Wilf the Mighty Worrier is King of the Jungle

by Georgia Pritchett

  “My sister.”

  Alan looked mystified.

  “Remind me . . . ?” he said.

  “Small, stinky . . .”

  “Ah yes. Her. I gave her away.”

  “What do you mean?” said Wilf, panicking.

  “Well, I’ve been looking for the right ammunition for my BOUNCY EXPLODEY BOMB. I’ve perfected the EXPLODEY part and the BOUNCY part—but I haven’t worked out what to put in it yet.”

  “Not Dot!” cried Wilf.

  “No, no, not Dot,” said Alan. “I’ve realized children aren’t EXPLODEY enough. No, some chaps came along and wanted her and they said they would give me a huge rock in exchange—so they did and I’m going to use that for my BOUNCY EXPLODEY BOMB. Because I calculate that if the trajectory—”

  “This is all very interesting,” said Wilf politely. “But can we just go back to the bit about you giving my sister away? What did these ‘chaps’ look like?”

  “They were small chaps,” said Alan. “But very, very strong.”

  “What’re their names?” asked Wilf.

  “Well, if memory serves they were Debbie, Keith, Sally, Deirdre . . . They were extremely pleasant as dung beetles go,” said Alan.

  “Dung beetles?!” screeched Wilf.

  “Yes. Dung beetles,” said Alan. “They live over the other side of the jungle.”

  Wilf’s eyebrows went all hot. And he felt sick but just in his ears. And his knees wanted to bend the wrong way. Wilf hated beetles—and he wasn’t a huge fan of dung, either. Beetles were so scuttly and crunchy and scary. And dung was, well, dung. The last thing he wanted to do was go and face hundreds of dung beetles. What he wanted to do was go and hide or maybe knit some more sleeping bags for sick snakes (he’d managed four and a half so far) or just go for a big hop or a quiet whistle.

  But he couldn’t do any of those things because as much as he hated dungy old beetles, he was jolly fond of his sister. And he had to go and get her back!

  Wilf had a big old worry and then he had a big old think—and then he thought so hard that his brain went all floppy—and then he had an idea.

  He would take a photo of Dot with him so that he could ask people if they had seen her. And he would take a plate of her favorite snacks to lure her toward him in case she was hiding.

  He borrowed a pair of his mom’s high-heeled shoes so that he was higher off the ground and the beetles wouldn’t be able to crawl over his feet or up his legs.1 Next, he wrapped himself in a cloak of tin foil, because it was the closest thing he had to armor. Finally, while Alan and Kevin weren’t looking, he picked up the POOBUM. It might come in handy.

  Wilf looked at his “HOW TO STOP WORRYING” leaflet. NUMBER FIVE said:

  5) It can be a good idea to set aside worrying time so that you don’t worry all day.

  It was 8:34 now, perhaps he could worry for ten minutes and then go and look for his sister. But then when would he brush his teeth?

  Perhaps it would be better to worry for five minutes, then brush his teeth and then look for Dot. But what about combing his hair?

  So he could worry for three minutes and then brush his teeth and comb his hair, but then that left no time for changing into his lucky pants. Plus, he realized he was wearing purple socks and they didn’t go with his sparkly shoes. That meant changing his socks too. And that meant he only had about one minute to worry and he’d used that all up worrying about when to worry. Phew!

  He’d better get going and find Dot.

  Wilf set off in his high heels and his shiny cape. Not many people could carry that look off, but Wilf could.

  He picked his way through the jungle looking for his sister. If he’d looked a bit harder, he might have noticed some gorillas giggling or some snakes sniggering, but he didn’t. He was too busy trying not to fall over.

  He was just beginning to give up hope when he decided to try one last thing. He would turn the POOBUM on and ask the nearest animal if they had seen Dot.

  As soon as he turned it on, he heard a noise. The noise of hundreds of tiny voices.

  The noise of hundreds of tiny voices singing.

  And as he peeped out behind a tree he saw Dot sitting happily on the ground, surrounded by hundreds of dung beetles.

  They were singing to her.

  This is what they were singing:

  Dot giggled in delight at the tiny singing dung beetles. And as she laughed, she let out a smelly blowoff.

