He was about fifteen foot tall, bigger than all the other boys in his year. He had blond curly hair down to his eyeballs and hated toast. He hated everything on the school menu but most of all he hated toast, served twenty four hours a day. Toast was far too plain for a gallant army leading prince and head of the Danish royal family with a weakness for the finest marmalade in the world and it was especially too plain for James Lovell of forty two Higginbottom road, Kent, currently residing at Bathwell Rectory, a specialist school for mentally ill and abnormally tall persons or giants as they’re more commonly known. That is, with the minor exception for the occasional troll who would be permitted under PC legislation pressed forth by the Flower party on grounds of magic folk discrimination. A party who James Lovell of Forty two Higginbottom road, Kent also despised. Despite his oddities and idiosyncratic dysfunction, James always fancied himself as a politician. Some would argue that this was his madness. It was a similar problem with his goatskin-backed book selling “empire” (as he would put it). He would tell everyone of how he was to be the Napoleon of goatskin-bound book sales, that is before he was sectioned to Bathwell Rectory for mentally ill giants which systematically thwarted any opportunity of entrepreneurship. He was after all only eleven but then fifteen-foot tall James Lovell was ahead of most of his year vertically as well as intellectually and could hold his own with the year twelve’s at mathematics, not to mention the five forty-five train to Dorak-under-cam on the eighteen mile giants cross country run. Now you would consider James a polite and friendly chap, his charisma stood beside his intelligence -with regards to excellence- but James, and it must be said, was a rogue. He was often stopped and occasionally arrested by the Guardaulkers, the Guardaulkers where a small constabulary of giants set up by king George the forth to govern and keep secre the seven thousand strong giant population of England or Britaniculum as the giants so rightly put it. Twice arrested for stealing eight tonnes of soap from a soap factory, for James Lovell loved soap. He would dine on soap while sipping Courvoisier brandy until he was so drunk he would hiccup soap suds and bubbles. Well it was on one of the brandy and soap episodes when he was sectioned to bathwell rectory, despite the unintention of his manner towards Mr Smith of the mushroom house, upon bank avenue, under the sign, kent. He did so accidentally slip on ice and sit on Mr Smiths house. You may ponder the obvious element of a lacking malice in James’ action, but, and one must take this into account, being it that the giants are so tall, the little Mr Smith, a man who happened to reside in a massive mushroom, was killed out right. James was a problem and a liability for Giants nationwide and so courtesy of a lacking malice, rather than place James in a Giants dungeon, he was sent to Bathwell rectory. It just so happens, by utter coincidence, that James was actually slightly mad. In fact, I would go so far as to say completely barking mad, that is; upon the evidence collected at the bottom of the well in James’ forty two higginbottom road, kent address and previous abode. In the garden at the bottom of the house was found a collection of rabbits, I say a collection, there where four hundred and three rabbits, all dyed red except for a minority of three silver’s yet to received their red dye treatment. James Lovell of forty tow Higginbottom road, Kent was breading a creature contrary to section three thousand and twelve of the giants legislative code, written by the Giant god called Berisiah Masha who was currently residing deep under the ground very dead. Obviously the giants dispute this theory of death hence him being their god and so on. Well this didn’t go down well though happily the giant central governing agency ironically run by three gnomes and a nun where now satisfied with the position of James Lovell.
You may recall that James Lovell could run, one day he ran away chasing the five forty-five train to Dorak-under-cam and found himself in a community of sportsmen on a pub crawl. Celebrated and thought of as the tallest man in the world, unknown to the sportsmen on the pub crawl, James Lovell was a real giant. Keeping it to himself he lived a long a grand giants life on the run from magic, right up until the age of forty three when he died, of very sore knees.