Wilf the Mighty Worrier is King of the Jungle

by Georgia Pritchett

  “Oh. I see,” said Kevin, although he didn’t.

  “Right, just step this way,” said Alan, ushering them toward a cage. “It’s probably best if I tie your hands up too,” he said quickly, tying a length of rope around their wrists.

  “Is this a good idea?” asked Wilf.

  “This is a great idea!” said Alan, closing the cage door and bolting it with a big metal bolt.

  “And now,” said Alan grandly, “you shall both die! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

  “I don’t get it,” said Kevin, confused.

  “No, that was an evil laugh. Not a joke-ha-ha laugh,” explained Alan.

  “Oh, I see,” said Kevin. But he didn’t.

  Wilf’s face went all hot. And then all cold. And then all stiff. He felt all fuzzy and his knees wanted to bend the wrong way.

  “The thing is,” said Wilf. “I don’t really want to die . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Alan, not looking sorry at all. “But you don’t have a choice. For you are about to experience my Bouncy Explodey Bomb. I shall winch you inside the bomb and then you shall be simultaneously bounced and exploded at the same time—destroying you and everything that you come into contact with. Kevin!” said Alan. “The remote control, please.”

  Kevin stared blankly at Alan.

  “The remote control, please, Kevin,” repeated Alan. He held out his hand and waited.

  “Where is it?” said Kevin.

  “I don’t know. You had it last.”

  “No, you had it.”

  “You buried it—but then I told you to dig it up.”

  “I thought I gave it to you.”

  Alan and Kevin began hunting around the shed for the remote control. Wilf wished he was at home knitting or whistling or hopping or all three at once, but he wasn’t: he was trapped and he had to do something!

  He had a great big old worry and then he had a great big old think and then he thought so hard that his brain got exhaustipated and then . . . he had an idea!

  With his hands tied together Wilf managed to reach into his backpack and get the scissors. Then carefully, carefully, he snip-snip-snipped through the rope on Dot’s hands. Then Dot, less carefully, snipped through the rope on Wilf’s hands (and also his T-shirt and some of his hair). Wilf got the dog leash and dangled it through the bars and carefully carefully carefully hoiked it around the bolt handle—then he slowly slowly slowly pulled the end of the dog leash and quietly quietly quietly slid the bolt until the door swung open. Then he and Dot tiptoed (in Dot’s case tip-kneed) out of the cage and out of the shed.

  But just then, Alan and Kevin turned and saw Wilf and Dot escaping.

  “Stop them!” shouted Alan.

  Kevin bounded toward them. And it was at that moment that Wilf unleashed Richard the guinea pig.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” squealed Kevin.

  “It’saguineapigIhateguineapigshelpmehelp!” he said, leaping into Alan’s arms.

  “Kevin! Down!” said Alan crossly, putting him on the floor again.

  “But I’m scared of it!”

  Richard ambled toward Kevin, stopping to sniff some sawdust.

  Kevin yelped and ran in circles.

  “Kevin! Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a guinea pig!” shouted Alan, which, as Wilf knew only too well, is pretty much the worst thing you can say to somebody who’s scared of something.

  Richard continued to amble toward Kevin, stopping this time to examine Kevin’s tail.

  Kevin lifted his head and howled.

  Meanwhile, Wilf and Dot were running as fast as they could, back toward the fence and their own backyard.

  At that moment, Richard spotted a dandelion. He rushed off to investigate.

  Alan looked around and spotted Wilf and Dot about to escape. “Kevin! Quick!” he shouted. “They’re getting away! Fetch!”

  Kevin lolloped toward Wilf and Dot, who yelped and started to scramble over the fence. Wilf reached into his backpack and threw the marbles at Kevin—making Kevin slip and skid with his furry little legs flying out in all directions.

  “Bite him!” yelled Alan.

  “The thing is, I don’t really like the taste of small boys,” explained Kevin. “I much prefer biscuits . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me! Just do it!”

  But it was too late. Wilf and Dot had reached the top of the fence. Wilf tumbled back into his own yard. Then Dot fell on top of him, her diaper landing with a soft thwump on Wilf’s head.