  “All hail the mighty Dung God!” said the dung beetles.

  Wilf stepped forward.

  “Excuse me, but she is not the Dung God, she is my sister.”

  “She is the all-powerful Dung God!”

  “No, she isn’t. She’s just a bit whiffy,” explained Wilf.

  “Our supreme leader,” chanted the dung beetles, lifting Dot onto their shoulders. But let’s face it, their shoulders were pretty low, so she wasn’t far off the ground. Plus, her diaper was quite full and saggy, so it scraped along as they carried her.

  “For it is written in the Dung scriptures that one will arrive amongst us and, lo, she will be bigger and stinkier than any who has come before,” the beetles continued.

  “The thing is,” said Wilf, “it’s really time she had a bath . . .”

  “No! Blasphemy! Sacrilege!” cried the dung beetles. “She must remain stinky for all eternity.”

  “Well, you’re probably in luck there,” said Wilf.

  “And we must scatter precious gifts before her!” exclaimed the dung beetles.

  “When you say ‘precious gifts’ . . . ?” said Wilf.

  “Dung!”

  “Yes. That’s what I was worried you might say. Listen,” said Wilf, “I’ve got a suggestion. What if you had a lovely statue of my sister to look at and to sing to instead?”

  The dung beetles stopped and thought about it, but they weren’t sure.

  “Look,” said Wilf. He stuck the photograph of Dot to the plate that had the biscuits on it. Then he wrapped the foil cloak beneath the plate to make a body and put the shiny high heels at the bottom.

  “Oooooh. Pretty!” said the dung beetles. “But not smelly,” they added sadly.

  “I can fix that,” said Wilf. “What about if I gave you my sister’s diaper? I’ve got a clean one in my bag . . .” said Wilf.

  “Yuck. Clean,” said the dung beetles.

  “No, you’d get the dirty one. I’ll put her in the clean one . . .”

  “Deal!” said the dung beetles, and they handed Dot back to Wilf.

  “Good-bye, Dung God!” said the dung beetles.

  “Bye-bye, Reg,” said Dot. “Bye-bye, Norman. Bye-bye, Debbie. Bye-bye, Elvis. Bye-bye, Simon. Bye-bye, Adrian. Bye-bye, Deirdre. Bye-bye, Keith. Bye-bye, Howard. Bye-bye, Sally . . .”2

  Wilf and Dot went happily back to the hotel and returned the POOBUM. And I expect Alan saw sense and stopped his dastardly plans and they all lived happily ever after.

  1 Uuuuurrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh.

  2 You get the idea.

  The End.

  Yes?

  Can I help you?

  What do you mean it’s not the end?

  What do you mean Alan didn’t see sense?

  Crikey O’Blimey. I’d hung up my storytelling hat and I was halfway home already.

  Right, so, the next day, Wilf went to meet his new friend Abi and give her the snake sleeping bags he had knitted. He told her all about what had happened with Dot and the dung beetles.

  “It was awful,” said Wilf.

  “It sounds brilliant!” said Abi.

  “They were carrying her away!” said Wilf.

  “I would love to be carried by dung beetles!” said Abi. “What a wonderful adventure!”

  “I would hate it,” said Wilf.

  “Well, you don’t know until you’ve tried it,” said Abi.

  “But they’re so smelly!” said Wilf.

  “It’s just a different smell. They probably think you smell disgusting,” said Abi.


  Wilf sniffed his T-shirt anxiously.

  “I would really like to be a dung beetle,” said Abi.

  “Urgh! You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Wilf.

  “I would,” said Abi. “Dung beetles are the strongest insects in the world. If I was as strong as a dung beetle, my snake sanctuary would be finished by now.”

  “How is it going?” asked Wilf.

  “I’ll show you if you like,” said Abi.

  “Thank you for offering,” said Wilf, “but on this occasion I’m going to say no.”

  “Why?” asked Abi.

  “Erm, it’s just that I’m a little bit busy at the moment actually,” said Wilf.

  “Doing what?” asked Abi.

  “I need to urgently, um . . . polish my woodlouse,” said Wilf.

