But first I’ve got to badger my mum about it non-stop until she buys me one. Which is what this story is about.
It all started a couple of weeks ago when I saw a poster stuck to a lamp post on Mogden High Street. The poster said:
‘Look, Mum!’ I said, pointing at the poster. We were walking home from school, which is something I usually do with my best friends Bunky and Nancy, except this time my mum had dragged me into Mogden Town to do some boring old shopping instead.
She stopped pushing the buggy, which had my little brother, Desmond Loser the Second, strapped inside it, and peered at the poster.
‘Gladys Foo?’ chuckled my mum, carrying on walking. ‘That’s a funny old name isn’t it.’
I thought about reminding my mum that her surname was ‘Loser’, and how before she’d married my dad it’d been ‘Harumpadunk’. But I had more important things to be getting on with than that.
I opened my mouth and got ready to do some serious badgering.
Have you noticed how, when you’re thinking about something a lot, like sausages and dogs for example, they keep popping up everywhere you look?
That’s what started happening next. We’d only walked as far as the next lamp post, when what did I see but a totally normal, boring old dog weeing up against it.
‘Check it out!’ I said, starting to badger my mum. ‘A little doggy having a wee wee. Do you know what that reminds me of ?’
My mum peered down at me. ‘Do you need the toilet, Barry?’ she asked.
‘No mum, I don’t need the toilet,’ I sighed, and we carried on walking until we got to Bruce the butcher’s and I spotted a string of plastic sausages hanging up in the window.
‘Oh my unkeelness,’ I said, pointing at the fake bangers. ‘Plastic sausages! Can you guess what they make me think of, Mum?’
My mum gave me a funny look, like she thought I was trying to tell her I needed a poo or something. ‘Half a dozen sausages please Bruce,’ she said to the butcher.
‘MU-UM!’ I said, trying to get her attention.
‘WHAT, Barry?’ snapped my mum.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘You know how you’re buying sausages right now?’
‘Just get to the point,’ sighed my mum.
‘I WANT A SAUSAGE DOG!’ I cried.
Bruce the butcher handed my mum her sausages. ‘That’s a fiver for you, Losers,’ he said, doing a wink.
‘No chance!’ said my mum, but I don’t think she was talking to Bruce.
We walked out of the butcher and started heading home. ‘Looking forward to the disco, Barry?’ asked my mum, because it was the Mogden School Valentine’s Day Disco tonight.
‘Yeah I spose,’ I said, wondering if I should give up badgering her for a sausage dog and try for a spaghetti Bolognese stick insect instead.
‘Barry!’ cried Bunky as I walked into Mogden School Hall nine trillion hours later.
Coloured lights were flashing round the edge of the room and music was blaring out of two ginormous speakers. Balloons bounced around on the dance floor and a black box hanging off the ceiling pumped purple clouds of smoke into the air.
In the corner of the hall, standing behind a table, was Mrs Dongle the school secretary.
‘This is DJ Dongles coming at ya on the ones and twos!’ she warbled into a microphone.
Then she pressed a button on her music player and the Future Ratboy theme tune started playing through the speakers.
Future Ratboy, in case you didn’t know, is my all-time favourite TV show. It’s all about this kid who gets zapped to the future and transformed into a half boy, half rat, half TV.
‘Future Ratkeels!’ I cried, sticking my hand out in front of me like I was holding a dog lead, and I jiggled towards Bunky, my bum wagging like it had a tail.
‘What in the name of unkeelness are you doing, Barry?’ laughed Nancy Verkenwerken, who was standing next to Bunky.
‘It’s the Doggy Walk Wiggle!’ I said, skidding to a stop next to them both.
Nancy chuckled. ‘How’s the badgering going?’ she asked. I’d told her all about me badgering my mum for a sausage dog, of keelse.
‘Hasn’t worked yet unfortukeely,’ I said, my nose drooping.
Bunky patted me on the shoulder and grabbed a Cherry Fronkle from a pyramid of cans that’d been stacked up on a table.
‘Have a Fronkle instead,’ he said, like he’d bought it for me.
Just then, Anton Mildew marched past, doing his world famous robot dance. ‘MUST. DESTROY. ALL. BALLOONS,’ he bleeped, and Nancy chuckled.