  Wilf and Dot staggered back into their house and Wilf vowed that he would never ever ever see Alan again—for as long as he lived.

  “Oh, I’m glad you’re back,” said Wilf’s mom. “I’ve got some exciting news. We’re going on vacation with Alan and Pam.”

  Grown-ups have a very annoying habit of not listening to children even though CHILDREN KNOW BEST. This is because when you grow up your brain shrinks to the size of a pea and that is a scientifically proven fact.1

  I think grown-ups know that they are very stupid. But if we told them that there is utterly no point to them and that they are just a big lumbering waste of space, it might make them feel sad. Instead we all have to pretend grown-ups know things and are good at things. And we have to smile and nod when they say things like, “Your shoes are on the wrong feet,” as though it was the cleverest thing anyone has ever said.

  Wilf’s mom DID NOT LISTEN when Wilf said he didn’t think going on a vacation with Alan and Pam was a very good idea. She just said it was a great idea and it was already booked and that Wilf had his shoes on the wrong feet. Aaargh! Grown-ups! They’re so annoying!

  Meanwhile, next door, Alan was delighted when Pam told him they were going on a yoga vacation to Africa with Wilf’s mom. Not because Alan likes yoga, but because he had a plan. Not a plan to do lots of yoga—a scary evil plan to do badness.

  Wilf packed his bag with some vests and some sensible shoes and some warm sweaters in case it got cold. He packed his best pajamas and his favorite pants and his knitting and some felt-tip pens. Dot packed her bag with some stones and a spoon and a tractor and her filthy stinking wonky-eared raggedy old toy Pig.

  Wilf also packed Stuart, his pet woodlouse, in his pocket, with Stuart’s favorite crumb.

  Next door, Alan packed his bag with weapons and explodey things and also lots of teabags and jam and Marmite and biscuits because he didn’t like strange foreign food.

  Kevin packed his bag with a squeaky toy, half a tennis ball, and one of Alan’s socks that he liked to sleep with.

  And the next day, Wilf, Dot, their mom, Stuart, Alan, Pam, and Kevin were all on a great big plane on their way to Africa. More specifically, Zambia, a country in Africa. And more specifically, Livingstone, a town in Zambia. And more specifically, the Abba Hotel, a hotel in Livingstone. And more specifically, Rooms 5 and 6, some rooms in the Abba Hotel. And more specifically . . . Well, you get the idea.

  1 I imagine.

  The first thing Wilf did when they got to their hotel was to iron all his clothes and hang them up neatly in the closet.

  The first thing Alan did was to get his POOBUM out and take it into the jungle. He carefully set up the POOBUM and held the microphone to his lips.

  “ANIMALS OF AFRICA!!!!”

  he boomed.

  “Ouch! Too loud!” said a monkey, covering his ears.

  “What on earth was that?” asked a zebra.

  “It is I, Alan!” said Alan.

  “Who’s I Alan?” asked an elephant.

  “I am the biddly boddly baddest man in the whole wide worlderoony,” said Alan.

  “He’s talking absolute gibberish!” complained a crocodile crossly.

  “I have invented a most marvelous machine that means I, Alan, can talk to the animals.”

  “You shouldn’t have bothered if you’re just going to say things that don’t make sense,” said a giraffe.

  “Because I, Alan—” continued Alan.

  “What did he say his name was?” sa
id a wildebeest.

  “I Alan,” replied another wildebeest.

  “No, my name’s not ‘I Alan.’ It’s just ‘Alan.’ Right. Where was I?”

  “Over there,” said Kevin, pointing with his nose.

  “I, Alan,” repeated Alan, “can now do what no man has ever done before. I can talk to animals.”

  “Isn’t he small?” said the giraffe.

  “I think it’s just that he doesn’t have a neck,” said a rhino.

  “No, even with a neck he would be unusually small,” said the monkey.

  “Hardly worth eating,” agreed a lion.

  “Except that he’s quite fat,” said the crocodile.

  “I should point out,” said Alan snippily, “that I can also understand everything you say as well.”

