As the plane levels off at 7000 feet it feels like we’re slowing down. They open the transparent roller door and a guy in a blue suit turns his head to the right, looks at me but through me then he’s gone. If you blink you missed him. The girl with the purple malformed helmet for the built-in camera holds the bar above her head and peers out for a few seconds. The whiteness and windy exterior silhouettes her as she looks down and leans forward slightly, is she jumping after him? No. She pulls the shutter closed, my ears equalize and I can hear more.

“How was he?” My instructor yells.
She shakes her head.
“He spun out of control”, she smiles. I sense my instructor shake his head knowingly. She sits down.

I ask a couple of questions above the rumble. Everyone is nervous but acting cool. I hold my hand up in front of my face – it’s shaking. I breath deeply, aware of the physical sensations and press my other hand against the shaking palm. Looking round I see my instructor has his eyes closed meditating on his fate. I can sense his breathing is shallow and more rapid than mine. We are all bunched together sitting between the other mans thighs. The plane climbs higher above the clouds and the green squares of land fade behind them. Snaking in spirals. The flying dragon is waiting for us to ride it down.

Plane slows again. Things are in motion. There is not even time to think forwards or backwards. ‘Now’ is all there is. My heart thumping, drawing atttention to itself. I remind it that this is what it desires. Trepidation is not fear, just not knowing. I literally have to sit on the instructors lap. and he buckles us together. My flying cap is fixed on. Minor details, it is too tight. He notices and asks me then adjusts it. Details. “Are you wearing contact lenses?”, yes. “Okay, we’ll make your goggles a little tighter than normal.”

He shuffles forward. Others are also shuffling towards the open door and instantly vaporizing in to the whiteness. We are at the door, its quick. Good. Arms crossed, hands on shoulders. Knees back. Feet back more. Look left. Smile for the camera. Flash. The moment. The moment.

The moment. Cold thin air ploughs through my face. My arms are crossed, hands on my shoulders. Legs arching back like the videos. Two hands slap my shoulders. Look fowards forwards the camera. Smile. Its cold. There is a man 10 feet away waving at me and smiling at a hundred miles an hour – hands flapping happy dancer. The freefall is counterpointed by the clouds. We are falling through clouds. Grab two for Ella and Rosa. The plane gone.

We were always falling.

The earth appears again. Hello you. We spin counter clockwise. My instructor is gaming. He gets paid to do this! My 50 seconds at 55 meters per second is over now. The camera guy zips out of sight. The shoot is open and we slow. Fast. But we’re still falling. Only that’s under control. I feel elongated. Going over a hill and down. The rippling flapping of the £10,000 parachute comforts me. The wind snake hisses through the silk in awe. I can fill my lungs more easily, more full than ever before.

“Well done” my instructor says, “how was that”.
“Just brilliant” I say. We can talk. I equalise my ears, they crunch-pop like I used to do as a kid.

The Earth growing in my eyes. Looming like Google Earth on super-steroids. I say as much.

“I love Google Earth” he says.
“My favourite video game” I say.

He twists the shute, we arch around in a spiral, I can see straight down. The air is very cold, like the ocean. But thin. It is Air. Stupid. I look up and marvel at the technology and fleetingly, DaVinci’s genius. The view is crystal. The horizon connects all around, 360 degrees. I can see behind my head.

“How did you like that spin?” he says, rascal.
“Not really.” My organs aware of their freedom for the first time. Its falling but more.
“Again?”
“No thank you”, I say.

I can see other people falling. Small.
“Where’s our guy?” the camera man.
“Down there”.
I look down. Maybe 2000 feet, racing ahead.
“He’ll be on the ground to film us landing”, he says.

Up higher we rehearse the landing. As you do. Knees up, palms behind calfs. “Good”.

The air is very cold still but not as difficult to take Oxygen from. My lungs and face and spaces in my head fill like never before. Inflating with effort, they yearn for more oxygen. No worries. I’m enjoying this moment. Everything else is not there. My mind is only filling with the total moment. A field of microscopic cows. The green patchwork quilt growing. I wave. My instructor is manouvering us left and right. More spins.

“Where are we aiming for?” I say.
“See that patch of lightened grass over there?”. A secret message is scorched in to the earth with weed killer for us by some other rapscallion.

“How high are we now?”
“About 600 feet.” Its nearly over but it is enough.

Knees up. All procedure now. Danger time but i’m safe.
Down down down.
Gently.
“Okay, put your feet down Dan”.
Terra Firma.
I take my weight fully, its over.

Everything has changed.

Or is it just me.

I’m a Governor at Ella’s school in Newark and I approached the Head Teacher and tabled the idea of a book awards ceremony as a good opportunity to talk about books and have an assembly some time in the future – a mock ‘Oscars’ type ceremony with envelopes and speeches. It was a pretty vague idea but he liked it and asked me to come up with a proposal. Which I did and he got enthusiastic about the idea. Then it was the summer holiday. So I had a phone and made a few calls.

Over the next few weeks the idea evolved in to something that excited me more and more. I grew more cynical about other so-called book awards that were ’substantially’ selected by children. I spoke to children’s librarians who indicated to me that an award winner did not necessaerily mean a popular book. The idea evolved. What about an award selected by school children. Shortlisted by school children. From ANY book ever published. Not just ones a publisher wants to push – there’s enough of those already. I wanted to get 3 authors or illustrators at the school but they are very busy people and Newark not a great destination to get to for these metrocentric artisans. A plan. How about a video. A video that I could share with other local schools. Quentin Blake liked that and I was invited to his studio in London on August 7th at 2pm.

