There were five other statues of Mayor Goodhair dotted round the square that I hadn’t noticed before.
‘You weren’t kidding, Jamjar,’ I said. ‘Mayor Goodhair really does like a statue of himself !’
‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, but slightly quieter than usual, probably so Bunny wouldn’t hear.
I looked at the giant presents. A massive crowd had gathered round them and hover-cameras zigzagged through the air, filming for Shnozville News.
‘Good mornkeels and welcome to Shnozville News!’ boomed a wrinkly old man on a huge hover-screen floating above my head. ‘I’m Bill Aardvark and this is my co-host, Cecelia Twizzlefrump!’
The camera panned across to a blonde lady with three noses. ‘We’re live at the scene of Mayor Goodhair’s nine hundred and seventy-twelfth birthday party!’ she yakked, and a photo of Mayor Goodhair popped up behind her on the screen.
I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes in on the photo. Dr Smell was right, Mayor Goodhair had the shiniest, bounciest hair I’d ever seen.
‘You’ve got to love him, haven’t you?’ said Splorg, staring up at the screen. ‘I mean, look at his hair. It’s just so . . . GOOD!’
‘Ooh, he’s the greatest mayor Shnozville has ever had!’ cooed Bunny. ‘I remember when he cut the ribbon at the opening of Bunny Deli. His hair couldn’t have looked better!’
Jamjar did her little cough again. ‘Actually that was Norman who cut the ribbon,’ she said all seriously.
‘Who’s Norman?’ I asked, and Not Bird shouted ‘NOT!’ again.
‘Norman is Mayor Goodhair’s pet pair of hover-scissors!’ said Twoface. ‘You really should know this stuff if you want to be a real superhero like me, Future Ratbums!’
Jamjar ignored Twoface and turned to me. ‘It’s a well-known fact that hover-scissors can’t hold themselves back if there’s something that needs snipping!’ she said.
‘Fascinating,’ yawned Twoface, and Not Bird sniggled.
Not that I had time for that to annoy me, because the Shnozville Town Square clock had just struck seven billion.
A shiny black UFO appeared from behind a bright green cloud and a hatch in its bum slid open. A rainbow-coloured beam shot out of the hole and Mayor Goodhair floated down the middle of it.
‘Good mornkeels, fellow Shnozvillians!’ he boomed, landing on a little stage next to the draped-over statue. ‘How does my hair look today?’
‘GOOD!’ cried the crowd.
Mayor Goodhair was wearing bright white trainers and a sparkly blue suit. Perched on top of his perfect hair sat a red cap with ‘MAYOR’ written on it. Next to him floated his pet pair of hover-scissors, Norman.
‘How nice of you to turn out like this for my nine hundred and seventy-twelfth birthday!’ he smiled. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the free food and drink?’
‘That’s a point,’ I whispered to Jamjar. ‘Where’s the grub?’
Jamjar twizzled her eyes up at the sky. Loads of tiny different-coloured clouds that I hadn’t noticed before were floating around like pillows.
‘What in the name of unkeelness are THOSE?’ I said.
‘Call one over and find out!’ smiled Jamjar.
I scratched my bum, feeling a bit stupid about the idea of talking to a cloud. ‘Erm . . . here, Cloudy!’ I said, and a little pink cloud drifted over and floated just above my head. ‘Now what?’
‘NOT!’ chirped Not Bird, and Twoface chuckled.
‘Open your mouth!’ said Jamjar, so I opened my mouth and the cloud started to rain.
‘Pink Lemonade – my favourite!’ I gurgled, as fizzy pink raindrops pitter-pattered down my throat.
‘How about a snack?’ said Splorg, and he whistled. ‘Here boy!’ he called, and I spotted a hot dog galloping towards me. It stopped at my feet and barked.
‘I can’t eat him, he’s way too cute!’ I said.
‘It’s just a hot dog, Ratfingers!’ said Twoface, picking it up and slotting it into his mouth. ‘Mmm, good doggy!’ he smiled, and a muffled woof echoed inside his tummy.
I ignored Twoface and did a whistle. Another hot dog ran over and I lifted it up to my mouth and bit it in half. It really was delicious, even though I felt a bit guilty.
‘And now for my favourite part!’ boomed Mayor Goodhair, pointing at the giant presents. ‘The Grand Unwrapping!’
‘Who buys all these statues for him?’ I spluttered.
‘Nobody,’ said Bunny. ‘Mayor Goodhair’s so rich he buys his own presents!’
Mayor Goodhair clicked his fingers and Norman, his pet pair of hover-scissors, floated up to the bright red ribbon that was tied around the yellow sheet covering the statue.
‘Ooh a ribbon,’ squeaked Norman, swishing his blades open. ‘I just can’t resist!’
He swished his blades shut, snipping the ribbon in half, and the sheet flopped to the floor revealing a concrete Mayor Goodhair standing on top of a pillar.
