by R. A. Spratt
About the book
Derrick, Samantha and Michael should be in school. Instead they find themselves in NASA’s space shuttle, which Nanny Piggins manages to blast into outer space. In this thrilling fourth instalment of her adventures, Nanny Piggins wrestles a crocodile, bungy jumps using the elastic from Mr Green’s underpants, and rescues her brother, Boris, from an onslaught of professional wrestlers.
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Previously on Nanny Piggins …
Thank you for buying Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-off. You have made an excellent purchasing decision! Don’t worry if you have not read the previous books in the series. Each one of Nanny Piggins’ adventures is a riveting tale in its own right, so you don’t have to read them in any particular order.
But if you don’t believe me, I will now give you a quick summary of everything that has happened so far …
It all started when Nanny Piggins (the world’s most glamorous flying pig) ran away from the circus and took up a job as the Green’s nanny. The Green children, Derrick, Samantha and Michael, fell in love with her instantly. Who could not fall in love with a nanny who thinks she has found the cure to the common cold – lemon cake.
Before long Nanny Piggins’ brother, Boris the dancing bear, came to live in the Green’s garden shed, although Mr Green (the father) still hasn’t realised he is there because Boris is very good at disguising himself.
And that’s all you need to know. There are a lot of other characters – a wicked Ringmaster, thirteen identical twin sisters, a nasty neighbour, a nice neighbour, a retired army colonel, a very silly headmaster, a hygiene-obsessed rival nanny and the two very clean children she looks after (Samson and Margaret Wallace) – but you will pick all that up as you go along.
So now all you have to do is fix yourself a lovely cakey chocolatey snack, find a comfortable place to curl up and enjoy the latest instalment of Nanny Piggins’ wonderful adventures.
Best wishes and happy reading,
R. A. Spratt, the author
* * *
Also by R.A. Spratt:
The Adventures of Nanny Piggins
Nanny Piggins and the Wicked Plan
Nanny Piggins and the Runaway Lion
Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-off
Nanny Piggins and the Rival Ringmaster
Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-off
ePub ISBN 9781742742083
Kindle ISBN 9781742742090
Table of Contents
Cover
Previously on Nanny Piggins…
By the same author
Title Page
Chapter 1 Nanny Piggins and the Company Picnic
Chapter 2 Nanny Piggins and the Truancy Officer
Chapter 3 Nanny Piggins and the Accidental Blast-off
Chapter 4 Nanny Piggins and the Giant Lollipop
Chapter 5 Coach Green
Chapter 6Nanny Piggins Stands Accused
Chapter 7 Boris the Big Bad Bear
Chapter 8 Nanny Piggins: Steel Chef
Chapter 9 Nanny Piggins Saves Christmas
Chapter 10 Nanny Piggins Turns a Lemon into Lemonade
Copyright
Nanny Piggins and the children were sitting at the dining table having a very unpleasant meal. There was nothing wrong with the food. (In Nanny Piggins’ opinion you should never blame food for your problems, it would be like blaming a rainbow for the rain.) The problem was that Mr Green was sitting at the head of the table. Their father’s presence had the effect of sucking the fun out of just about any situation. And on this occasion it could not be avoided because it was Father’s Day.
Now Mr Green did not want to celebrate Father’s Day any more than his children did. But he had to because he’d got in trouble the previous year when the senior partner at the law firm where he worked had caught him eating his Father’s Day dinner in the office. Isabella Dunkhurst had been horrified that a man with three children would rather eat a soggy cheese sandwich at his desk than go home to his family. She had told him off thoroughly (and having been a practising lawyer for thirty years she was very good at telling people off. She knew lots of big words for ‘idiot’ and ‘naughty’) and threatened to dock his pay if he did not go home immediately.
This year Mr Green had raced home as soon as the clock struck 5 pm. He lived in such fear and awe of Isabella Dunkhurst that he dared not displease her twice in a twelve-month period.
The children had done the right thing and bought their father presents (even though he was the least deserving father, possibly in the entire world). And surprisingly Mr Green had actually been grateful and almost touched to receive a pair of socks, a bottle of aftershave and a book about the weather. Because you see, the children had included the receipts in the packages (they knew their father well), so he would be able to return the presents the next day and get the money. And Mr Green loved nothing more than money.
And so Nanny Piggins and the children were just forcing down the horrible broccoli stew that Mr Green had insisted he was given as his Father’s Day treat (he had read that there was a glut of broccoli in Nigeria, which was causing that vegetable to be very cheap. Fortunately Nanny Piggins had the foresight to make the children chocolate-coated waffles as a late afternoon snack, so they were unlikely to starve or die of broccoli poisoning) when suddenly the silence was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.
‘Who could that be?’ demanded Mr Green. ‘Don’t they know it’s Father’s Day?’
‘Perhaps it’s someone from your work come to check that you’re actually here,’ suggested Nanny Piggins.
