mine was a door, a set of kitchen knives and an overdressed goat named Simon. Welcome to The Treadwell Mysteries.