‘No Mum, you click on ‘decline’. You can’t accept cookies every time you go to a new Web page!’ We’ve been at this for hours, but it feels like days.
‘What cookies? I didn’t order any cookies, did I?’
I bang my head on the desk. ‘No, that’s not what I mea–’
‘I could just go for a piece of cake though.’
***
‘Good grief 009! Do you mean to say you jumped off a sheer cliff, fell into the Amazon, fought off a 20-foot anaconda, swam over rapids, scrambled to the shore, crawled through a forest of fire ants on your hands and knees, and then still won an international poker tournament, killed 50 evil henchmen and prevented an apocalypse?’
009 smoothes back his hair, displaying the single plaster on his index finger. ‘Piece of cake Sir.’
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