  Abi laughed. “Did you know that when you lie your ears go red?”

  “No, they don’t!” huffed Wilf.

  Abi pointed and laughed again. “Yes, they do!”

  “Well, the truth is,” said Wilf, “that I’m still not overly keen on snakes.”

  “Well, I’m not overly keen on humans,” said Abi, “but I’m still talking to you. Come on, at least come and show them the sleeping bags you’ve knitted.”

  And with that she led Wilf into a large tent and knelt on the floor. She picked up a snake.1 The snake was—I don’t know, I really don’t like snakes, so I was trying not to look—but I imagine it was kind of snakey-colored.

  “It’s such a beautiful green color,” said Abi.2

  “Amazing!” said Wilf.

  “Touch it,” said Abi. “Go on, touch it.”

  Wilf cautiously touched the snake, which felt all yucky and slimy, I bet.

  “Wow, it’s not yucky or slimy at all,” said Wilf.3

  “No, not at all,” said Abi.4

  “Almost the opposite,” said Wilf. “It feels dry and cool.”5

  Abi picked up another snake. Which probably looked exactly like the last one.

  “This one is yellow!” said Wilf.

  “And much longer than the other one.”

  “Yes, and much bigger and heavier.”

  Abi picked up another snake. This one would be green, I’m sure.

  “It’s such a beautiful black color,” said Wilf.

  “Yes. This one hasn’t been feeling well. But she is looking better already.”

  “I always thought snakes were horrid,” said Wilf. “But they’re not.”6

  Abi carefully put four of the snakes into the brand-new snake sleeping bags.

  “We’re going to need a lot more of these,” she said.

  “How many snakes have you got here?” asked Wilf.

  “Over a hundred,” said Abi.

  “Wow! I’d better hurry up and knit some more,” said Wilf. “I’ll come back with them tomorrow,” he promised.

  When Wilf arrived back at the hotel, he found Alan and Kevin arguing AGAIN.

  “Come on. Let’s go for a walk,” said Alan.

  “No thanks,” said Kevin, lying down.

  “You’re so lazy!” said Alan.

  “No, I’m not,” said Kevin.

  “Yes, you are,” said Alan.

  “Oh, I can’t be bothered to argue,” said Kevin with a yawn.

  Alan picked up a stick and threw it.

  “Fetch!” said Alan.

  “Fetch it yourself,” said Kevin.

  “You’re supposed to bring it back here!” said Alan, exasperated.

  “You threw it, you bring it back,” said Kevin.

  “We’re going to have to work on your obedience,” said Alan.

  “No, we’re not,” said Kevin.

  “See? You’re meant to do what I say!”

  “Well, try saying something I might want to do,” said Kevin.

  “Aaaargh!” said Alan, kicking the POOBUM. “You are so annoying!”

  Kevin’s ears went all flat and he sat down in a hunched way, looking as sad as a broken umbrella. Then Alan sat down in a huff, looking as cross as a burned pork pie.

  Wilf didn’t like seeing Kevin look so sad and Alan look so cross, so he decided to try to cheer them up.

  “How’s it going with the ANIMAL ARMY?” asked Wilf.

  “It’s not,” harrumphed Alan. “And anyway, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to have my ANIMAL ARMY anymore.”

  “Oh, I’m so pleased!” said Wilf. “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Instead,” said Alan, “I’m going to kill all the animals. And I’m going to use Barry the crocodile’s skin as a handbag and Steve the lion’s fur for a rug and Colin the snake’s skin for a pair of shoes.

  And I’m going to use Susan the elephant’s tusks for coat hooks and Lisa the giraffe’s tail as a light pull and Michelle the hippo’s foot as an ashtray even though I don’t smoke. But I’m going to jolly well start.”

  Wilf was staggerblasted. This was awful! Alan couldn’t do all those evil things to those animals, could he?

  “And after that,” said Alan. “I will destroy the world. Ha ha ha ha ha.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Kevin.

  “No, that was an evil laugh,” explained Alan, “not a joke laugh.”

  “Ohhhh!” said Kevin. “I see.” But he didn’t.

  Wilf went as white as a sheet.7

  “Look at the look on his face,” said Alan gleefully.

