PS Danny doesn’t know I have sent this, so if he has not broken a record, can you write back to me and not tell him. He would be very disappointed.
Dear Danny
Congratulations on winning the Penleydale Schools Cup! Your dad sent me a video of the game. It was a thrilling match and your performance was heroic. What a goal! What brilliant saves!
I counted that you made eighty–seven saves in the match. I am thrilled to tell you that this beats the previous world record of fifty–six saves, held by Robert ‘Bobby’ Baker, who I am sure you would agree was the Best Goalkeeper in the World Ever. I am delighted to enclose your certificate to record this amazing achievement.
Put your poor feet up, Danny, and have a rest. They, and you, have earned it. You are a record breaker!
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
Danny put the certificate on the wall of his bedroom.
‘That’s the first of many, Danny,’ said his dad. ‘Are you going to stop trying to break these silly records and concentrate on what you’re really good at: saving goals?’
‘Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you, Dad?’
‘You’re going to be better than me,’ replied Dad. He ruffled Danny’s hair.
Mum walked into the bedroom with a bright green peg on her nose. ‘Wed are you goin’ do dell Datalie she doesn’ daf do wear a peg od her dose eddybore?’
‘Tomorrow,’ replied Danny. He held his nose and grinned. ‘Baybe.’
Mum laughed. ‘Good. Dis ids fud.’
Dad glanced down at several sheets of writing paper on the bedside table.
On the top sheet, Danny had written the words I MUST NOT ATTEMPT TO BREAK WORLD RECORDS IN SCHOOL.
‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘Mr Rogers gave me a hundred lines for letting out my smelly feet in assembly,’ explained Danny.
‘Ah, well, a hundred’s not too many.’
No, thought Danny. A hundred’s not enough! There’s a record to be broken!
Wonderfluff
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to break world records in school.
I must not attempt to bre
To the Keeper of the Records
The Great Big Book of World Records
London
Dear Mr Bibby
My headmaster, Mr Rogers, was a bit cross about my attempt to break the Smelliest Feet record. The teachers who had to go to hospital weren’t very happy either. The school has been disinfected three times and still stinks of boiled cabbage and seaweed and eggs and cheese and drains all mixed together. Mr Rogers punished me by making me do one hundred lines, but I kept on writing. I did 161 ½ before he caught me. He got cross about that too, and ordered me do two thousand lines saying I MUST NOT DO MORE LINES THAN THE NUMBER OF LINES I’VE BEEN GIVEN.
I didn’t have time to finish them at school, but I kept going at home and managed to do 1,793 before my pen ran out of ink. I’d have done even more, but my sister Natalie caught me borrowing her Class Prefect pen. She was cross that I’d tricked her into wearing a peg on her nose after the smelly feet attempt, and she told my mum. Then Mum got cross, because I was supposed to be clearing out the junk under my bed. No one understands what you have to give up to be a record breaker.
I’ve sent all my lines with this letter. Is this a world record? I hope so, because I’m in trouble with everyone, except my best friend Matthew. He understands. And he likes counting the lines for me.
Yours sincerely
Danny Baker
PS I’m trying to break the Walking Backwards record, but I keep falling over. My bottom’s purple and green and yellow and black all over with bruises. Mum said I’ve got to sit on a big bag of frozen peas. I’ve also got massive scabs on both elbows. Ace!
Dear Danny
Thank you for writing to me again. Your attempt to break the world record for Punishment Line Writing fell well short of the mark. You would have to be incredibly badly behaved to beat William Archibald Naughtie–McGhie, of Tillicoultry in Scotland. He was Naughtie by name, and naughty by nature. William’s long history of naughtiness started when he was eight years old, but by the time he left school, he had written a total of 15,201 lines.
Here’s how he did it:
He let off a stink bomb in class: 600 lines.
He placed a whoopee cushion on the geography teacher’s seat: 400 lines.
He hid an enormous furry spider in a bag of carrots – just as the dinner lady was about to peel them: 400 lines.
He put paint in the caretaker’s mop bucket: 700 lines.
He sprinkled itching powder on the toilet paper in the girl’s washroom: 1,000 lines.
He rearranged all the school library books out of alphabetical order: 200 lines.
He pulled an ugly face in the class photo: 200 lines.
He glued every chair to the classroom floor: 500 lines.
He wore his clothes back to front, and convinced the school nurse that his head was on backwards: 300 lines.
He put cold custard in the teachers’ coat pockets: 500 lines.
He put salt in the sugar shakers, and sugar in the salt shakers: 400 lines.
He farted in the presence of the Queen during a royal visit to the school: 5,000 lines.
He blamed the fart on the headmaster: 5,001 lines.
William was grounded for a month for this last crime, and having to write so many lines finally made him stop his naughty pranks. William Archibald Naughtie–McGhie is now grown up, and is a police inspector in Aberdeen.
I’m sorry to disappoint you, Danny.
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
PS Be careful walking backwards, Danny. The Persistent Reverse Perambulation record is a difficult and potentially dangerous one to break.
