Barry Loser Hates Half Term. Jim Smith
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‘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.
‘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.
‘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!’
‘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.
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.
‘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 . . .’
‘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.
‘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.
‘What in the unkeelness does THAT mean?’ I whined.
‘You’re a big brother now, Barry,’ said my dad. ‘You can’t go screaming round the house acting like a kiddywinkle any more . . .’
‘I am NOT a KIDDYWINKLE!’ I shouted, stomping my feet on the car’s carpet and crossing my arms.
‘Yes, well, until you can prove you’ve grown up a bit, I’m afraid you’ll need to stay on Mogden Island with all the other little babies,’ said my dad.
‘I bet MUM wouldn’t send me to Pirate Camp!’ I shouted.
‘As a matter of fact, I spoke to your mum on the phone this morning and she thinks it’s a great idea,’ said my dad. ‘Who knows - maybe you’ll surprise yourself and enjoy it!’
‘Maybe you’ll surprise YOURself !’ I shouted, which didn’t really make sense, but I wasn’t in the mood to care. ‘Thanks for ruining my half term!’ I grumbled, and I stared out of the window at the ginormous billboard we were driving past.
‘ANOTHER FANTASTIC DONALD COX DEVELOPMENT!’ boomed the words on the billboard, next to a mahoosive photo of a man in a suit with sunglasses on. That makes it sound like the suit was wearing sunglasses - it wasn’t, the man was.
The man with the sunglasses on was Donald Cox, who’s been building buildings all over Mogden recently. In the photo he was standing in front of some skyscrapers, with his hands spread out like he was the king of Mogden.
Behind the billboard, half a real-life skyscraper was sticking out of the ground. Men in yellow plastic hats were dotted around all over it, hammering planks and eating sandwiches.
‘Blooming Donald Cox,’ grumbled my dad, pressing the back-massage button on the side of his seat, and the whole thing started to vibrate.
‘You can’t go five metres without seeing his face these days,’ he said, and he turned left down Bunky’s road, which everyone knows is the shortest short cut to Mogden Pier.
I pressed my nose up against the car window and spotted Bunky standing outside his house talking to Nancy and her dad, Mr Verkenwerken. Which didn’t surprise me, seeing as they’re next-door neighbours.
‘DONALD COX!’ I boomed, waving at Bunky. I’ve started calling Bunky ‘Donald Cox’ sometimes, by the way, because it makes him wee his pants with laughter.
Bunky carried on standing there, chatting to Nancy and Mr Verkenwerken and not weeing his pants at all, and I realised I hadn’t wound my window down.
I wound my window down and took a deep breath. ‘DONALD COX!’ I boomed again, and Bunky and Nancy jumped.
‘DONALD COX!’ boomed Bunky back, because he’s started calling me ‘Donald Cox’ too.
‘Help me, Donald - my dad’s kidnapped me!’ I shouted, imagining I was Future Ratboy, and I’d been captured by his number one enemy, Mr X, and locked up in the back