Jim Smith - Barry Loser Hates Half Term

getting out of the car.

46

My dad walked round to Desmond’s

door and lifted him out, careful not

to make his back go snap again. ‘Come

on, Barry, out you pop too,’ he chirped,

trying not to sound like a horrible dad

who was sending his number one son

off to a prison camp on an island in

the middle of a lake with none of his

friends for the whole of half term.

47

I slid myself out of the car and collapsed

in a heap of Barryness on the tarmac.

‘Pleeease don’t make me go to Pirate

Camp!’ I cried, as a little girl from

about three million years below me at

school walked past with her mum on

the way to the ferry, giggling at my

loserosity.

48

‘Sorry, Barry,’ said my dad, holding

Desmond’s bum up to his nostrils,

checking if he’d done another poo.

‘Maybe when your Great Aunt Mildred’s

nose shrinks back to normal and your

mum comes home we can have

another think.’

The tarmac rumbled and Bunky and

Nancy skidded their bikes to a stop

and jumped off, panting from cycling

all the way to Mogden Pier in less time

than it takes to say this sentence.

49

‘What in the name of unkeelness is

going on here?’ said Bunky, and I

explained to him and Nancy how my

dad was sending me to Pirate Camp

because we’d been jumping up and

down on my mum and dad’s bed the

day before.

‘. . . so really it’s kind of you two’s

fault as well,’ I said, getting up from

the tarmac and heaving my rucksack

out of the boot. My orange tent was

strapped to the bottom, with the word

‘LOSER’ written on it in big black capitals.

50

‘But Pirate Camp is for kiddywinkles!’

said Bunky, and my dad was just

about to open his mouth and say his

thing about how that meant I’d fit in

there just perfectly, when I spotted

the tip of Darren Darrenofski’s nose.

51

‘Off to Baby Camp, eh, Loser?’ said

Darren from my class at school, his

mean little piggy face appearing from

behind a Darren-Darrenofski’s-head-

shaped car. He was wearing earphones

and carrying a can of root beer

flavour Fronkle.

52

‘BUUURRRPPP!!!’ he burped, and an

invisible little cloud of stink floated

out of his mouth, towards my baby

brother’s nostrils.

‘WAHHH!!!’ screamed Desmond, waggling

his little hands in the air like a bonsai tree.

53

My dad passed Desmond over to

Nancy and whipped a scratched-up

pink plastic rectangle out of his pocket.

‘Here’s your mum’s old phone, Barry -

in case you need to get in touch.

I don’t want you using up all the battery

watching your Future Ratman episodes

though,’ he said.

54

‘Ooh, nice pink phone, Mrs Loser!’

snortled Darren, rummaging around

in HIS pocket and pulling out a

crumpled-up rectangle of card,

pretending he was a businessman like

Donald Cox or something. ‘Here’s my

number - let’s do lunch sometime.’

I looked down at the smelly bit of

paper. ‘Darren Darrenofski - number

one fan of Fronkle in the world,’ it

said. Underneath the writing was a

Darrenish-looking phone number.

55

I Future- Ratboy-speed-dialled the number and Darren’s pocket started to ring. ‘Darrenofski residence,’ he said, clicking a button halfway up his earphone wire.

‘Er . . . what in the unkeelness are you

doing here, Dazzoid?’ I said into my

phone.

56

Darren took a slurp on his Fronkle and

burped again. ‘Oh nothing, I was just

passing . . .’ he said, looking a teeny

weeny bit shifty-wifty, and I wondered

if he’d been wandering around Mogden

all on his own, hoping to bump into

someone to play it keel with.

57

You know how Desmond had been

screaming from Darren’s burp going

up his nostrils? Well that was still

happening.

‘Don’t cry, Dezzy,’ said Nancy, reaching

into Desmond’s car seat and pulling out

his cuddly toy clown.

58

Desmond stopped screaming and

reached out for his clown. ‘Cwowny!’

he gurgled, trying to say its name,

which is ‘Clowny Wowny’, the loserest

name ever.

‘Hewwo, my name is Clowny Wowny!’

said Nancy to Desmond, doing her

Clowny Wowny impression, and I rolled

the two eyeball-shaped gobstoppers in

my pocket, which I’d brought along to

keep me company on Mogden Island.

59

Clowny Wowny is the loserish clown

character that all the kiddywinkles

watch on TV these days. All that

happens in a whole episode is that

Clowny Wowny wobbles around in his

stupid giant clown shoes, falling over

stuff and doing blowoffs.

‘I can’t believe the rubbish they put on

TV these days, Donald,’ I said to Bunky.

‘I know, Donald, it’s not like when we

were kids,’ Bunky said, doing a back-

to-front-reverse-upside-down-salute,

which is what Future Ratboydoes when

he’s agreeing with someone.

60

I looked at my two best friends and

waggled my favourite eyebrow, and

my least favourite one too. ‘Come

with me, PLEEEASE?’ I whimpered,

missing them both already, even

though they were standing in front

of my eyebrows.

‘I’m sorry, Barry, we’re just too old for

Pirate Camp . . .’ said Nancy, peering

down at the floor.

61

‘Plus we’re going on a Poo Tour with

Nancy’s dad today!’ said Bunky. ‘We

were just about to come round yours

and tell you when you drove past!’

I rewound my brain to them standing

outside their houses, talking to Mr

Verkenwerken. ‘A Poo Tour?’ I cried.

‘What in the unkeelness is that?’

62

‘It’s where Mr Verkenwerken walks us

round the countryside, pointing out all

the different animals’ poos!’ sniggled

Bunky, as Nancy took her glasses off.

‘It’s more of a NATURE tour really,’ she

said, cleaning them on her skirt. ‘My

dad just calls it a Poo Tour to get

people like you and Bunky interested.

We mostly walk around looking at

flowers and insects and stuff . . .’

‘AND POO!’ shouted Bunky, and I fast-

forwarded my brain to how keel the

Poo Tour was going to be. Not that I

was going to be on it.

63

Darren put his hand on my shoulder

and took another slurp of Fronkle.

‘Don’t worry, Loser, I’ll take your

place!’ he burped, and I shrugged his

hand off and turned to face the

pier, where the captain was waiting.

‘All aboard for Mogden Island!’

he boomed.

64

‘All aboard for Mogden Island!’ boomed the captain again, and I wondered if he just liked saying it, seeing as it was only me and the little girl from my school

getting on, and we’d both comperleeterly

heard him the first time.

65

I jumped into his ferry, which was

actually just a little wooden boat with

a tiny motor hanging off the back of

it, and sat down next to the girl. She

was looking a teeny weeny bit nervous,

and I guessed it must be her first time

at Pirate Camp.

‘It’s that boy who was crying!’ she

giggled up at her mum, who was

standing on the pier, but I just ignored

them both, because I was too busy

looking at the captain’s hand.

66