As they made their way to the school, the air swirled with brown and yellow leaves, ripped from the trees by the strong wind.
Danny grinned. ‘Next time I put yucky stuff in Nat’s bag, remind me to take it out again!’
‘Will do!’ laughed Matthew. ‘Hey, I saw your dad’s photo in the paper!’
‘Yeah, he’s really chuffed to have Walchester United’s new stand named after him. There’s a sign across the front of the roof that says “The Bobby Baker Stand” in letters two metres high. It’s Ace!’
‘I thought you had to be dead for a trillion years before you got something named after you, like . . .’ Matthew thought for a moment. ‘Saint Paul’s Cathedral.’
‘I wonder if I’ll ever have something named after me.’
‘A tin of smelly foot powder probably,’ grinned Matthew.
They turned through the school gates. Danny ducked as a wrapper from a Crumbly Crunch Mint-choc Dreambar whizzed past his head.
‘Did you break the Whole-body Skin-wrinkles record?’ asked Matthew.
‘No! Guess who’s got the certificate for that one?’
‘Not Thelma “Big Bum” McCurdie?’
‘Yeah! Her bottom’s unbeatable,’ complained Danny. ‘Huge, spotty and wrinkled!’
Matthew sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘It’s not my feet!’ said Danny, sniffing too. ‘That’s biscuits! The wind must be blowing it all the way from the Crumbly Crunch factory.’
‘It’s fruity flapjacks!’ said Matthew.
‘Nah, jammy sandwich!’ argued Danny. They both breathed in deeply through their noses, then nodded in agreement.
‘Fig rolls!’
Dear Danny
I hope you are well and planning your next record attempt. Unfortunately, I have some bad news: you are no longer the world record holder for the Most Saves in a Single Game.
Your record was broken by Giuseppe ‘Peppe’ Marulo, the goalkeeper for Atletico Tonino, a small club near Naples, in southern Italy. At half-time in a match against rivals Sant’ Anna, nine of his team-mates went on strike and refused to carry on with the game because their traditional half-time pepperoni pizzas had not been delivered.
Peppe and the other remaining player had brought their own meatball sandwiches and played on, keeping the score to 39-nil. In doing so, Peppe made an incredible score 109 saves, otherwise the score would have been 148-nil! (This would been a world record, by the way.)
I’m sorry to disappoint you, Danny, but I thought you would prefer to know.
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
‘Hi, Dan!’ said Matthew, running up the stairs and into Danny’s bedroom.
‘Hiya, Matt.’ Danny held out Mr Bibby’s letter for Matthew to read. ‘My world record for the Most Saves in a Single Game has been beaten.’
‘Never!’ Matthew shook his head in disbelief and began to read.
‘That’s not fair!’ he protested, when he had finished it. ‘You didn’t let any goals in. He let thirty-nine in!’
‘He still made one hundred and nine saves,’ said Danny. ‘So he’s the record holder. Dad says this always happens when you’re the best at something: sooner or later someone comes along and takes your crown.’
‘What are you going to do with the certificate?’ asked Matthew.
‘It’s staying up there on the wall,’ said Danny. ‘And today I’m going to get my twenty-five metres swimming certificate to put up next to it.’
Matthew grinned. ‘Come on, let’s get to the pool.’
‘Be careful, you two,’ called Mum, as the boys left the house. ‘It’s so windy today you might get blown all the way to Timbuktu.’
‘What’s the world record for being blown by the wind?’ wondered Danny as he and Matthew staggered down the High Street.
They leaned forward into the fierce gale. Several times it blew them back a pace or two. There was no need to wait until they reached Tempest Road before guessing which biscuits were baking today. The tangy-sweet smell had been carried all over the town.
‘Lemon puffs!’ they cried together.
A strong gust of wind pushed them straight through the doors of the Sports Centre, and as Danny and Matthew entered the pool area, they saw that the team for the Swimming Gala had been pinned on the noticeboard. Natalie was studying it as the boys walked towards her.
‘You’re in, Matt,’ she shouted.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Matthew. ‘Come on, Dan, Cross The Line today and you might be in the next team.’
Natalie smirked. ‘Who knows, Dan, you might even be in the county team one day, like me,’ she said. ‘By the way, I’m Team Captain.’
The boys sniggered and saluted. ‘Aye-aye, Captain Squirt!’
Trevor the Instructor blew a piercing blast on his whistle. ‘Everyone who’s been selected for the Gala, go to the Deep End!’ he yelled, struggling to make himself heard above the howling wind.
Danny watched Matthew amble to the far end of the pool with the other team members.
‘Well, kiddo,’ shouted Trevor. ‘Is today the day you’re going to Cross The Line?’
‘Definitely!’ replied Danny.
‘Good. Jump into the shallow end and I’ll be back in a minute to help you.’ Trevor strode away to speak to the team.
The ferocious wind screamed louder as the gale battered at Penleydale. Danny glanced out of the large window that ran the whole length of one side of the building. A green wheelie bin flew past, followed by a garden shed, a whole washing-line full of socks, and a policeman’s helmet.
‘Ace!’ he exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief as two cars parked nearby blew over, and tumbled down the road.
