Andy Stanton - Mr Gum and the Secret Hideout

‘OK,’ said Friday. ‘How about “THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AND YOGURTS”?’

It was a brilliant name, apart from the yogurt bit. But Friday would not give in, so that’s what they called it.

Polly went home and got some paint, and together she and Friday made a wonderful sign to hang above the office door:

After it was painted, Polly added some glitter and stickers of hearts and ponies around the words and Friday hung some broccoli from it ‘for good luck’. It looked excellent. And if you looked at it twice, it looked twice as excellent. But if you looked at it three times, it still only looked twice as excellent, which just goes to show things can get a bit boring if you look at them too much.

Then Friday went and bought suits and ties for them both. And then they sat at the desk with their hands folded in front of them, looking extremely serious.

‘Now, Mr Friday,’ said Polly. ‘I done some ’vestigations in my head an’ I reckons all the clouds probbly bein’ mucked up cos of bad pollutions in the air.’

‘Exactly, Mr Polly,’ said Friday, who was busy sharpening his tie in the electric pencil-sharpener.

‘So we gots to work out where all them pollutions is comin’ from,’ said Polly. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Friday. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Yes,’ said a voice in the corner. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Who said that?’ said Polly.

‘It was I!’ cried a man, jumping out of the wastepaper basket. ‘I’m Surprising Ben! I pop up here, I pop up there! Surprise! Surprise! I’m everywhere!’

And away he ran, giggling like a tortoise.

‘That was quite surprising,’ said Friday. ‘But now it’s time to get to work. I have here a map of Lamonic Bibber,’ he said, unrolling a huge map from his sock. ‘Now, look carefully, Mr Polly. I drew this map myself, many years ago. See, there’s my signature in the corner.’

DRAWN BY FRIDAY ‘LEONARDO’ O’LEARY, NOVEMBER 14TH 1973

‘I don’t want to sound boastful or anything,’ said Friday modestly, ‘but this is probably the most incredible map anyone’s ever drawn in the history of all human existence. Look, every street, every house, every hill in Lamonic Bibber – it’s all there.

‘Now,’ he continued. ‘We will go looking for the pollution. We will investigate a little of the town each day. Then we will come back and colour in bits of the map to show we’ve investigated them. And also because we like colouring things in.’

‘Hurrah!’ laughed Polly, clapping her hands.

FLOOOOOB!

BUFFSH-SH-!!

A big wheezy cloud flopped out of the sky and landed right outside the office.

‘There’s no time to wastes, Mr Friday,’ said Polly as the poor bit of weather was licked up by a stray baby. ‘We better start doin’ our ’vestigations.’

BOING!

BOING!

BOING!

‘That’s it, Billy me old demonic melon!’ laughed Mr Gum as he BOING!ed up and down on his grimsters old sofa. ‘Chuck that meat on the heat!’

‘Right you are!’ cackled Billy, shovelling a pile of horse bladders on to the fire where they exploded in a dirty shower known as ‘Butcher’s Fireworks’. ‘But why we doin’ all this again, Mr Gum, me old Spanish woodworm?’

‘Cos it’s our flippin’ masterplan, Billy me boy,’ growled Mr Gum, BOING!ing higher than ever. ‘The more we heat up them stale meats, the more poison gases goes up that massive chimney an’ in the air. An’ the more poison gases goes in the air, the hotter an’ nastier it gets in Lamonic Bibber. It’s called “Townal Warmin’”.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ laughed Billy. ‘“Townal Warmin”’. Now I remember. An’ once that stupid town gets hot enough, then –’

‘SPLASH!’finished Mr Gum, grinning so nastily that a nearby mouse dissolved with fright. ‘The weather goes crazy, Lamonic Bibber falls in the sea an’ then we rule over it forever!’

‘How we gonna rule over it if it’s fallen in the sea?’ asked Billy through a mouthful of coal dust.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Mr Gum. ‘I never thought of that. Well, forget it. We’ll just stick to destroyin’ Lamonic Bibber by makin’ it fall in the sea. That’s evil enough for now. OI!’ he shouted. ‘Why ain’t you shovellin’ that meat? Get back to work, you lazy old trumpet!’

‘But there ain’t no more meat to shovel,’ whined Billy. ‘Them horse bladders was the last of it. We run out, see?’

‘Well, take yer stupid cap off an’ chuck it on the blaze!’ yelled Mr Gum. So Billy took off his butcher’s cap and threw it on the furnace, where it quickly burnt to a crisp.

‘Now burn yer apron!’ yelled Mr Gum. ‘Now burn yer shirt! Now burn yer trousers! Now burn yer boots! Now burn yer socks! Now burn yer pant – nah, on second thoughts keep yer pants on, you disgustin’ lettuce.’

‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Billy as he stood there in his grubby grey boxer shorts. ‘We burnt all the meat. We burnt me clothes. There’s nothin’ left to burn.’

‘What we gonna do now?’ scowled Mr Gum, stroking his beard into the shape of a gigantic red question mark.

‘There’s only one thing for it,’ said Billy. ‘We gotta go an’ get more meat off that strange little bloke what helped us out last time.’

‘It’s true,’ growled Mr Gum. ‘But we gotta be crafty, Billy der Willy der Wills. We gotta be so crafty ’bout it that even we hardly know what we’re up to ourselves. What’s that thing called when it’s all dark an’ there’s that stupid thing in the sky what’s not the sun but the other one what’s not so big?’

‘Night time?’ suggested Billy.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ grinned Mr Gum. ‘That’s the time to do our evils, Billy me boy – “Night time”. When no one can see us, when no one can catch us an’ when no one can stinkin’ well stop us!’

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