Mr Green recoiled in fear. ‘Don’t answer the door,’ he said.
‘Then they’ll definitely think you’re not here,’ reasoned Nanny Piggins.
‘Answer it, quick, one of you answer it!’ insisted Mr Green.
Derrick, being the eldest, stood up and hurried out of the room.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong this year, have I?’ asked Mr Green. And actually, he had not. But he had certainly not wanted to come home for Father’s Day, and he was worried that his employers had found some way to read his thoughts.
A few moments later, when Isabella Dunkhurst, the firm’s senior partner, actually did walk in through the dining room door, Mr Green looked like he was going to drop dead of a heart attack and burst into tears all at once.
‘I’m here, I’m here,’ protested Mr Green. ‘I swear I haven’t done any work all evening.’
‘Then what are those figures you’ve jotted on your napkin?’ asked Samantha, whose keen eyesight had spotted the sums her father had secretly been doing under the tablecloth, as he worked out how a client who made a fortune pumping toxic waste into the ocean could get his money offshore before the dead fish started washing up onshore.
‘I’m not here about that,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘You’re not?’ asked Mr Green, sighing with relief.
‘Although hand me the napkin, I’ll give it
to the accounts department tomorrow so they know to dock his pay,’ added Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘Why are you here then?’ asked Michael.
‘To see Nanny Piggins,’ explained Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins and the children, all equally surprised.
‘Are you going to arrest her?’ asked Mr Green hopefully.
‘No, I’m going to thank her,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘What for?’ asked Nanny Piggins. She was used to people being desperately grateful to her, but that was usually when she had given them a slice of cake. And Nanny Piggins could not remember giving Isabella Dunkhurst a slice of cake.
‘Do you remember when you came to the firm’s annual dinner and taught us all how to tap dance?’ asked Isabella Dunkhurst.
Nanny Piggins rubbed her snout as she wracked her memory. ‘No, but I do so many astounding things I sometimes lose track.’
‘You remember,’ said Derrick. ‘Father took you as his date.’
‘I did not!’ protested Mr Green.
‘You wore your sequined gown with the pea-cock feathers and fairy-light headdress,’ Samantha reminded her.
Nanny Piggins shook her head. ‘Still doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘They served orange poppyseed cake,’ reminded Michael.
‘I remember it precisely!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘It was delicious! I ate eight or nine slices. Have you brought me some more?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ admitted Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘Never mind, I can whip some up myself later,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but I remember it all now. After licking the last of the cake off my plate, I borrowed a packet of drawing pins from the head waiter, stuck them in my shoes and taught you all how to tap dance like Fred Astaire.’
‘It was the most wonderful night of my life,’ gushed Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘Really?’ said the children, amazed.
‘I told you it was jolly good cake,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘No, not the cake,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst. ‘The tap dancing lesson! It inspired me. I have been taking tap dancing lessons seven days a week ever since.’
‘Tap is a wonderful form of dance,’ said Boris. (He was hidden behind the curtains because Mr Green still did not realise that the world’s greatest ballet dancing bear was living in his garden shed.) ‘Tap dancing combines the grace of ballet with the joy of banging saucepans together.’
‘Your curtain is quite right,’ agreed Isabella Dunkhurst, ‘I just love it, which is why I have decided to leave the firm.’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Mr Green, leaping from his seat. He was so horrified at the prospect of losing Isabella Dunkhurst from his life that his eyes started to water and his chin began to quiver. And you have to understand that Mr Green did not even cry when his own mother left him. (She abandoned him at a train station on Mother’s Day to run off with the milkman. Which is not anywhere near as sad a story as it sounds, because Mr Green was thirty-seven years old at the time and the only reason she ran away was because she could not get him to leave home.)
‘You can’t, you can’t leave me,’ protested Mr Green.
Everyone in the room looked at Mr Green for a moment, collectively decided it was best to ignore him and continued on with their conversation.
‘I have decided to leave the firm to become a tap-dancing lawyer,’ explained Isabella Dunkhurst. She positively glowed with happiness as she revealed her decision.
‘What does a tap-dancing lawyer do?’ asked Michael.
‘Do you go into court and tap dance around the other barristers’ legal arguments?’ asked Derrick.
‘Oh no, that would be silly,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst. ‘No, I dance on a stage like a normal tap dancer. Then people from the crowd call out their problems and I give them legal advice.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I love going to the theatre and I often get into legal trouble. It would be so convenient to be able to combine enjoying a first-rate night of dance with getting some top-notch legal arguments to yell at the Police Sergeant the next day.’
‘You’ll have to come along to a show,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘Oh we will, I’m sure it won’t be long before I get into some legal difficulty,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Any day now Mr Mahmood could discover the hole I accidentally burnt in his hedge.’
