Fing. David Walliams
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Mother, putting down her book, One Hundred Poems for Ladies.
“Yeah. Are you deaf? A FING!”
“What’s a ‘FING’, sweetness?” enquired Father, putting down his book, One Hundred Poems for Gentlemen.
“I dunno, but I want one!”
“How do you spell it?” asked Mother.
Myrtle’s face went scarlet with fury.
“I ain’t fick! You spell it the normal way. F! I! N! G! FING!”
The girl thumped the breakfast table with her fist to add emphasis.
BASH!
All the crockery flew into the air, and smashed on to the floor.
“Pick up the pieces! NOW!” the girl ordered.
On their hands and knees under the kitchen table, Mr Meek whispered to his wife, “What are we to do? Our beloved offspring wants a ‘FING’. But I don’t think a ‘FING’ is a real thing. I worry a ‘FING’ is a made-up thing.”
“We’ll have to think of SOMEFING – I mean, something,” replied Mrs Meek just before she felt a boot up her bottom.
BOOF!
“OUCH!” she cried.
“SHUT UP DOWN THERE!” came the voice from above. “I can barely hear myself blow off!”
“That’s better.”
Mr and Mrs Meek were in a panic. If they didn’t come up with some “FING”, there was going to be TROUBLE.
BIG
TROUBLE.
After breakfast that morning, Mr and Mrs Meek gave their daughter a lift to school. And I mean “lift”, literally. Every morning, they were forced to lift her up and carry her there. Myrtle refused to walk even though it was only a short distance away. It was a mighty effort carrying her. As she mostly ate chocolate, Myrtle was as heavy as an ox.*
“PUT ME DOWN!” Myrtle ordered as her poor parents made their final stagger to the school gates. Once they’d carefully lowered her to the ground, Father passed his daughter her industrial-sized lunchbox. It was so big and heavy it was on wheels.
“Have a lovely day at school, my sweetest of hearts,” he said.
“DON’T FORGET – BY THE TIME I GET HOME FROM SCHOOL I WANNA FING!” she bawled, before waddling off into the playground, knocking several smaller children to the ground as she did so.
“My angel of heaven, we promise we will do our absolute bestest best!” called out Mother brightly.
This stopped Myrtle in her tracks. Slowly she turned round and reached into her lunchbox.
“BESTEST BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!” she hollered. Myrtle pulled out one of the tall cartons of chocolate milk and lobbed it at her mother.
It hit poor Mrs Meek right in the face, soaking her and her pink flowery dress.
“Thanking you kindly,” remarked the lady, not sure what else to say.
Father passed his wife the handkerchief he always kept in his breast pocket.
“There we are, Mother.”
Mrs Meek dabbed at the chocolate milk. It was little use. The pink flowery dress was now a brown chocolatey mess.
“BESTEST BETTER THAN BEST!” appealed Father.
Once again, Myrtle reached into her lunchbox.
“Oh dear,” muttered Father, closing his eyes as he was sure something was about to be lobbed in his direction.
He was right.
A bucket of chocolate mousse hit him – BANG! – on the top of his head.
“Thanking you muchly!” he said, like his wife, not knowing what else to say.
Without a word, Mother passed the handkerchief back to her husband, and he attempted to de-mousse himself.*
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head!” called out Father, lying. There was nothing pretty or little about Myrtle’s head. “We will have that FING for you as soon as you are home from school.”
“YOU BETTER!” replied Myrtle. “Or else.”
Neither Mr Meek nor Mrs Meek knew what “else” was, but, whatever it was, it sounded nasty.
The school bell rang.
As soon as Myrtle began lumbering off towards her classroom, Father took his wife’s hand.
“Ooh, you are very forward, Mr Meek,” she remarked.
“I know the perfect place to start looking for a FING,” said the librarian.
“Where?”
“The LIBRARY, of course!”
Mr and Mrs Meek bolted down the street. They were quite a sight, both covered as they were in chocolatey-brown gunge. The pair looked like two giant poops making a dash for freedom.
As soon as they reached the doors to the LIBRARY, they slowed to a stroll.
PITTER-PATTER…
After all, the LIBRARY is a place where you should always be on your best behaviour. Especially if you are a librarian.
“W-w-where to begin?” whispered an out-of-breath Father as they strolled through the aisles and aisles of floor-to-ceiling books, leaving a trail of brown sludge behind them. OOZE!
“The d-d-dictionary?” replied an out-of-breath Mother.
Their eyes searched the shelves of dictionaries until they found the widest, weightiest one. They eased it off the shelf together. The book was almost as heavy as their daughter.*
Mrs Meek eagerly flicked through the pages until she reached the long, long list of words that began with F. However, soon a word that began with F, “frustration”, was painted all over her face.
“‘FING’ isn’t in the dictionary,” she whispered.
“OH, FOR GOODNESS’