First published in Great Britain 2014 by Jelly Pie, an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2014

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

      eISBN 978 1 7803 17052

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

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

      58862/1

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      It was the night before Christmas and I was standing in my sitting room, chomping on a mince pie while watching the Satsuma Fronkle advert on TV.

      In the advert, Santa is going round delivering pressies to all the kiddywinkles. The only problem is, his evil brother, Terry Claus, is creeping in right after him and nicking them.

      ‘BOO, HOO, HOO!’ roars Terry, snatching a kiddywinkle’s stocking and climbing out the window. Except this time Santa spots him.

      ‘OH, HO, NO you don’t!’ cries Santa, and he wraps up his little brother like a naughty pressie and chucks him in the bin. Then Santa pulls a can of Satsuma Fronkle out of his pocket and takes a sip.

      ‘Mmm, nothing like an ice-cold can of Satsuma Fronkle on Christmas Eve!’ he says, and the Fronkle logo comes up.

      ‘Best. Fronkle. Advert. Ever,’ I said to myself, walking into the kitchen to answer the phone, which had been ringing ever since the start of the advert. ‘Hello?’ I burped down the little holes in the phone.

      ‘Poo, your breath stinks!’ crackled my best friend Bunky’s voice, and I imagined how keel it’d be if we all had smellyphones like they do in Future Ratboy.

      Future Ratboy is mine and Bunky’s favourite TV show. It’s all about Future Ratboy and his annoying sidekick Not Bird.

      ‘I can’t believe it’s only one more day until I get my Future Ratboy costume!’ I shouted down the phone to Bunky.

      ‘Me too!’ said Bunky, who was getting a Future Ratboy costume for Christmas as well, even though I’d told him he couldn’t.

      ‘You really should be getting a Not Bird costume,’ I said, because everybody knows I’m the hero out of us two, and Bunky is my sidekick (like Not Bird is Future Ratboy’s).

      ‘NOT!’ screeched Bunky down the phone, as my mum tapped me on the shoulder, looking like she had something to say.

      She was wearing her green woolly jumper and sparkly red bauble earrings, and if I squinted my eyes, I didn’t know which one was our Christmas tree, her or the Christmas tree.

      ‘Gotta go, see you tomozzoid!’ I shouted down the phone, because the Bunky family were coming round to ours for Christmas Day.

      ‘Merry Keelmas, Barry!’ shouted Bunky’s voice, and I hung up and got ready to hear what my mum had to say.

      ‘We need to talk, Barry,’ sighed my mum.

      ‘I’m all ears!’ I grinned, imagining what it’d be like if I was made out of all ears.

      ‘I heard you talking to Bunky about your Future Ratboy costume . . .’ she said, stroking my cheek with her hand.

      ‘Can you believe Bunky’s getting one too?’ I said, like we were two mums having a chinwag. ‘I mean, he’s a sweet kid and everything, but he’s no Future Ratboy!’

      My mum crept her arm round my shoulder, turning her cheek-stroke into a hug.

      ‘I don’t want you getting your hopes up too much about that costume, Barry,’ she warbled, and I wriggled out of the hug.

      ‘Excuse me?’ I said, even though I was all ears. I couldn’t see how this was me getting my hopes up. I didn’t HOPE I was getting a Future Ratboy costume, I KNEW I was.

      ‘It’s just that they’ve been very popular this year . . .’ said my mum, and I felt the mince pie I’d been chomping on earlier turn into a butterfly inside my belly.

      ‘B-but you did get me one, didn’t you?’ I stuttered. ‘Y-you bought one from Feeko’s Supermarket and wrapped it up in Future Ratboy wrapping paper like you said you would?’

      My mum leaned towards me with her arms stretched out. ‘Oh, Barry Warry, I’m afraid they’d already sold out,’ she said, cuddling me into her jumper.

      ‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF UNKEELNESS?!’ I screamed, flapping my arms up and down like a turkey.

      The downstairs toilet flushed and my dad wandered into the kitchen, drying his hands on his trousers. ‘What’s going on here?’ he said, going to kiss my mum’s cheek but missing, pecking her on her bauble earring instead.

      My mum looked at him and raised her eyebrows. ‘Future Ratboy costume,’ she mouthed.

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