David Walliams - Fing

This stopped Myrtle in her tracks. Slowly she turned round and reached into her lunchbox.

“BESTEST BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!” she hollered. Myrtle pulled out one of the tall cartons of chocolate milk and lobbed it at her mother.

It hit poor Mrs Meek right in the face, soaking her and her pink flowery dress.

“Thanking you kindly,” remarked the lady, not sure what else to say.

Father passed his wife the handkerchief he always kept in his breast pocket.

“There we are, Mother.”

Mrs Meek dabbed at the chocolate milk. It was little use. The pink flowery dress was now a brown chocolatey mess.

“BESTEST BETTER THAN BEST!” appealed Father.

Once again, Myrtle reached into her lunchbox.

“Oh dear,” muttered Father, closing his eyes as he was sure something was about to be lobbed in his direction.

He was right.

A bucket of chocolate mousse hit him – BANG! – on the top of his head.

“Thanking you muchly!” he said, like his wife, not knowing what else to say.

Without a word, Mother passed the handkerchief back to her husband, and he attempted to de-mousse himself.*

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head!” called out Father, lying. There was nothing pretty or little about Myrtle’s head. “We will have that FING for you as soon as you are home from school.”

“YOU BETTER!” replied Myrtle. “Or else.”

Neither Mr Meek nor Mrs Meek knew what “else” was, but, whatever it was, it sounded nasty.

The school bell rang.

As soon as Myrtle began lumbering off towards her classroom, Father took his wife’s hand.

“Ooh, you are very forward, Mr Meek,” she remarked.

“I know the perfect place to start looking for a FING,” said the librarian.

“Where?”

“The LIBRARY, of course!”

Mr and Mrs Meek bolted down the street. They were quite a sight, both covered as they were in chocolatey-brown gunge. The pair looked like two giant poops making a dash for freedom.

As soon as they reached the doors to the LIBRARY, they slowed to a stroll.

PITTER-PATTER…

After all, the LIBRARY is a place where you should always be on your best behaviour. Especially if you are a librarian.

“W-w-where to begin?” whispered an out-of-breath Father as they strolled through the aisles and aisles of floor-to-ceiling books, leaving a trail of brown sludge behind them. OOZE!

“The d-d-dictionary?” replied an out-of-breath Mother.

Their eyes searched the shelves of dictionaries until they found the widest, weightiest one. They eased it off the shelf together. The book was almost as heavy as their daughter.*

Mrs Meek eagerly flicked through the pages until she reached the long, long list of words that began with F. However, soon a word that began with F, “frustration”, was painted all over her face.

“‘FING’ isn’t in the dictionary,” she whispered.

“OH, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE!” exclaimed Father.

“SHUSH!” shushed Mrs Meek, pointing to a sign that her husband himself had put up, which read “SILENCE”.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, before continuing in hushed tones. “That doesn’t mean there is no such thing as a ‘FING’. There are thousands and thousands of books in the LIBRARY. Surely one of them must mention a ‘FING’.”

“But what books should we look at next, Father?”

“Well, let’s think, Mother. What does a ‘FING’ sound like to you?”

Both went into deep concentration.

“A rude-shaped vegetable?” guessed Mother, reaching for

“An annoying board game?” suggested Father as he took down

“A very distant planet?” said Mother as she found

Books, books and more books tumbled off the shelves. Books about the human body. Books about motor cars. Books about flowers. Books about antiques. Books about books.

“Could a ‘FING’ be that thing that’s left in your plughole after a bath?” suggested Father.

“An unidentifiable item of clothing you find in the tumble dryer?” guessed Mother.

Guesses were volleyed back and forth like tennis balls.

“Something sticky you find up your nose that isn’t a bogey?”

“A mysterious stain?”

“The gangly bit of a jellyfish?”

“A prize from a Christmas cracker that you never actually work out what it is?”

“Something you find stuck to a dog?”

“That dangly bit of your belly button that looks like the end of a balloon?”

“The fluffy stuff you find between your toes?”

“The opposite of a ‘FONG’?” exclaimed Mrs Meek.

“What’s a ‘FONG’?” asked Mr Meek.

“I don’t know,” she replied, downcast.

Hours passed until the exhausted pair had searched through every single book in the LIBRARY.*

Just as they were about to admit defeat and brace themselves for the wrath of their daughter, Mrs Meek had a thought.

“There is one last place we haven’t looked,” she said.

“Where? Where? Where?” he asked eagerly.

“The ancient vaults of the LIBRARY. That’s where all the old books are kept. We might find a clue down there.”