As the salmon pink sky of dawn became the pale blue sky of morn, and the townspeople ate their breakfast flakes of corn, another cataclysmic ‘crim’ chronicle was born.

The setting was a seemingly ordinary winter morning in Northern Ireland – located in the northern segment of the island of Ireland – where the scene (for now) was as peaceful as a dove with a sore throat.

This particular winter morning was extremely chilly and the temperature had as many degrees as hair follicles on Harry Hill’s head. The sun was making a futile effort to soothe the painfully cold air.

In fact, the cinematic cliche of an ominous cold wind was entirely appropriate, because this seemingly ordinary winter morning was about to become extraordinary, all thanks to a truly extraordinary individual (and believe me, in this case, extraordinary is the direct antithesis of compliment). This particular individual was none other than former child, Jim the Crim.

For those unaware of this devious dunderhead, I envy you, because this diabolically despicable delinquent is disastrously dimwitted. Once he enters your brain, the fella never leaves. He constantly hovers around like a frustrating fly over your food.

To put it mildly, Jim was far from an intelligent fellow. He is as thick as my Gran’s gravy, which is lowkey impressive considering Gran often forgets that you are allowed to add water to the gravy granules.

Jim was so brainless that he once attempted to enter the Eurovision Song Contest by representing Singapore; he also failed to notice the irony as feedback to any performance of his would inevitably say: ‘singer poor’.

He’s so clueless, that he needs to use Google Maps to find his bedroom and he also thought that Poundland was a country. He’s so dimwitted that he thinks you need a passport to enter an Iceland supermarket and he also thinks a Deliveroo is a kangaroo that delivers your mail.

Jim had fled to Northern Ireland having become ferociously frustrated by the overwhelming nagging of his mother, Kim the Crim. She insisted repeatedly that her shambles of a son was horrifically unfit and required ample exercise, albeit perhaps more motivated by getting Jim out of the house rather than any health benefits.

Taking an unpurposeful stroll through a frost-filled forest (without a coat of course as wrapping up warm in such temperatures is what his mother would have wanted), the last of the trees opened up like an envelope and acted as the transformation between rural and urban. The tranquility of the forest gave way to the hustle and bustle of human civilisation.

The walk through the forest had left Jim panting like a dog in heat, despite the fact that the walk could not have lasted much more than three minutes. Furious by his mother’s fully justified contempt of his fitness, Jim spotted a building that represented an opportunity.

With the sun shining down on it, as if divine intervention stepped in, Jim noticed the sort of building he needed to disprove his persistently pestering parent, a building that (kind of) shared his name, a gym.

Approaching the entrance, Jim grabbed the handle of the door, turned the handle at a forty-five degree angle and pushed, thus opening the door.

Entering the building like an excitable youth in a toy shop, Jim’s eyes were infiltrated by the sparkles of the shiny metal dumbbells, the bright colours of the exercise balls and the metronomic movement of the rowing machines.

His eyes were also memorised by the abundance of ‘gym lads’ within the gaff. The laddiest of these ‘gym lads’ of course, was this gym’s most famous member, Tina Bearman. She is a woman who always cleans up at the end of year MEGAN awards, which as we all know stands for Most Excellent Gym Ambassador in Northern Ireland awards. She cleans up at these ceremonies so often that she is nicknamed Tina the Cleaner.

Tina is worshipped like a goddess at this small Northern Irish gym and all small Northern Irish gyms where she goes gymming. She boasts an enviously abundant amount of bare muscle. She has muscles the size of Brussels (meaning Brussels as in the Belgian city, not Brussels sprouts, because suggesting her muscles are as miniscule as a small cruciferous vegetable is frankly insulting to such a connoisseur of gymmery).

On this particular day, the gym was jam-packed. It was more jam-packed than a jam sandwich filled with ample jam.

Jim felt a sense of jealousy bubbling up inside him like a bottle of coke in an earthquake, desperately wanting to emulate the magnitude of muscular mass adorning this gang of gymmers.

However, envy quickly turned to excitement as Jim hatched a plan. It was a plan so foolish that no proper seasoned veteran of the criminal classes would even contemplate. He would attempt to rob the gym and achieve his morning-long dream of obtaining gym equipment without paying for a membership.

Jim’s sense of excitement was bubbling up inside him like a bottle of coke in an earthquake.

He had only recently soothed the adrenaline rush he procured after swindling a motorised vehicular contraption (which is of course more often known as a car). Luckily for him, he never received punishment for stealing that Nissan Juke, as the victim of the theft wanted to thank Jim the Crim for ridding her of that cataclysmically clapped car, a tragic stain on the motoring industry’s carefully crafted mosaic. It’s enough to make one long for a delete button for one’s eyes.

