running backinto the sitting room. I forward-rolled
on to the sofa and flopped my legs
over the back of it, settling down
to watch the rest of
Future Ratboy,
upside-down-stylee. ‘This half term is
gonna be AMAZEKEEL!’
‘It is NOT party time!’ shouted my dad,
marching into the room and plonking
Desmond on the carpet. ‘ARGH, MY
BACK!’ he cried, taking about three
hours to straighten up again.
25
Future Ratboy ended and I flipped myself backwards off the sofa, somersaulting through the air and landing bum-first on the coffee table.
‘I know - let’s jump up and down on
my mum and dad’s bed!’ I cried,
waggling my hands around like a tree.
‘Keelness times a millikeels!’ shouted
Bunky, and me, him and Nancy all
ran upstairs.
26
‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’ boomed my dad,
barging into the bedroom once we’d
been bouncing up and down on the
bed long enough for his bedside table
to have juddered halfway across the
room. He plonked Desmond down and
something went snap. ‘MY BACK!’ he
screamed again, waddling over to the
bed and flomping down on it, bent in
half like an L.
27
‘POOWEE, what’s that stink?’ snuffled
Bunky, jumping off the bed and
waggling his nose in the air, and we
all looked at Desmond.
Desmond’s face had turned red and
his eyes were rolling in their sockets.
28
‘Er, Da-ad? I think Desmond’s doing
another poo-oo?’ I said, sniggling to
Bunky and Nancy, and they both bent
in half like Ls too, except out of
laughter instead of pain.
‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’ shouted my dad
from the bed. ‘BUNKY, NANCY, YOU’RE
GOING HOME!’
29
‘Apologies for my father - I’ll call
you later,’ I said, as Bunky and Nancy
walked off down the road, and I
slammed the front door and stomped
back upstairs to my mum and dad’s
room. ‘THANK YOU VERY MUCH
INDEED!’ I shouted, once I got there.
30
My dad was lying on the floor, wiping
Desmond’s bum. ‘I can’t do this, Barry . . .’
he whimpered, still bent in half like an L.
‘You look like you’re doing fine to me,’
I said, thinking how there was no way
I was EVER going to have a baby,
seeing as it’s bad enough wiping my
OWN bum, let alone someone else’s too.
31
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said my dad,
passing me a plastic bag full of poo.
‘What DID you mean, then?’ I said,
except it came out as ‘Dot DID do deen,
den?’ because I’d stuffed two of my
spare fingers up my nostrils.
‘I can’t look after you and Desmond on
my own, Barry,’ said my dad. ‘I think
you might have to go to Pirate Camp
for the rest of half term . . .’
32
‘But I don’t WANT to go to Pirate
Camp!’ I shouted for the millikeelth
time, thirteen and three quarter hours
later. It was Monday morning and
I was sitting in the back seat of my
dad’s car on the way to Mogden Pier,
which is where the ferry for Mogden
Island leaves from.
33
‘Why not?’ said my dad. ‘I thought you
LOVED Pirate Camp.’
‘I USED to love Pirate Camp, but not
any more . . . it’s for BABIES!’ I cried,
and Desmond, who was sitting next to
me in his baby seat, started giggling.
‘You should fit in there just perfectly,
then!’ said my dad, and I screwed my
face up and stared at him in the
rear-view mirror.
34