‘Well I’ll go and let you enjoy the rest of your Father’s Day,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst. ‘I just wanted to thank you for turning my life around and making me see that there was more to life than telling off a bunch of boring old lawyers every day.’
Mr Green, who had been weeping quietly in the corner this whole time, now let out a wail of despair.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Isabella. ‘Should he be on medication?’
‘I’ve tried medicating him with cake,’ admitted Nanny Piggins, ‘but the sugar only makes him even more boring.’
‘What will I do without you?’ wailed Mr Green.
‘But I only see you once or twice a month to tell you off for being amoral,’ said Isabella Dunkhurst.
‘It is the highlight of my month,’ blubbered Mr Green.
‘Pull yourself together, man,’ scolded Isabella. ‘There will be a new senior partner starting on Monday. I’m sure it won’t take him long to get the measure of you. He’ll be tearing strips off you within a fortnight.’
‘Oh I hope so, I do hope so,’ sobbed Mr Green.
That Monday was the first time Nanny Piggins and the children had ever waited excitedly for Mr Green to come home (if you do not count the time they put a skunk in his bed). They could not wait to find out if the new senior partner would sack Mr Green. Or worse, revoke his executive bathroom privileges. (Mr Green hated using the same bathroom as the boys from the mailroom, because they insisted on making jovial small talk about football teams.)
When Mr Green came into sight, trudging up the street, it appeared their predictions had come true. He looked so miserable. His face was ashen and he walked as though his shoes were made of lead. Nanny Piggins and the children actually began to feel a little bit sorry for him.
‘Is everything all right, Father?’ asked Samantha as he slumped into an armchair.
‘The worst has happened,’ muttered Mr Green, clearly distraught.
‘The new senior partner sacked you?’ asked Derrick.
‘I wish he would,’ wailed Mr Green. ‘No, it’s much much worse. He is holding a …’ Mr Green paused here as he struggled to hold back tears, ‘… a company picnic.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Everybody has to take their families!’ explained Mr Green, showing them the written invitation.
‘Noooooo!’ said the three Green children, as equally horrified as their father.
‘The new senior partner believes in modern management techniques,’ moaned Mr Green. ‘He prioritises family values and a work/life balance.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘I don’t know but it sounds awful,’ complained Mr Green.
‘You poor thing,’ sympathised Nanny Piggins. ‘And I suppose someone ratted you out and told him you have three children.’
‘Yes, Smythe from accounts dobbed me in,’ admitted Mr Green. ‘He’s never forgiven me for borrowing his stapler without asking’.
‘It’ll be all right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Picnics are a lot of fun. Food eaten outdoors tastes even better than food eaten indoors. And I can arrange some good picnic games if you like.’
‘You will not!’ exclaimed Mr Green, leaping to his feet. ‘It’s bad enough that I am being forced to take my children to a work-related social function. There’s no way I’m taking a pig as well. What will people say?’
‘“Look at that poor pig, imagine having to go to a picnic with him”,’ guessed Nanny Piggins (accurately).
‘I won’t stand for it,’ declared Mr Green. ‘I forbid
you to come within 500 metres of the picnic site.’
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins, her eyes narrowing. It was always a terrible mistake when Mr Green forbade her to do anything. Pretty much the only way of guaranteeing Nanny Piggins would do something was to forbid her to do it.
‘But it says on the invitation that you have to bring a plate of food,’ read Samantha. ‘You can’t cook that yourself.’
‘She’s right,’ agreed Michael. ‘You can’t make toast without having to fetch a golf club and smash the smoke detector down from the ceiling.’
‘And you know Nanny Piggins is the best cook in the country,’ said Derrick.
Nanny Piggins coughed.
‘Sorry, I meant to say the best cook in the entire world,’ amended Derrick.
Nanny Piggins nodded. The boy was only telling the truth.
‘That’s not your concern,’ said Mr Green, rudely snatching the invitation back. ‘I’ll just hire a chef.’
Nanny Piggins did not say anything further on the subject but the children knew their father was in terrible trouble because of the way she glowered at him. She was clearly making plans.
When the morning of the picnic arrived, Mr Green made Derrick, Samantha and Michael line up in the hallway so he could inspect them as he marked off a checklist. ‘Clothes starched, check. Shoes shined, check. Nanny safely in house …’ Mr Green looked at Nanny Piggins. He knew his nanny was a master of disguise. But there was no way an imposter could imitate the glare of loathing she was giving him now. ‘Check.’ He put the clipboard away. ‘All right, as soon as the chef arrives with the plate of crudités we can leave.’
‘What’s crudités?’ Michael whispered to Nanny Piggins.
‘It’s just a fancy word for snacks,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
The doorbell rang.
‘That will be him now,’ said Mr Green, throwing open the front door. But he recoiled in shock because there was no gourmet French chef standing on his doorstep. Just a small boy. And Mr Green had an instinctive revulsion towards all children (not just his own).
