Jim Smith - Barry Loser Hates Half Term

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 Ratboyended 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

‘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.

35

‘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!’

36

‘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.

37

‘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.

38

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.

39

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.

40

‘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.

41

‘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.

42

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 of Mr X’s giant metal scorpion.

43

‘He’s sending me to Pirate Camp,

Donald!’ I screamed, pounding my fists

against the air, miming like I hadn’t

wound the window down at all. ‘Meet

me at Mogden Pier!’ I wailed, and I

wound the window up again and went

back to comperleeterly unenjoying my

half term.

44

‘Ferry leaves in four minutes,’ said

my dad, screeching to a halt next to

Mogden Pier, and I sat in my seat

wondering why my dad always says

everything’s gonna be FOUR minutes,

and not three, or five.

45

‘Maybe it’s because he’s got FOUR

fingers,’ I mumbled to myself, as my

dad undid his seatbelt. ‘Maybe if he had

seventeen fingers, everything would

take SEVENTEEN minutes instead!’

I think I was just trying to put off