Barry Loser: worst school trip ever!. Jim Smith
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to let it know everything was okay.
‘That reminds me Shazza,’ I said, which is what I say when I want to change the subject. ‘I was just about to tell Bunky and Nancy something comperleeterly amazekeels.’
‘’Ello ’ello ’ello, who have we got ’ere then?’ said ANOTHER annoying familikeels voice. This time I didn’t have to look to know whose it was.
‘Mornkeels Dazza,’ said Sharonella, as Darren Darrenofski – the crocodile-faced little Fronkle monster from our class – wobbled up, carrying a can of Fronkle. ‘We were just talking about the big day trip!’
Darren did a Fronkle burp and blew it in my face. ‘Hokum City here we come!’ he snuffled. ‘Wish we were going to Fronkle World instead of this rubbish history of telly exhibition though.’
‘Can everyone please stop talking and listen to me?’ I said, stomping my foot on the pavement, and they all looked at me, which was a start at least.
‘Oh my days, you make me LARF Barry Loser!’ cackled Shazza. ‘Who do you think you are, the king of Mogden or something?’
‘No,’ I said, even though I do sort of think if there was ever going to be a king of Mogden it probably should be me.
‘Go on then Barry, let’s hear your idea,’ said Nancy, and I was just about to open my mouth to tell them it when Bunky’s opened first.
‘Hey look!’ he cried, pointing up the road, and I spotted a big fat bus sitting outside our school, waiting to take us to Hokum City.
‘Can I PER-LEASE tell you my amazekeel news now?’ I said, once we’d all run up the street and got on the scratched-up old bus.
‘If you have to,’ said Shazza, as the bus’s exhaust pipe did a blowoff and we finally started our journey to Hokum City.
All five of us – me, Bunky, Nancy, Darren and Sharonella – were sitting on the back seat, which everyone knows is where the keel people sit.
‘Well,’ I said, and they all leaned in. ‘It just so happens I know a little fact about the TV studio we’re going to!’
‘What is it, Barry?’ burped Darren. ‘Not that I care.’
I stared out of the window, letting my loserish friends wait for their leader to speak.
Even in the bright morning sun the shops on Mogden High Street looked comperleeterly loserish and grey compared to the glistening skyscrapers we were about to see in Hokum City.
‘Are any of you lot members of the Future Ratboy Fan Club?’ I asked.
Darren and Sharon shook their heads. ‘I’m Chairman of the Fronkle Appreciation Society though,’ grinned Darren.
‘How many members has it got?’ asked Nancy.
‘Just the one,’ said Darren, pulling a shiny new can out of his bag and cracking it open.
‘Bunky?’ I said, raising my eyebrows.
‘Errr, I forgot to renew my membership,’ said Bunky, looking all guilty.
‘Shame on you, Nigel Zuckerberg,’ I said, which is Bunky’s real name. He comperleeterly hates it and I only use it when he’s been an extremely naughty doggy. ‘Give me a quadruple-reverse, upside-down salute – on the double!’
‘You two are weird,’ burped Darren, watching Bunky do his salute.
‘Nancy,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘I LIKE Future Ratboy,’ she said. ‘But not THAT much.’
‘Fair enoughkeels,’ I said, pulling the Future Ratboy Fan Club Magazine out of my rucksack. ‘Now, are you ready to hear something that’ll blow your tiny little minds?
‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this, seeing as you’re not members of the fan club,’ I said.
‘Just get on with it, Bazza,’ snored Sharonella, and I flipped my magazine to page twenty-one, which had a photo of Michael J Socks on it.
Michael J Socks is the amazekeel actor who plays Future Ratboy on TV. He’s a bit older than me and is comperleeterly rich and famous.
I held my magazine open to the photo of him relaxing on the set of Future Ratboy. He was wearing sunglasses and holding a can of passion fruit flavour Fronkle.
‘Passion Fruit Fronkle?’ cried Darren, splurting regular flavour Fronkle all over the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?’
‘Ooh, isn’t he dishy!’ cooed Shazza all grannyishly, leaning over and giving the photo of Michael J Socks a great big sloppy smooch. ‘Love ya, Mikey!’
‘Eww,’ said Nancy, as I wiped my magazine dry with a bit of Bunky’s T-shirt. ‘That’s gross, Shazza!’
‘Not your type, eh Nance?’ said Shazza. ‘Prefer a bit of a bad boy, do ya?’
A pointy-nosed face popped up over the top of the seat in front of Darren. ‘Somebody mention me?’ smiled Gordon Smugly, the smug, ugly Gordon from our class at school.
‘I said BAD, Smugly, not SAD,’ said Shazza. I stomped my foot on the ground, except my foot wasn’t long enough to reach the floor from my seat, so it just sort of swung a bit.
‘For crying out keel, would you please let me talk!’ I boomed.