Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2H3RAPTJF7YVZ69TB6XRWG

The planning stage, Molly felt, should not involve sitting in a van that smelled of old carpet and Bill’s egg sandwich. A street away, the bouncy castle listed in a suburban garden like a collapsed lung. Through the windscreen, they watched a man in a waistcoat three sizes too small attempt balloon animals. He was currently producing what looked like a distressed sausage. Molly lowered her binoculars. “The clown is a variable,” she said. Bill, consulting a blueprint he’d crayoned onto a napkin, didn’t look up. “He’s not a variable, he’s a man called Terry who smells of damp. The real variable is the pass the parcel music stopping, triggering a gift-grab reflex in the under-fives. That’s our sonic event horizon.” “Your understanding of children is terrifyingly academic,” Molly said. “Remember, you’re the bumbling wizard’s assistant. Your sleeve needs to swallow multiple presents. The birthday girl’s mother already thinks my catering assistant cover is genuine.” Bill finally glanced at the garden, where the clown tripped over a Labrador. “We’re pilfering a mountain of brightly coloured plastic, Mary. The loot bags alone will have enough sugar to fuel a small car. Our exit strategy depends entirely on you dropping a tray of jelly at the right moment.” “A classic,” Molly agreed. “Distraction by structural failure. Let’s just pray the magician doesn’t pull a better trick.”