  “And smell the smell from his bottom!” added Kevin.

  “I am going to go down in history as the biddly boddly baddest man in the whole wide worlderoony!” said Alan proudly.

  “And I shall be your right-hand man!” said Kevin excitedly.

  “Ye-es,” said Alan. “If you like. I mean, you don’t have to. Not if you’re too busy.”

  “But I’ve always been your right-hand man,” said Kevin.

  “Yes. I know,” said Alan. “Maybe it’s time for a change. You know, mix it up a little.”

  “What are you saying?” said Kevin, his voice wobbling.

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Alan. “I’m just saying maybe there are other things you’d be better at, that’s all.”

  “B-but . . .” stuttered Kevin.

  “Anyway, I must get back to work on my BOUNCY EXPLODEY BOMB. I have worlds to destroy!”

  “We,” said Kevin.

  “You need a wee?” said Alan. “You should have gone before.”

  “No, I mean, we: WE have worlds to destroy,” said Kevin. “You said ‘I.’”

  “Oh, did I?” said Alan distractedly. “I meant ‘we.’ Anyway, I’d better get on with it. See you later.”

  1 Urgh! How could she?!

  2 Like I said, snakey-colored.

  3 I don’t believe him.

  4 Or her.

  5 Well, I say it was yucky and slimy and I’m standing by that.

  6 What does he know?

  7 A white sheet. Not those purply flowery ones that your auntie has.

  It’s 13. The answer to the sum from page 74. I am a genius.

  “Right,” said Wilf’s mom the next day, “Pam and I are going to do some yoga. What are you and Dot going to do?”

  “Dot is going to hit her bucket with her spade for an hour and a half,” said Wilf. “And I am going to play with Stuart.”

  “Have fun,” said Wilf’s mom. “By the way, your shoes are on the wrong feet.”

  And with that she left.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are, not needing to wear shoes,” said Wilf to Stuart. “Imagine having fourteen shoes and working out which one goes on which foot. It’s bad enough with two!”

  Stuart smiled a little woodlouse smile.

  “Now, what would you like to do today?” asked Wilf. “Would you like to go out and meet some of the local insects?”

  Stuart shook his head vigorously. He was scared of the local insects. Some of them were HUGE—two centimeters long or even bigger!

  Instead Wilf and Stuart played a game of Scrabble. Stuart was a terrible cheater, insisting there w
ere words such as zfhdksn, but Wilf didn’t mind.

  Stuart had beaten Wilf fourteen times when they were interrupted by a knocking at the door. It was hard to hear the knocking above the din of Dot banging on her bucket. But eventually Wilf realized there was someone there and went to open the door.

  It was Alan.

  “Where’s Kevin?” said Alan.

  “I don’t know. He’s probably gone somewhere to be sad,” said Wilf.

  “No, he hasn’t!” said Alan. “I think I would know if my own dog was sad. Especially now that I have the POOBUM.”

  “The thing is,” said Wilf, “there’s a difference between hearing and listening.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” said Alan. “Of course there isn’t! Come and help me find him.”

  So Wilf and Dot and Stuart and Alan set off to find Kevin. They eventually found him hiding under Alan’s bed, whining quietly to himself.

  Alan dragged him out.

  “You see? I told you he was fine,” said Alan crossly. “Now, Kevin, I need your help. I can’t think of what to put in my BOUNCY EXPLODEY BOMB. The rock was too heavy, but the sticks were too light. What do you think?”

  “How about Pam?”

  “I can’t put Pam in a Bouncy Explodey Bomb! She’d have kittens,” said Alan.

  “Whaat?!” shrieked Kevin.

  “It’s just a saying,” explained Alan. “It doesn’t mean she’ll have actual kittens.”

  “It’s the kind of thing she would do,” said Kevin. “Just to annoy me.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind,” said Wilf, “we’d better go. I’ve got some socks to knit.”

  “Why are you knitting socks when we’re in such a hot country?”

  “They’re not actually socks,” explained Wilf. “They’re sleeping bags for sick snakes. My friend Abi has started a sanctuary and she already has hundreds and hundreds of them.”

  “That’s brilliant!” said Alan.