Mum pulled her car into a parking space outside the Wyz Byz supermarket. Natalie, Danny’s older sister, slid out of the back door and stood by the car, grumpy and unhappy, with her arms folded and her shoulders slumped.
Danny climbed out backwards and stumbled straight into her.
‘Mum!’ whined Natalie, yanking Danny’s ear. ‘Tell him to stop treading on my toes!’
‘Mum!’ complained Danny. ‘Tell Nat to stop pulling my ears off!’
‘Behave yourselves, both of you!’ snapped Mum.
Natalie got back in the car. ‘I’m staying here,’ she announced. ‘It’s embarrassing going anywhere with him walking backwards all the time, and dressed like that.’
Danny and Matthew had made a contraption out of a wire coat hanger, a couple of shin-guards and the wing mirrors off Dad’s old motorbike. It was strapped to Danny’s shoulders with a pair of his grandad’s braces, so that he could see where he was going in the mirrors when he was walking backwards. He had a cushion strapped tightly to his behind with a bright red and yellow snake belt
, to protect his sore bottom.
‘I need this outfit to help me break the world record for Persistent Reverse Perambulation,’ protested Danny.
Mum growled and headed for the supermarket entrance.
As soon as they got inside, Danny backed into the stack of blue baskets by the door.
‘Sorry Mum. I wasn’t looking in my mirrors.’
Mum glared at Danny as he bumped into an old lady’s shopping trolley.
‘I do apologize,’ said Mum. ‘He’s trying to break a record.’
Trying to break his neck, more like,’ grumbled the old lady.
Mum grabbed Danny’s shoulder and guided him down the aisle.
‘Hold on to my trolley,’ she ordered. ‘And don’t let go.’
Danny did as he was told. Mum threw a few cans of Spaghetti Footballs into the trolley and marched off. She was going so quickly up and down the aisles that Danny struggled to keep up with her. They rounded a corner into the baby-care aisle, and Mum stopped so suddenly that Danny nearly fell over.
‘What on earth . . . ? Danny, look at this!’
Danny peered into his mirrors, and saw a three-metre high inflatable baby, wearing a gigantic plastic nappy.
‘Ace! That’s Baby Ben Bradshaw of Biggleswade, the Wonderfluff Nappy Tot off the TV ads,’ said Danny. ‘I wonder if that’s the biggest blow-up baby in the world? It could be a record breaker.’
‘Don’t start, Danny,’ warned Mum.
‘Sorry Can I go down to the magazine section?’ he asked. ‘I want to see if me or Dad have got a mention in the latest issue of It’s a Save! The Goalkeeper’s Monthly.’
Mum looked doubtful.
‘I’ll be careful, honest,’ promised Danny.
Mum sighed. ‘Yes, go on then.’
He took two steps back from the shopping trolley and crashed into Baby Ben Bradshaw of Biggleswade. As they collided, and the giant balloon baby bounced upwards, Danny tried to grab it without turning round and ruining his record attempt, but he only managed to push Baby Ben higher in the air.
Danny glanced in one of his rear-view mirrors and watched in horror as
. . . the baby wobbled gently upwards, and nudged a mound of toilet rolls . . .
. . . the mound of toilet rolls tumbled, and smashed into cartons of eggs . . .
. . . the eggs flew – splat! – on to the Cornflakes . . .
. . . the Cornflakes bashed the Barleybricks the Barleybricks pushed the Brancrisps
. . . the Brancrisps bumped the Sugardrops . . .
. . . the Sugardrops toppled a tower of toffee tins . . .
. . . the toffee tins rolled into a pyramid of melons . . .
. . . the pyramid collapsed and the melons hurtled like loose bowling balls into rows of fizzy-cola bottles, sending them swirling and whirling and twirling into the air.
‘Look out, Mum!’ yelled Danny, pushing her behind a display of lemon-puff biscuits.
The plastic cola bottles smacked on to the ground and the fizzy liquid inside was so shaken up that the tops exploded from them like bullets.
By now the Wonderfluff baby had come back down to earth. It lay on its hands and knees with its enormous inflated rump sticking up in the air, being peppered by bottle tops. They made a pleasant drumming sound on the big blow-up nappy, until suddenly there was a loud ‘BANG’!
Baby Ben Bradshaw of Biggleswade, the Wonderfluff Nappy Tot, quivered and shuddered. Then, with a huge roaring whistling fart, took off into the air above Danny and his mum.
The jet-propelled baby whistled and swooped around the Wyz Byz store, knocking over more displays and ripping signs from the ceiling.
‘Mum!’ shrieked Danny as blow-up Baby Ben banked and looped over the frozen-fish cabinet and went fizzing directly towards her.
All thoughts of his record gone, Danny turned around and raced towards his mother. She stood transfixed and terrified as the giant plastic infant charged at her like an angry bull. At that moment Danny’s world went into slow motion. His head throbbed with the sound of his own thumping heartbeat and the horrible whine of the monster baby’s squealing fart.