At that moment, there was a terrible crashing, crunching, growling, gnashing, ripping, howling sound outside.
Danny watched open-mouthed as the entire roof of the Crumbly Crunch biscuit factory lifted into the air and spun away out of sight. Planks of wood, roof tiles, bits of paper and thousands of broken biscuits swirled and danced down Tempest Road.
‘IT’S A TORNADO!’ he cried as a thick funnel of brilliant yellow powder whirled out of the factory and whizzed round the street outside.
Danny turned and noticed the fine dust pouring in torrents through the air vents in the ceiling and dropping into the Deep End. He sniffed.
‘Lemon puffs!’
The Sea Squirts began to cry out, lost in the heavy, lemon-scented fog and sticky yellow water. The roof above them rattled and groaned as, outside, the tornado squealed and raged.
Danny jumped out of the shallow end and pushed the weak swimmers towards the exit.
‘Go and get help,’ he yelled. ‘Tell someone to call the police and the fire brigade.’
He turned and stared down the pool in amazement. The thick, choking yellow cloud was billowing towards him. Danny took a deep breath and ran into it, towards the Deep End. He slipped and skidded in the slimy layer of lemon-puff paste that was forming along the edge of the pool. Suddenly, the squealing wind stopped as the tornado moved away, and Danny heard coughs, sneezes and cries for help coming from within the fog. He recognized Matthew’s voice.
‘Everyone over here!’ he called, but his voice was lost amongst the cries of the other kids.
The farty-squelch of his Verrucablaster! Containment Sock sucking at the sticky paste on the floor gave Danny an idea. In desperation, he put his right hand into his left armpit and squeezed as hard as he could. The distinctive rubbery rasp of his armpit-fart echoed through the pool. He began pumping his arm over and over again and the familiar vibrating melody of ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ cut through the lemon-puff smog.
‘Danny! Is that you?’ shouted Matthew.
‘Yeah!’ replied Danny. ‘Follow the farts, Matt! Follow the farts!’
A few seconds later, Matthew struggled out of the water.
‘It . . . tastes . . . great!’ he exclaimed.
Danny laughed
. ‘If this had happened yesterday, it would have been chocolate-chip cookie!’
He continued playing as loud as he could on his armpit. His hand throbbed in pain, but he didn’t stop.
‘Follow the farts! Follow the farts!’ he and Matthew called out.
One by one, the Penleydale Sea Squirts paddled and splashed, coughing and gasping, towards the sound of Danny’s armpit. As each Squirt appeared, Matt helped them out, keeping a tally of the kids to make sure they were all there. The rescued children clambered out of the water and sat together against the wall, licking the tasty mess off their hands and faces.
‘Everyone’s out,’ said Matthew as he pulled the last Sea Squirt from the pool. ‘Except . . .’
Natalie appeared in front of Danny, her hair plastered across her face like a horrible yellow mask. ‘What have you done this time?’ she growled.
Danny blew a particularly noisy armpit-trump at her. ‘It wasn’t me!’ he protested.
The lemon fog was now so dense that Danny could see no more than an arm’s length in front of him. The powder was choking and sweet. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said to the kids. ‘Stick close to each other, and remember, everyone: follow the farts!’
As the long line of children snaked out of the building with Danny leading the way, they began to sing ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ to his armpit-music.
‘Hey, Danny,’ said Matthew. ‘You’re the Pied Parper of Penleydale.’
Outside the Sports Centre, fire engines, police cars and ambulances filled the road, their blue lights flashing urgently. People scurried here and there, calling frantic instructions to each other. Tempest Road was strewn with debris and broken biscuits from the Crumbly Crunch factory.
The Sea Squirts huddled together, shivering in the chilly air.
‘Where’s Trevor?’ asked Matthew suddenly.
‘He must still be in the pool!’ said Danny.
He raced back into the Sports Centre. ‘Trevor! Where are you?’ he called into the murky yellow gloom.
‘Help! I can’t move! I’m trapped!’ a voice spluttered.
‘Don’t worry,’ shouted Danny. ‘I’ll rescue you.’
He jumped into the water at the shallow end and swam as hard and as fast as he could. He couldn’t see The Line, but he knew when he had reached it because his heart began to drum a crazy rhythm and his tummy did a tingly dance to it.
Trevor shouted again. ‘Hurry! Help me!’
Without another thought, Danny took a huge breath and swam across The Line. Moments later his hand touched the wall at the end of the pool and Trevor’s face appeared right in front of him, covered in yellow slop, his mouth and nose just above the surface.
‘I jumped in to rescue people,’ he gasped. ‘But my whistle’s got tangled up in the filter and the string’s twisted tight!’
Danny groped below the water, his hand searching The Grid’s metal teeth. He felt clumps of hair and a soft square of sticking plaster, but then his fingers found something small and hard.
‘Got it!’ he cried.
But Trevor was still stuck.
In Danny’s hand lay not a whistle, but a big, fat, dead cockroach, its brown, spiky legs pointing up at him.
‘Ace!’ he cried, dropping the insect back in the water and rummaging around again on the surface of the grill. Danny thought about the monster python lurking in the dark drain. It’s just a daft story, he told himself.
