Nigel Smith - Nathalia Buttface and the Most Epically Embarrassing Trip Ever

“That’ll be the Grannies,” said Darius.

“Why, do their songs sound like explosions?” asked Nat.

“No,” said Darius, “they just like blowing things up.”

“Right,” said Dad. “Anyway, I asked how you’d have got into Norway with them without a passport. He said you just fitted nicely inside a big amplifier.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Darius.

“Interesting.” Dad paused for a few seconds, sucking on a mint. “So I suppose you could fit inside a …” Dad looked around for something to hide Darius in.

“Dad, you can’t!” shouted Nat, realising with horror what Dad was thinking of doing. “We have to go back NOW. Smuggling a dog is one thing, but smuggling people is really bad. I saw a documentary on it. On Blue Peter.”

“Smuggling a dog?” said Dad. “What dog?”

Nat put her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Then the Dog, who’d been quiet long enough, gave a short bark as if to say, “THIS dog, stupid.”

“Blooming heck, love, you’ll get us shot,” said Dad mildly. “There’s all sorts of laws about taking dogs out of the country.”

“Dogs AND PEOPLE!” shouted Nat, attracting the attention of one of the men in the yellow jackets, who glanced over at the van. She lowered her voice. “We’ll all go to prison and I don’t care what Nan says, I don’t think prisons are very nice.”

Bad News Nan always said that when she got REALLY old, instead of going into a cheapo old people’s home, she was going to rob a post office and with a bit of luck she’d get sent to prison. She said the food was better in the nick, there were bigger TVs and the people inside were more interesting. She also said she couldn’t lose because if she got away with the post office hold-up then she’d be rich enough to afford a nice old people’s home with huge TVs and endless Hobnobs.

This made Nat very nervous every time she went to the post office with her. She’d always try and sneak a look inside Nan’s handbag just in case she was hiding a black balaclava and some kind of offensive weapon. Luckily, up till now, the only offensive thing Nat had found in Nan’s handbag were her teeth.

“Well, let’s be sensible,” said Dad. These words always terrified Nat. Dad’s version of sensible was NOT anyone else’s. “It takes weeks to get a passport, and it would involve loads of important paperwork that we’d need to find at Darius’s house, and I don’t think Oswald is a paperwork kind of person.”

“That’s true,” said Darius. “He’s more of a setting-fire-to-paperwork kind of person.”

Nat knew this to be true. Oswald liked setting fire to Darius’s school books, for instance.

“So,” said Dad, “given I’ve paid for these ferry tickets now, the sensible thing to do is carry on.”

“That’s not sensible, Dad,” she yelled, “that’s ILLEGAL AND WRONG!”

But Dad had already disappeared into the back of the van and was rummaging through the junk. He eventually reappeared with a great big picnic basket.

“Oh right,” said Nat, “let’s all have a ham sandwich and a pork pie. That’ll make it better.” Dad ignored her and started chucking out all the crockery. When it was empty, he eyed up Darius. “In you get, lad,” he said. “It’s literally the only option.”

“It literally is not the only option, Dad,” argued Nat, as Darius clambered in. “It’s literally the most terrible of all the options you could choose.”

“Except swimming across the channel,” said Darius from inside the hamper. “That’s a more terrible option.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” said Nat, watching Dad’s face as he thought about it.

“Can you squeeze the Dog in with you?” asked Dad, chucking it at Darius regardless.

“Just about,” said Darius.

And with that, Dad got back in the driver’s seat. The ferry had begun to load and cars were moving. “Just don’t make a noise,” Dad shouted over the noise of the engine.

“OK, but the Dog’s breath really smells,” said Darius.

Nat broke into a proper cold sweat when they drove up to the customs window and Dad handed over their two passports. You’ve really done it this time, Dad , she thought. Visiting your dad in prison was embarrassing, but being in prison WITH him was something else.

It seemed to take forever for the bored border guard to flick through the passports.

“Bum hole?” he said eventually, with the first smile he’d cracked all year. “Is this a wind-up?”

Nat went red. It didn’t matter how many times she heard it …

“It’s pronounced bew-mow-lay , actually,” said Dad. “It’s old and French. There are the Paris Bumolés, the Lille Bumolés, and I think there are some Nice Bumolés down south.”

“France is full of Bumolés, is it?” sniggered the border guard. “I thought so.”

Finally, after he’d finished laughing, their van was waved on to the ferry.

“That’s another big fat stress wrinkle in my forehead you’ve given me, Dad,” complained Nat when they were safely parked inside the hold of the massive ship. “By the time I’m eighteen I’ll look like a bulldog chewing a hot chip.”

There was a snort of laughter from the picnic basket and Nat nearly had a heart attack. “SHUT UP, DARIUS!” she shouted. Really really loudly.

“Shush!” said Dad.

There was a gargling, choking sound from the basket. “Stop messing,” said Nat, who was getting more and more nervous.

“I can’t help it, the Dog’s dropped one,” said Darius in a voice that sounded like he was being strangled by a sweaty sock. This was terrible news. The Dog’s guffs were legendary. He could clear a large room in seconds. Nat could only imagine what it must have been like in a tiny space. She started to giggle.

“Well, don’t let it out,” she said. “It’s bound to smell horrible.”

“It does!” said Darius, gasping for breath. “It’s doing something weird to me. I’m starting to see things. Lemme out the basket.”

“Soon,” said Dad, watching all the passengers getting out of their cars. “We have to wait until the coast is clear.” He sniffed. “Oh no, that is bad,” he added. “We’re even getting it out here.”

“I’m going to be sick!” said Darius.

“Put your head between your knees,” spluttered Nat, who couldn’t stop giggling.

“It IS between my knees; how do you think I fit in the picnic basket?”

“Is everything all right?” said a voice suddenly. It was a member of the ship’s crew, poking his nose in at the van window. “Everyone else has gone upstairs. You’ll have missed the fish and chips at the cafeteria by now. Very popular is the fish and chips. Everything else is French muck.”

The man peered into the van. He sniffed the air. “I dunno what’s on your picnic menu tonight,” he said, pulling a face, “but if I were you, I’d stick to crisps.”

Dad laughed a pretend laugh. Even Nat could tell it was the kind of laugh that massively guilty people do when they’re hiding something. The man looked at them both.

“You have to get out, we’re locking this cargo dock in five minutes.”

“No problem,” said Dad, not moving. “Bye.”

But the man wasn’t going anywhere. “And why do you keep shouting about a picnic basket?”

“Er – because we’re very proud of it,” said Dad. “We got it at a pound shop.”