Barry Loser Hates Half Term. Jim Smith
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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.
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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 Ratboy does when
he’s agreeing with someone.
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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.
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‘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?’
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‘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.
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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.
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‘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.
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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.
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The captain’s hand was at the end
of his arm, which is where hands
usually are. What wasn’t usual about
this hand, howeverypoos, was that it
only had two fingers.
‘See you’ve seen me fingas!’ said the
captain, and I immedi-swivelled my
eyes a millimetre to the right, so they
didn’t look like they were looking at his
fingers any more. ‘Fishies got ‘em!’ he
cackled, nodding out towards the lake,
and I wondered if Mogden Lake had
sharks in it or something.
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‘R-r-really?’ stuttered the little girl,
suddenly not giggling any more, and
she stuffed her hands into her pockets
for safekeeping.
‘Nah, jus’ pulling ya legs!’ chuckled the
captain, and the little girl glanced down
at her legs, looking like she wished she
had somewhere to hide them too.
The captain undid the rope that was
keeping the boat tied to Mogden Pier
and started fiddling with the motor.
He grabbed a handle with his two
fingers and gave it a tug, and the
ferry started blowing off, little clouds
of smoke floating out of its bum.
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