The Indoor Pirates

The Indoor Pirates are five pirates who can't stand the sea, and Jeremy Strong's daft adventure for 8 year olds has parked the lot of them in a terraced house.

What happens

Captain Blackpatch inherited the house from his great granny. She was 112 when she died, and very fond of big cigars. The first thing he did with it was write to every pirate he knew who also hated boats.

Bald Ben came because going to sea meant missing too much television. Polly and Molly came because they can't swim. Lumpy Lawson came because soup slops out of the pan at sea and lands on your feet.

They've taken the stairs out and put in rope rigging. The walls are blue with little white clouds painted on. Plastic seagulls hang from the ceilings. By every window sits a pile of weapons, which is catapults, swords and several large buckets of dishwater. (They are certain that soaking somebody is the worst thing you can do to them.)

The neighbours all know there are pirates living there. Old Mrs Bishop next door brings Bald Ben flowers because she thinks he's rather sweet.

Then the plot arrives, and what sets it off is the ironing.

Blackpatch has been at it for two hours. He announces that pirates should have slaves, so all five hide behind the front door to grab whoever knocks next. The postman ends up under Bald Ben's arm and plonked on a chair in the back room.

He is not bothered in the slightest. He explains, very politely, that he can't be their slave today because he already has a job as a postman.

The letter he has just delivered is the electricity bill. Polly says being cut off means they cut off your legs. Molly says arms. Polly adds the head and the nose and the ears and the hair. The postman has to sort that one out as well.

The joy of it is how hopeless they all are. They leap out from behind the door and immediately fall over each other. They empty their pockets to pay the bill and produce a paperclip, three elastic bands, a lot of fluff, a broken penknife and a signed portrait of Captain Hook.

Bald Ben spends the whole thing quietly hoping nobody has to be nasty to anyone.

The twins on their own are worth it. Whatever one says, the other says the opposite, even when the opposite is complete nonsense. "We're sisters." "No, we're not. We're brothers."

If you've got a reader who prefers rubbish villains to frightening ones, this will go down very well. Nothing bad happens to anybody. The worst threat in the house is a bucket of washing up water.

What to read next

For more pirates who stay well away from the sea, try Pocket Pirates. That crew is smaller than a teacup and lives in a ship in a bottle in a junk shop, and their big problem is that the dog's basket has been moved underneath their shelf.