My father turned into tofu at the worst possible time. The Salurae had figured out a way to clone themselves from shoelaces, and they were storming our town under the command of a resurrected George Bush Junior, bullet-hole in the head dripping worms and petrol jelly. We were ready to flee – what else could I have done? But fortunately Pa was able to recombine himself out of the latrine once we were 5 miles from the city. At least it wasn’t my second cousin – her surrogate form is a buffalo liver.