Automatically, Nat put her hands down to pull up her trousers. Forgetting she was holding on to the monkey bars.
Splat! Down she went, into the mud.
“You fall off, you gotta start again,” shouted Mr Bungee.
Nat squelched desperately back to the start of the course and began again.
Halfway across, going hand-to-hand on the bars, she became aware of her problem tracky bottoms. Why were they so loose? She kept crossing her skinny legs to hold them up, but they kept slipping down!
“I think I mixed up our tracky bottoms and I packed mine in your rucksack by mistake,” shouted Dad. “They might be a bit big for you.” He fidgeted on the spot. “Also, it might explain why I’ve got a bit of chafing. I thought these were tight.”
“We can see your pa-ants!” chanted the boys from St Scrofula’s. “We can see your pa-ants!”
Dangling there in mid-air, covered in mud and with Dad’s oversized tracky bottoms sliding down, Nat heard a horrible wail of fury. She wondered where it was coming from. Then she realised: it was coming from her!
She saw Dad – rubbish, tracky-bottoms-swapping, pants-revealing Dad – standing at the end of the assault course. He waved.
A red mist descended in front of her eyes.
This time she WAS GOING TO STRANGLE HIM.
With a yell, she raced through the monkey bars, hurled herself into the pipe, hopped furiously across the tyres and reached the big wall just as Plum was disappearing over it.
“Come ’ere, you,” she shouted, and grabbed Plum’s leg.
“Aaaargh!” yelled the girl, as Nat yanked her off the wall and used her as a stepping stone.
Nat was over the wall and in the lead! She was way ahead. Nothing could stop her now.
“You’ve won, now ring the bell,” yelled Dad.
But then he saw that Nat DID NOT CARE ABOUT THE BELL.
She was completely ignoring the bell.
Instead, she was heading straight for him, outstretched hands full of gooey mud.
“I’ll just … just go and, er … look for something in these trees,” said Dad, ducking behind a handy oak.
“You’ve embarrassed me for the last time,” shouted Nat, chasing him in circles.
She had just got him cornered against a big tree and was about to plaster him in mud when she heard a bell ring.
It was Plum, ringing in victory.
“Oops,” said Nat.
In the end, Dad dug the dunny.
Nat said he had to because it was his fault she’d lost the race. If she hadn’t been so cross with him, she’d have made it to the bell on time.
While the camp cooks were boiling up sludge for supper, Nat and Penny and Darius went to the field to see how Dad was getting on.
Nat was planning to offer words of encouragement like: “Hurry up, baldy,” or “Dig it a bit deeper. We don’t want spiders or splashback.”
Darius just wanted to go so he could use it first.
When they got there, they could just see Dad’s bald spot peeking above ground. There was a mound of freshly-dug earth near the hole. Great shovelfuls of earth were being chucked up … and over Mr Dewdrop, who was standing next to the hole.
“Are you sure you’re setting a good example to the children?” Nat heard Mr Dewdrop ask, brushing earth off his clipboard. “I mean, you should get your girl Nathalia to do it. After all, it’s usually ‘losers, weepers’, everyone knows that.”
“Thanks. You could have said that two hours ago,” grumbled Dad, climbing out, covered in mud and dirt and worms. “I’ve finished it now.”
Darius whipped out some loo roll. “Out of my way,” he said with an evil grin.
Dad just smiled. “We need to put the little loo hut over it first,” he said. “Here, you can give me a hand.”
After a few minutes of heaving and dragging (Darius and Dad) and groaning and complaining (Nat), they had manoeuvred the little loo hut over the big hole.
Mr Dewdrop wandered off without helping and Nat had a horrible feeling Dad wasn’t making a good impression on him.
Darius dashed straight inside the dunny.
Dad brushed himself down and looked at the pile of earth he’d dug up. “I was hoping to find a bit of T. rex in the ground,” he said. “There’s tons of fossils round here.”
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