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Great Britain 2016

      by Jelly Pie an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd

      The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2016

      The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.

      ISBN 978 1 4052 6914 8

       eISBN 978 1 7803 1432 7

       barryloser.com www.jellypiecentral.co.uk www.egmont.co.uk

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

      56629/1

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

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      It was the first Sunday of half term

       and I was sitting in my sitting room

      watching Future Ratboy with my best

      friends, Bunky and Nancy Verkenwerken.

      5

      ‘This is gonna be the keelest half

      term EVER!’ I said.

      ‘Keel’ is how Future Ratboy, my

      favourite TV superhero, says

      ‘cool’, in case you didn’t know.

      6

      ‘YEAH!’ said Bunky, who’s sort of like

      Future Ratboy’s sidekick, Not Bird,

      except he’s not a bird. ‘I’m SO glad

       we don’t have to go to babyish old

       Pirate Camp any more!’

      ‘Me too!’ I said. ‘Pirate Camp

       is for BABIES!’

      7

      Pirate Camp is the holiday camp that

      me, Bunky and Nancy used to go to

      every half term when we were

      younger. It’s sort of like a nursery for

      kiddywinkles, except it’s on Mogden

      Island, which is an island in the middle

      of Mogden Lake.

      It’s owned by an unbelievakeely old

      man called Burt Barnacle, who dresses

      up as a pirate and goes on about

      treasure the whole time.

      8

      He says there’s a whole chest of it,

       buried somewhere on the island.

       Not that we ever found any when

       we were there.

      9

      ‘I mean, who wants to sit around a

       campfire singing songs about trees for

       a whole week?’ said Bunky, waggling his

       hands in the air, which is how he does

       his impression of a tree.

      ‘YE-AH! Singing songs about trees is for

       KIDDYWINKLES!’ I said, remembering

       sitting round the campfire at Pirate

       Camp with Bunky and Nancy, singing

       about trees.

      10

      Sitting round a campfire singing about

       trees wasn’t the only thing we did at

       Pirate Camp, by the way. There was

       also pirate face-painting, pirate

       raft-making, lying under Burt’s giant

       skull-and-crossbones parachute while

       he whooshed it up and down, and

       listening to him tell super-spookoid

       ghost stories before we went to sleep

       in our tents at night.

      11

      I was just realising that I actukeely

      quite liked some of the stuff we got

      up to at Pirate Camp when my mum

      walked into the room carrying a

      plateful of Feeko’s chocolate digestive

      biscuits and three cans of Fronkle.

      ‘Here you go, kiddywinkles!’ she said,

      ruffling my hair.

      12

      ‘MU-UM! We’re not KIDDYWINKLES

       any more!’ I said, sliding a biscuit off

       the plate and slotting it into my

       mouth.

      ‘Apologies for my mother,’ I said to

       Bunky and Nancy, and they both

       sniggled.

      13

      ‘MAUREEN?’ cried my dad from

       upstairs. ‘MAUREEN, DESMOND’S

       POOED HIS NAPPY AGAIN!’

      My dad was talking about my baby

       brother, Desmond Loser the Second,

       in case you didn’t know.

      14

      ‘WELL, CHANGE IT THEN!’ screamed

       my mum up the stairs, and she turned

       back to us and started ringing. Which

       was weird, because she isn’t a phone.

      She’s my mum.

      15

      ‘My new phone!’ smiled my mum,

      pulling a huge great big shiny white

      phone out of her pocket and sliding

      her finger across the screen. ‘Loser

      residence!’ she said, holding it up to

      her ear.

      16

      ‘What’s that I’m looking at?’ crackled

       a voice out of the phone’s speaker.

       ‘Is that an ear or something?’

      ‘Ooh, must be a video call!’ said my

       mum all proudly, and she took the

       phone away from her ear and looked

       at the screen. ‘Aunt Mildred!’ she smiled.

      17

      I

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