  “He’s not fat. He’s just out of shape,” said a parrot.

  “Like that stuff about my weight and my neck. I can understand all that,” said Alan crossly. “Where was I?”

  “Over there,” said Kevin, pointing with his nose.

  “Yes, I know, I know, I meant . . . Oh never mind. So, animals of Africa—” continued Alan.

  “Just animals or birds too?” asked the parrot.

  “Animals and birds,” said Alan.

  “Reptiles?” asked a snake.

  “Yes, yes. Animals, birds, and reptiles. I have a most marvelous plan—”

  “Insects?” asked a dung beetle.

  “Yes, yes. Animals, birds, reptiles, and insects. I have a most—”

  “Fish?” asked a hippo.

  “You’re not a fish, you idiot,” said the monkey, who was a bit rude.

  “I know, but some of my best friends are fish,” said the hippo.

  “Right,” said Alan. “Animals, birds, reptiles, insects, fish, and anyone else listening—”

  “What did he say? I wasn’t listening,” said the rhino.

  “He hasn’t really said anything yet,” said the lion.

  “If you’d just give me a chance!” spluttered Alan. “I will tell you my most marvelous plan. Right—”

  “Those shoes were a mistake,” said the zebra.

  “And the mustache is ridiculous,” added the snake.

  “OK, you need to stop making comments about my appearance when I’m RIGHT HERE!” yelled Alan.

  “Is that the plan?” said the elephant.

  “Sounds like a rubbish plan,” said the monkey.

  “No, that’s not the plan! That’s not the plan! This is the plan: I, Alan—”

  “I thought he said his name wasn’t I Alan?”

  Alan sighed and massaged his temples.

  “I, Alan, am going to be King and Lord and Supreme Leader of all the World and you—and this is the good bit—you are going to be my ARMY.”

  Alan looked very pleased with himself.

  The animals stared at him.

  “That’s the plan.”

  Nobody said anything.

  A wildebeest coughed.

  “What do you think?” said Alan.

  . . . said the animals and the birds and the reptiles and the insects and the fish. And they all turned to go back to what they had been doing before.

  “No, wait, wait. What do you mean ‘No, thanks’?”

  “We aren’t interested,” said the lion.

  “We’re just a bit busy,” said the elephant.

  “Yeah, my mom won’t let me join armies,” said a warthog.

  “I found this really interesting stone earlier and I was staring at it—so I’d better get back to that,” said the hippo.

  “I’ll come and look at the stone with you,” said the zebra.

  And the animals all walked and flew and slithered and scampered and swam away, leaving Alan all alone.

  “Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear,” said Kevin sadly.

  “I know,” said Alan. “Stupid animals.”

  “What stupid animals?” asked Kevin.

  “The ones who won’t join my ARMY.”

  “Oh,” said Kevin. “Yes.”

  “Why? What were you talking about?” asked Alan.

  “You know that chocolate you had in your pocket?” said Kevin.

  “Ye-es,” said Alan.

  “I ate the chocolate,” said Kevin. “And the pocket. And it turns out pockets disagree with me.”

  The next day was—oh dear, I don’t seem to have written that bit down, so I’m not too sure what the weather was like, but we’re in Zambia so I’m going to guess that it was hot.

  “Crikey, it’s hot!” said Wilf.1 “What do you want to do today, Dot?”

  “Climb trees!” said Dot, spraying biscuit over Wilf’s face.

  “Well, that’s probably a little bit dangerous, because they’re tall and there might be insects or snakes or . . .” But before Wilf could finish his sentence Dot had shimmied up the nearest tree.

  “Now, Dot, you need to come down. And I think perhaps a better idea would be for you to have a bath.”

  “NO!” squealed Dot.

  Dot wasn’t a fan of the bath, and indeed there is very little a bath could have accomplished. She was so dirty, she really needed to be sanded down.

  Just then, Alan appeared with Kevin.

  “Wilf?” barked Alan.

  “Wilf!” said Kevin.

  “What is it?” replied Wilf cautiously.

  “Do you and Dot want to come and look at animals with me?”

  “Um, the thing is,” said Wilf, “that sounds lovely, but we’re a bit busy.”