At last Danny’s fingers located the whistle and he began to twist and turn it, trying to wiggle it free. Suddenly it came loose and Trevor was able to raise his head above the water. Together they made their way to the metal ladders in the corner and climbed out.
‘Thanks, kiddo,’ gasped Trevor. ‘I think your days in the shallow end are over. You’ve Crossed The Line and swum a length. You are in the Team!’
‘Ace!’ cried Danny.
As they emerged on to Tempest Road, Danny’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Mingling amongst the firemen, police and paramedics were:
The Easter Bunny
A snowman
An astronaut
Father Christmas
A Tyrannosaurus rex
A bat
A penguin
A troupe of monkeys
King Henry VIII
and . . .
A bogey.
The T. rex bounded over.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Danny.
‘The “Fancy That!” costume shop over the road lent us these outfits so we wouldn’t get cold,’ explained the T. rex, in Matthew’s voice.
At that moment, Mrs Bobbins, the shop manager, handed Danny a Superman suit. ‘Put this on,’ she said. ‘It’ll keep you warm.’
‘Thanks,’ said Danny. He pulled the costume on and the bright-red cape billowed out behind him.
‘Guess which one’s Natalie?’ asked Matthew, waving one of his front claws at the other kids.
Danny smirked. ‘Is she the bogey?’
‘No,’ answered Matthew. ‘She’s Nat the Bat!’
Dear Mr Bibby
I’m going to have Crumbly Crunch’s new lemon-puff biscuits named after me, because I rescued the Penleydale Sea Squirts Swimming Club from the Lemon-puff Peril.
AND, I’m going to get two free packets a week forever!
Ace!
Each packet of Danny Baker Lemon Puffs will have seventeen biscuits in it. If I eat all thirty-four biscuits every week, how long will it take to break the world record for eating the most lemon puffs?
Yours sincerely
Danny Baker
PS My mum and dad are really proud of me. Dad says that he only ever saved goals, but I saved people!
Dear Danny
Congratulations on your heroic rescue, which I read about in the news paper. I’m proud of you too! You deserve the honour of having the biscuits named after you. I love lemon puffs, and often enjoy one with my afternoon cup of tea.
The world record for Continuous Lemon Puff Consumption is held by Lottie Gobbbett, of Lower Peover in Cheshire. She ate 558,451 biscuits before realizing that she didn’t actually like lemon puffs. Unfortunately, by this time, Lottie’s nose had turned a strange canary-yellow colour and glowed in the dark.
If you eat two packets a week (thirty-four biscuits), you will be 325 years old years old by the time you break her record. And do you really want a yellow nose, Danny? What would Natalie say about that?
Now for the good news! I have checked all our records and I am thrilled to tell you that there has been no previous claim for the Armpit-fart-assisted Mass Rescue of People from Tornado-generated Lemon-puff Peril. Once again, you have set a new record.
Well done! I am delighted to enclose your certificate for this wonderful and unique achievement.
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
The Gala was a great success. The Penleydale Sports Centre gleamed after being scrubbed of all traces of lemon-puff powder. Whistles blew, as families and friends of the swimmers cheered from the packed stand along one side of the pool.
Danny had worked hard practising his racing-dives. He glanced at his mum and dad as his relay race was about to start. Mum raised her arms and did a little clap, and Dad put his thumbs up. When Danny’s turn came, he dived in, swam confidently up the pool and didn’t even notice when he Crossed The Line. Even better, the team went on to win the race!
At the end, all the swimmers were presented with medals by special guest Fred Flatfoot, the Managing Director of Crumbly Crunch Biscuits.
‘Ladies, gentlemen and children, we have one more special award to present today, to a very special boy,’ he announced. ‘Danny Baker, I am delighted to present you with the first packet of Crumbly Crunch’s new-and-improved recipe, “Danny Baker Lemon Puffs”, in honour of your heroic actions on Lemon-puff-peril Day.’
Danny stepped forward, shook hands with Fred Flatfoot, and took his tasty prize.
‘Ace,’ said Danny.
&nbs
p; ‘Cool,’ agreed Matthew, gazing at the packet of lemon-puff biscuits. Danny’s name was emblazoned across it in letters two centimetres high. ‘That’s better than having a stand named after you, any day.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Danny. ‘You can’t eat a stand!’
He held the packet proudly, high above his head. The crowd rose to their feet to applaud their hero, and the cheer that roared through the building seemed as deafening to Danny as the booming of the wild tornado.
‘DA-NNY! DA-NNY! DA-NNY!’
Steve Hartley is a sensible man. He has a sensible job, a sensible family, lives in a sensible house and drives a sensible car. But underneath it all, he longs to be silly. There have been occasional forays into silliness: Steve has been a football mascot called Desmond Dragon, and has tasted World Record success himself – taking part in both a mass yodel and a mass yo-yo. But he wanted more, and so his alter ego – Danny Baker Record Breaker – was created. Steve lives in Lancashire with his wife and teenage daughter.
You can find out more about Steve
on his extremely silly website:
www.stevehartley.net
The World's Loudest Armpit Fart Page 5
