shzm

Alfred groaned. To him, the double bleep of his brick-like nokia souded like chimes of doom. He hated text messages. He yearned for the old days when his granddaughter Emma used to phone him up, and talk to him like a normal, civilised person would do.

When he'd opened his christmas present last year, his heart had sunk. A man of simple pleasures, a bottle of scotch would have been perfect, but instead he feigned surprise and excitement when his kids explained how useful the mobile phone would be for keeping in touch. Deep down, he felt too old to learn this weird new text language. Thank goodness he'd found SHZM.

SHZM. Weird name, really. Words without vowels confused Alfred, and he'd spend a while guessing what the letters stood for. He always got stuck on the Z. "Let's see", he thought, pulling on his milk-bottle glasses. "I wonder if I can crack this one my elf?"

"sup grndd? tings gr8 wit us! cu @ 6? xM"

Alfred looked hard at the screen, and figured that the best minds in Bletchley Park might have trouble deciphering the message. He forwarded the message to SHZM, and within seconds it's computerised brain had unravelled the text, and Alfred's phone bleeped again, this time with an uncoded message that people like Alfred preferred. The small charge for the text seemed insignificant considering the value of it's service.

"How are things, grandad? things are great with me! Shall I see you at six o'clock? xM"

Alfred smiled. And wondered how best to reply.