Nevertheless Jim decided that in his own incredibly biased opinion that his plan was totally flawless and set his alarm for precisely 5am. Therefore, at precisely 5:48am, Jim stealthily staggered towards the door of the gym.

Upon opening the door, Jim was greeted by near total darkness, which was sporadically interrupted by the shine of metal and a tiny segment of light from the moon peaking into one of the windows.

The eerie quietness convinced Jim that he was alone and thus allowed to carry out his trademark thieving without any unwanted disturbance. This seemed an incredibly simple endeavour… or was it?!

Unbeknownst to an otherwise confident Jim, there was a fantastically dedicated gym member lurking about towards the end of the building, preparing for their trademark 6am pre-workout workout. Of course, this model example of self-care was none other than the mighty Tina Bearman, multiple award winning gym connoisseur.

Concerned by the commotion caused by the catastrophically conspicuous crim, Tina courageously exited the showers with purpose and crucially with subtlety. She armed herself with a couple of dumbbells, casually caressing what must have been roughly 459.5kg of weight in her arms as if they were feathers.

Jim the Crim, a man who very much puts the ‘dumb’ in ‘dumbbell’ was busy gathering a few dumbbells on his own, with the confidence of an experienced professional seeing not a single spanner in the works, not knowing that a heroic woman with the strength of a tank was planning on becoming said spanner. Of course, a spanner in the works would be gut-’wrenching’ for Jim, a ‘hammer’ blow for a man who on a ‘level’ thought his plan was well ‘drilled’. Ironically, the only ‘tool’ in this enterprise was Jim himself.

With all the elegance and tranquility of a bull in a bric-a-brac shop, Jim gathered up his new shiny souvenirs and dragged them towards the door. He wore an astronomically arrogant smirk on his face as he assumed that he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Speaking of sliced bread, Jim was soon about to be toast. Bread would indeed be the yeast of his worries as an extraordinarily muscly silhouette glided over him like an ominous rain cloud.

Tina pounced on Jim the Crim like a hungry lion on a succulent pork chop. She fired her dumbbells towards the crim like a bow and arrow, with the accuracy of prime Phil Taylor aiming for a bullseye. The dumbbells pinned Jim down on the ground as if this were a wrestling match, temporarily trapping him until the Northern Ireland Police Department (or NIPD for short) arrived to apprehend the miscreant.

Due to my desire to sell this story to all ages, I will not directly quote what Jim said when crushed by multiple dumbbells, so I will paraphrase… “Oh goodness gracious, that smarts, the pain is both substantial and excruciating.”

Jim’s pain was compounded by the inevitable arrival of the Belfast bobbies, who put his grubby thieving hands in the cuffs ready for transportation to the local facility for felons. His excuse of the gym equipment being a present for his mother’s friend’s sister’s cousin’s newborn daughter failed to wash.

The rozzers were so impressed with Tina’s athleticism and bravery after her apprehension of the miscreant, that they recommended her for an MBE, for services to the capture of catastrophic crims.

She gave the officers a smile and a wave as they drove off with their Vauxhall Astra Diesel loaded with their dimwitted delinquent in the back seat.

Jim has not felt such bitter disappointment since the failure of his YouTube channel to yield more than two subscribers. It was a channel dedicated to reviewing various brands of creosotes to see which is most effective at preserving the structural integrity of his wooden fence panels. It baffled him that these videos failed to capture the public imagination; much like a broken aircraft, they never took off.

It would be prison food again for Jim. However, not only would he be provided with lumpy mashed potatoes in his local Cafe du Prison, but they would be bare bland because it is well known that cheese and butter privileges are withdrawn when you have accumulated too many arrests. The only saving grace was that his prison time was considerably less than his fellow cellmate Young Mr Fry the Tongue Twister Guy, who was given a very tough, lengthy sentence.

The following morning, the entire royal family headed to Northern Ireland to greet Britain’s newest hero and present her with her thoroughly deserved MBE.

Meanwhile the infantile inmate was sitting and sulking in the slammer. As per usual, Jim thought his plan was fantastically foolproof and that he was totally in the right.

For all of his flaws though – and believe me there are a LOT – Jim was a determined fellow and was not one to give up. So rest assured that, once he had served his inexplicably short time behind bars, Jim the Crim would be primed and ready to once again infect the innocent with his incompetence.