I met the alchemist and he created a magic picture for the school and recorded a wonderful video. This picture really did have magical properties – it opened doors. Its not quite so simple but over the next four weeks I got another two videos from Nick Sharratt and Michael Rosen(which was infinately more difficult since he was made the Children’s Laureate)! Yes. All incredibly warm and generous people

I asked WHSmiths to give 10% of childrens books in Newark – which they did and the independent book shop Strays gave 10% of the nominated books and a further 50% off an additional purchase by a nominated author.

Equipment was all favours from friends and editing facilities from a wonderful company I met in Manchester two days before the ceremony. The strange coincidence there was that on the delayed train home that night some lovely people sat opposite me – it turned out they were from teachers.tv – I showed them the video and the camera man I met will help me collect future videos. Its fate.

The Friday assembly came around and everyone at the school was dressed as their favourite book characters. One as a Wally and we played real life ‘Where’s Wally’! I had to give a 10 minute talk about how I got the videos (simply persistence and a little experimentation). I’ve never spoken to 400 people before. But dressed as Cat in the Hat it was a lot of fun. The children saw the video and gasped at the giants from their stories, and I squeezed in some Mozart in to the soundtrack for good measure.

Children cheered for their favourite books.

So after so much excitement what happens next? Well. We intend to run a pilot School Children’s Book Awards with 50 schools in March 2008 with a website that shares video content, guideline lesson plans for a themed week of events preceeding the big day – put together by a leading educationalist. The website will also be used as a hub for children to review books, upload video reviews and enter their votes. Teachers can also use the sites admin centre to process votes and produce ready formated certificates and there will be resources for parents to help the with exiting their children about reading and books. And its all free.

I believe the whole awards thing ticks a few curriculum boxes but really I hope it can all help to ignite and nourish a passion for books. There are so many ideas. And all it costs is a few phonecalls, a bit of time and some train tickets.

I’m asking Jacqueline Wilson and other luminaries of Childnren’s Literature to give half an hour to record a video. And in October 2008 or March 2009 we can have a national awards ceremony that collates all the votes from all the schools around the country!

We did it in Newark, the authors loved it, the kids loved it, the teachers loved it and the shops loved it. Rosen was right, let’s do something about it. www.schoolchildrensbookawards.org

This is my dog Judd.

My mum bought him for me when I was about 12 as I had been a bit unwell, she thought he would cheer me up. Judd is a pedigree toy poodle however he was so confident when my mum went to pick him up as a puppy he bolstered right on over to her whilst his brothers and sisters shied away from her. Judd grew so big that the vet was sure he was a small miniature poodle!

We named him Judd because my mums Jack Russell Terrier when she was a little girl was called Judy – as small kids we romanticized Judy as we had never met her – she had died when my mum was young without kids. We (me, my brother and sister) always said if we ever got a dog we’d call it Judy but Judd came along and was a boy. Breakfast Club (the film) had just come out also and my ‘rebellious’ brother reckoned we called him Judd after the actor Judd Nelson, so everyone was happy.

More of a family dog than my own. We all love him. After an acrimonious divorce of my parents Judd went to live with my Dad. My dad was a salesman and took Judd everywhere with him in the car and I got him at weekends, my mum saw him occasionally but I had to mediate those visits. Judd didn’t go to live with my mum as she bought a tiny flat that couldn’t house dogs.

So I was 19 when they got divorced. Ella was born when I was 24 and I lived with my wife and Ella in a nice flat in North East London. My dad called me up one day and said Judd was not too well, off his food and when he was taken for walks just lay down after a few hundred yards. Dad felt Judd was getting on and was considering getting him put down (I prefer to called it ‘killed’ – but thats the phrase you tell your kids isn’t it?) I said no way.

Of course we had to decide this big decision as a family. I was like Kofi Annan that week, I swear I could have got a job at the UN after the diplomacy that pulled off getting my Mum and Dad, my sister Georgina and me in the same room – our DNA creates a chemical reaction if we are all within a certain radius of each other – seriously, you could power the whole of London for 20 years if you could contain the energy.

We took Judd for a walk round the lake in Lloyd Park just down the road from my flat. Judd walked for a bit, wagging his tale running between us like a puppy each of us taking turns to walk with him but after a while he just laid down on the grass – I think we were about half way round the lake.

I scooped Judd up in to my arms and held him close, his little heart pounding against my chest. I carried him the rest of the way and talked to him. His eyes were squinting from the bright sunshine and for a few moments we were like a normal family out on a happy Sunday stroll in the Park.

We couldn’t decide what to do, Judd just seemed tired and weak but not in any sort of pain. There was no way I could accept that we would hand him over to a vet to kill.

I carried Judd to my Dads car parked a little way down the road from my flat. My sister opened the passenger door on the left side of the car near the pavement and I lifted him on to his blanket. My sister leaned in to the car to kiss him goodbye but he started to retch. I don’t want to recollect what happened in more detail but Judd died in my arms and we all got to say goodbye as a family.

The little blighter. Engineered the whole situation to get his pack together to go for a final walk and say goodbye.

Smart dogs poodles. I never cried so hard for so long in my whole life.

3 hours of mud, tears and persistance finally paid off when little Ella peddled in to the horizon. “We lost count the number of times she fell off” said Dan Morelle, Ella’s daddy “Ella showed enormous character – She will achieve great things”. Ella’s mummy was also gushing with pride “it was difficult to see her falling off so many times but she kept trying even through the tears”. Rosa (2), Ella’s sister and best friend said “Pedal!, pedal! , pedal!”

When asked what her secret for riding a bike was Ella said “Keep pedalling and don’t fall off, if you do then stand up and just get back on and try again”.