My Life and Other Stuff That Went Wrong Read Online Free

off the back veranda and head into the garage, to Nan’s freezer full of iceblocks and meat.
    I know I have to stop her. She’ll kill herself.

    I tell Mum about it that night while she is ruining dinner. My mum is good at lots of things. Cooking is not one of them. Everynight is a lottery. It’s exciting. And scary.
    â€˜She’ll kill herself,’ Mum says.
    â€˜I know. But she sounds really serious.’
    â€˜If I say anything she’ll just dig her heels in. So you should just go along with the training and gently steer her away from the idea. Make her feel old. Offer to walk her across the street. Turn her hearing aid down. Tell her I’ve been thinking about sticking her in a nursing home if she keeps doing crazy things.’
    â€˜That’s not very nice,’ I say.
    â€˜Neither is letting her freeze to death on the side of a mountain at eight thousand metres, or whatever it is.’

    Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.
    It’s dark and we’re surrounded by thick fog as Nan charges full-speed (for her) up Cemetery Hill, pearl necklace rattling against her walking frame. This is the second-longestand steepest hill in Kings Bay. Ponka, her dog, runs along behind her, attached to a red lead. Ponka barks occasionally at shadows in the fog.
    â€˜Careful. You’ll have another heart attack,’ I say, strolling casually beside her, but Nan keeps charging. Click-clack-click-clack .
    â€˜I’ve got three months,’ she wheezes. ‘If I don’t push myself I’ll never be ready to scale the south face in the Nepalese spring.’
    In the distance there is a hum-buzzing noise that sounds familiar, but I can’t remember where I know it from. The sun makes a feeble attempt to rise as Nan’s wheezing grows louder.
    â€˜Nan, I really think you should take a rest.’
    The hum-buzzing is loud now. I turn to see headlights through the fog.
    â€˜Car!’ I call out, and Nan, Ponka and I move to the edge of the road. But the vehicle sounds too small to be a car. And it’s going tooslow. As it emerges from the fog I identify the noise. A motorised granny cart. With monster-truck wheels. It’s hot pink. The numberplate reads ‘SUE’. There’s a screech of rubber on tar as the cart pulls up next to us. My best friend Jack’s nan is sitting about two metres above the road in the hotted-up beast.
    â€˜Well, well, well,’ she says. ‘What are you doing out this early, Nancy? Shouldn’t you be inside drinking a cup of tea with a blankie over your legs, listening to the wireless?’
    Jack’s nan is at least ten years youngerthan my nan – and twelve times larger. She is wearing jeans and a white T-shirt the size of a parachute with ‘Save the Whales’ on the front. She has a tattoo of a lizard on her arm. Last time they met, Nan somehow managed to beat Sue in a back-alley brawl down near the nursing home.

    â€˜I’m training for Everest,’ Nan announces.
    Jack’s nan laughs so hard she nearly topples off the cart. I take a couple of steps back. The fog slithers around and through my legs.
    â€˜You?’ she scoffs. ‘You must be a hundred and two years old. You’ll be lucky to make it up this hill.’
    â€˜I’m seventy-five as it happens,’ Nan says and starts walking again.
    â€˜Which is the new sixty-five,’ I add.
    â€˜If you’re going to climb Everest, I’ll beat you there,’ Sue says, driving along next to Nan.
    â€˜You’re not as old as I am. You won’t win the prize as the oldest woman.’
    â€˜I don’t care. I only care about beating you. That’s my prize.’
    â€˜You’re on, you great heffalump,’ Nan says.
    â€˜What?’ I say. ‘Nan, no! You’re not climbing Mt Everest.’
    â€˜How about a little pre-Everest challenge?’ Sue asks.
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜Two