Kitabı oku: «The Barry Loser Series»

Contents

Cover

Copyright

Title Page

Worst name ever

Tears of Granny Laughter

Detective Manksniff straw

Mayor Plunkett

Cardboard cut-out Irene

Feeko’s Mike

Dog wee sofa

Talking to myself out loud

Beryl and Irene

Hand scrabbles

The magic coin

Ten seconds

The magic straw

Irene flavour Tears of Granny Laughter

Disasteroid strikes

Squidged Irene

Blaming Desmond

Morning poo poo

Mrs Wisses

Clenching my bum

The toilet roll mirakeel

The crumpled carton

Desmond Loser the Worst

Very loud nattering indeed

Round Nancy’s

Barry Loser, Private Detective

Round Sharonella’s

Unkeelest news ever

The Phantom Air-Freshener Thief

The reason why

Roll up, roll up

The right to remain unkeel

The jumble sale

The end for Barry Loser

Madame Barry

Bunky’s straw

One last drop of Beryl

Bunky’s confession

Madame Bunky

Actual real-life Tears of Granny Laughter

About the producer/director

Praise for my other books

Future Ratboy

My mum and dad are so busy looking after my brand new baby brother, Desmond Loser the Second, I sometimes wonder if they know I even exist.

Like the other day, when my Granny Harumpadunk and her boyfriend Mr Hodgepodge came round to visit. My mum’s favourite show, Detective Manksniff, was on TV, and I’d snuggled up to her on the comfy sofa, using her belly as a pillow.

Granny Harumpadunk and Mr Hodgepodge were squidged on the uncomfy sofa, squinting through their matching glasses at the TV.

‘Ooh, now there’s a good-looking man,’ warbled my granny as Detective Manksniff stirred his cocktail with a straw, and Mr Hodgepodge rolled his eyes.

‘SHHH!’ shushed my mum. ‘I’m trying to enjoy my show,’ she said, and I sniggled at her loserness, even though I was secretly quite enjoying it too.

‘WAAAHHH!!!’ screamed my dad from the downstairs bathroom, where he was changing Desmond Loser the Second’s nappy for the nineteenth time that morning. ‘DESMOND’S WEED IN MY FACE AGAIN!’

I heard my mum’s belly do a gurgle and imagined myself curled up inside it, the same size as my annoying little brother.

‘What was I like when I was a baby, Mum?’ I said.

‘I’m coming, Desmond!’ cried my mum, comperleeterly ignoring my question, and she leaped off the sofa, wobbling down the hallway to help.

‘Des-mond,’ murmured Mr Hodgepodge, as if he’d only just heard it for the first time. ‘What a terrific name for a little boy!’ he smiled, and I wondered why everyone in my whole entire life had to have such loserish names, me included.

‘Desmond Loser the First would’ve been proud!’ beamed Granny Harumpadunk, heaving herself off the uncomfy sofa and doddering over to the mantelpiece, and she lifted up a photo of my Great Uncle Desmond, who was the biggest Loser that ever lived.

She put the picture back on the mantelpiece and picked up a little pig made out of china.

‘Do you think your mum wants this, Barry?’ she said, and I shrugged, not listening at all, because Detective Manksniff had finished and MY favourite TV show, Future Ratboy, was on next.

‘MAUREEN, DO YOU WANT THIS PIG OR CAN I SELL IT AT THE JUMBLE SALE?’ screeched Granny Harumpadunk down the hallway to my mum, and I blew off into my sofa cushion out of shock.

That’s all Granny Harumpadunk’s been doing recently, collecting stuff for her boring old jumble sale, which is in Mogden Hall on Saturday from 10am till 3pm with a live magic show by The Great Hodgepodge and his glamorous assistant, Madame Harumpadunk, at 1pm sharp.

‘Sell it. She’s got millions of them,’ whispered my dad, tiptoeing into the lounge with Desmond Loser the Second asleep on his shoulder.

‘Barry, turn that TV down,’ he mouthed, and I was just about to press the mute button on the remote control, seeing as it was only the adverts, when I saw a carton of Tears of Granny Laughter pop up on the screen.

‘Salute the keelness!’ I shouted, leaping off the sofa and doing a quadruple-reverse-salute, which is what I do when my favourite advert comes on TV.

Tears of Granny Laughter is this keel new drink they’ve started selling at Feeko’s Supermarkets.

It comes in three granny flavours, Beryl, Irene and Gertrude, and the advert is all about how they make it.

It starts with Beryl, Irene and Gertrude queuing up to go into a cinema.

Then you see them laughing at a man in an old black-and-white film who’s hanging off a building with his legs waggling everywhere.

The three grannies are all wearing massive 3D glasses that have been specially made to catch the tears of laughter zigzagging out of their eyes, and at the end of the film all the tear-juice is poured into cartons of Tears of Granny Laughter.

‘Can I have some money for a Tears of Granny Laughter, Dad? Can I, Daddypoos? Can I? Can I? Can I?’ I said, running over and tugging my dad on his elbow, and Desmond Loser the Second opened his eyes and started screaming.

My mum wobbled back into the room, swinging a see-through plastic bag full of Desmond’s poo. ‘SHUSH, BARRY!’ she whisper-shouted, stroking Desmond Loser the Second’s cheek. ‘You’re upsetting Baby Des!’

Granny Harumpadunk slipped the china pig into her handbag and shuffled over to look at the baby.

‘Ooh, you’re the loveliest thing since sliced bread, aren’t you!’ she cooed, and I wondered what was so amazing about sliced bread.

‘Mu-um,’ I squeaked in my babiest voice ever, seeing as that’s what she seems to like so much these days, ‘Dad said I could have some money for a Tears of Granny Laughter.’

‘Tears of Granny Laughter,’ murmured my mum, as if she’d heard the name somewhere before. ‘Isn’t that that terrible new drink Feeko’s have been making out of little old ladies?’

‘It’s not real, that’s just the advert!’ I groaned, because everyone knows Feeko’s doesn’t use ACTUAL granny tears to make Tears of Granny Laughter. But my mum wasn’t listening.

‘I’m not having you drinking that stuff, Barry,’ she said, taking Desmond off my dad and peering into his eyes the way I peer into my cuddly Future Ratboy’s.

I clenched my fists and felt a Tear of Barry Annoyance start to work its way out of my eyehole.

‘But Mu-um, everyone at school drinks it!’ I wailed, which wasn’t comperleeterly true. Only Anton Mildew in my class had tried Tears of Granny Laughter so far.

Anton Mildew is the editor of our school newspaper, The Daily Poo. Ever since he said that Tears of Granny Laughter was even tastier than Fronkle, all I’ve wanted to do is drink a carton.

‘PLEE-EEASE!’ I whined, but not in an annoying, whiney way.

‘QUIET, BARRY!’ said my mum, without even looking at me.

I stuck my tongue out at Desmond and was just about to storm up to my bedroom, when Mr Hodgepodge heaved himself off the sofa and plodded over to where I was standing.

He was wearing his sparkly bow tie, which he thinks makes him look like a magician.

‘What’s that in your ear, Barry?’ he grinned, reaching out his shaky hand, and a 50p coin appeared between his fingers.

‘You go enjoy your bottle of Grandma Pop!’ he winked, dropping the 50p in my palm, and I slid it into my pocket before my mum and dad could see. Not that they were looking. Because they were too busy staring at Desmond Loser the Second.