The rocketing inflatable skimmed the puff pastry . . . shaved the nose-hair trimmers . . . brushed the cotton-wool balls . . . and closed in on his mum. With one final despairing effort Danny launched himself upwards, his body arching gracefully into the air as though reaching to save a penalty in the top corner of his goal. He stretched and pushed the baby-shaped missile away from his mum and up towards the roof.
The impact smashed Danny into a pile of giant-sized Wonderfluff nappy boxes, and the whole lot crashed down on top of him.
Everything went black.
Gobbledegook
Danny opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a strange bed, surrounded by flashing, beeping, whirring instruments. There was a woman nearby dressed in a pale blue uniform, with white clogs on her feet. She was writing in a file of papers.
Danny guessed that he was in hospital.
He was tremendously thirsty and asked the nurse for a glass of water. ‘My cardigan is full of holes, earwax,’ he croaked.
The nurse looked up from the papers. ‘You’re awake.’ She smiled.
‘Gumboots, Bobbin,’ replied Danny.
The nurse frowned.
‘How do you feel, young man?’
Danny licked his parched lips and tried to ask again for a drink. ‘My cardigan is full of holes, earwax,’ he repeated.
‘Is it?’ answered the nurse. She looked puzzled. ‘You were bumped on the head by a giant box of Wonderfluff nappies. Do you have a headache?’
Danny shook his head. ‘Beep, Bobbin,’ he replied. ‘But the blue kangaroo is tired and my cardigan is full of holes.’
‘Er . . . of course it is,’ said the nurse, and scurried out of the room.
She returned a minute later accompanied by a small, smiling doctor.
‘Hello, Danny.’
Danny held his hand up in greeting. ‘Bucket scoops, Wobble,’ he replied.
The doctor raised his eyebrows.
‘My name’s Doctor Gururangan, but you can call me Doctor Sri. How are you feeling?’
Danny mimed drinking, and said, ‘My cardigan is full of holes.’
‘Would you like a glass of water?’ asked Dr Sri, filling one from a nearby jug.
‘Gumboots, earwax!’ exclaimed Danny.
He gulped the water thirstily. ‘Saddlebags,’ he said as he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Dr Sri flashed a light into each of Danny’s eyes. ‘Do you remember what happened to you?’ he asked.
‘Gumboots, Wobble,’ answered Danny nodding. ‘The blob pickled the plum basket and the treetops threw pies at a wombat.’
The doctor and nurse glanced at each other.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this before,’ admitted Dr Sri.
He picked up the red telephone and pressed four numbers. After a moment he said, ‘Professor Walkinshaw, would you come down straight away and examine Danny Baker? I know it’s very rare, but I think we may have a case of Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements.’
When the professor ambled into the room, he wasn’t at all what Danny was expecting. He had untidy hair and long, curly mutton-chop whiskers. Under his crumpled white coat he wore an old tartan shirt, baggy blue trousers and cowboy boots. For some reason, Professor Walkinshaw reminded Danny of his grandad’s favourite comfy old chair.
‘Hi, Danny.’
‘Bucket scoops, Wobble.’
‘How are you doing, young man?’
‘My ears can see daisies.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured the professor. He turned to the nurse. ‘Have you had any sense from Danny?’
‘None, Professor. He’s been talking complete gobbledegook since he woke up.’
The professor rubbed his chin. ‘This can happen when patients wake in a strange place. Danny might begin to talk normally when he sees something familiar.’
‘Danny’s family and h
is best friend Matthew Mason are waiting outside,’ suggested the nurse.
‘OK, show them in and let’s give it a try, ’ said Professor Walkinshaw.
Danny’s mum raced in and kissed and hugged Danny tightly. His dad ruffled Danny’s hair.
‘Bucket scoops, Beans on Toast,’ said Danny. He smiled at Natalie. ‘Bucket scoops, Dopey.’
Matthew stood by the door and gave him the thumbs up.
Danny grinned at his best friend. ‘Wonderfluff!’
Mum frowned. ‘Danny what are you talking about?’
‘Snowflakes burnt my banjo, Beans!’
Mum and Dad looked at each other anxiously, and then at the doctors. ‘We don’t understand. What’s the matter with him?’
‘I’m afraid Danny has a severe case of Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements,’ answered the professor.
Dr Sri smiled at Danny’s mum and dad. ‘What the professor means is that the blow on the head has made Danny talk gibberish.’
Natalie snorted. ‘Danny always talks gibberish – how can you tell the difference?’
‘Dribble on the fat bucket, Dopey,’ replied her brother.
‘I was hoping that it was a mere case of Temporary Acute Vocabulary Disorientation Syndrome,’ said the professor. ‘But obviously it’s more serious than that.’
‘Unfortunately, seeing your familiar faces hasn’t cured him,’ explained Dr Sri. ‘But don’t worry, if anyone can make Danny well again, it’s Professor Walkinshaw. He’s the world’s leading expert on baffling illnesses.’
‘Nothing’s beaten me so far,’ confirmed the professor.
The World's Biggest Bogey Page 3