  “What on earth is that dreadful smell coming from that tree?” asked Alan.

  “That’s Dot. We’re climbing trees, you see, so we really can’t . . .”

  “I think going to see animals with Alan sounds like a lovely idea,” said Wilf’s mom, walking over. “Pam and I are off to do some yoga, so you three go and have fun.”

  Have I mentioned that grown-ups are

  COMPLETE NINCOMPOOPS?

  If only someone could invent a machine that said “Your shoes are on the wrong feet” every ten minutes, we could get rid of them completely.

  Luckily, a law has now been passed that means that every grown-up in the world has to write a letter of apology to every child in the world saying sorry for being so annoying.2

  Wilf tried telling his mom that this was a BAD idea by shaking his head and mouthing “NO, PLEASE!” and doing a sort of significant cough. But all his mom said was, “Did you know your shoes are on the wrong feet?” and off she went.

  GAH!

  So Alan and Kevin and Wilf and Dot headed off to the jungle.

  “Right. I’ve got a new plan,” said Alan.

  “Oh good. Is it to take up knitting and knit yourself a chitenge? That’s traditional Zambian dress,” explained Wilf.

  “Nope. It’s to try to persuade the animals to join my ARMY again. And if they get cross and want to eat me, I’ll run away and throw you two at them to slow them down.”

  “No animal would eat something as dirty as Dot,” said Wilf.

  “True,” agreed Alan.

  1 I was right!

  2 I’m pretty sure that’s true. Why wouldn’t it be? It makes complete sense.

  As they set off into the jungle, Alan stuck a sign to Wilf’s T-shirt saying EAT ME and then stuck a sign to his own shirt saying EAT HIM with an arrow pointing toward Wilf.

  The first animal they met was a crocodile named Barry.

  “The thing is,” said Wilf, “I’m r-r-really s-s-scared of c-c-c—” But before he could say “rocodiles,” Alan had shushed him angrily.

  “Barry,” said Alan. “I really want you to think carefully about this whole ANIMAL ARMY thing. It could be the most powerful ARMY on earth! You could help me defend my land by patrolling the water.”

  “Hmm. The thing is,” said Barry, “there’s a problem there.”

  “What sort of problem?”

  “I’m scared of water,” said Barry.

  “Me too!” said Wilf, amazed that even crocodi
les were scared of things. “I’ve got a leaflet that might be able to help y—”

  “Scared of water?!” said Alan. “How can you be scared of water?”

  “It’s just so dark and murky, and you never know what’s lurking down there,” said Barry.

  “Probably a crocodile!” exclaimed Alan.

  “Exactly! Also, I hate swimming out of my depth and I’ve got very short legs, so almost everything is out of my depth. Unless it’s a puddle.”

  “But you know how to swim, so what’s the problem?” asked Alan.

  “I do know how to swim, but I don’t like it when the water gets on my face or goes in my eyes.”

  “I’m exactly the same,” said Wilf.

  “Also, between you and me,” whispered Barry, “I’m worried that some of the other crocodiles might wee in the water.”

  “Wee-wee!” said Dot, delighted.

  “Urrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh!” said Wilf.

  “I know!” said Barry.

  “That would be awful!” agreed Wilf.

  “I know!” said Barry. “But good luck with the whole ARMY thing.”

  The next animal they met was a lion named Steve.

  “Aaaaargh! A lion!” screamed Wilf.

  “Aaaaaargh! People!” screamed Steve. “I don’t like people. Or animals,” said Steve. “I’m not good with company.”

  “Neither am I!” said Wilf.

  “Not good with company? What do you mean?” blustered Alan.

  “I’m worried that I might have bad breath,” said Steve.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Alan.

  “I can’t go out and I can’t talk to people or smile or laugh, because I’m so worried my breath might be bad. Is my breath bad? Smell it now. Haaaaaaaaaah. How about now? Haaaaaaaaaaa. Is it bad? Tell me honestly. You can tell me.”

  “Poo. Stinky,” said Dot.

  “Your breath is fine,” said Wilf reassuringly.