The World's Biggest Bogey

by Steve Hartley

  ‘So he will get better?’ asked Mum.

  ‘I hope so, Mrs Baker, but I can’t promise. You may never understand another word Danny says to you, ever again.’

  ‘Tootle on the turtle, Bernard?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK, Dan,’ replied Matthew. ‘How’re you?’

  ‘Our tadpole licks a carrot. Are your drumsticks marching up my nose?’

  Matthew rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a half-eaten bar of chocolate. ‘This is all I’ve got,’ he said, ‘but you can have it if you want.’

  ‘Wonderfluff!’

  ‘Just a minute,’ interrupted Professor Walkinshaw, gazing at Matthew. ‘Can you understand what Danny is saying?’

  ‘Yeah, course I can,’ answered Matthew. ‘He just said he was starving and did I have anything nice to eat.’

  Danny nodded and looked at his mum. ‘The worms are cooking tea cosies in the cup.’

  Matthew laughed. ‘He said he’s glad the giant farting baby didn’t hurt you.’

  ‘So what did he mean by “Dribble on the fat bucket, Dopey”?’ asked Natalie.

  Matthew glanced cheekily at Danny. ‘Er . . . he said that you’re looking extremely beautiful today, Natalie.’

  The boys sniggered. Natalie glared at them.

  ‘This is even more baffling,’ said the professor. ‘The Extraordinary Understanding of Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements is even rarer than Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements itself.’

  Matthew looked at Danny and rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a trillion times easier to understand than him,’ he said.

  ‘Wonderfluff!’ laughed Danny.

  ‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.

  The Baffling Children

  St Egberts Childrens Hospital, Walchester

  Bucket scoops, Captain Barnacle

  All’s well now bouncing Bernard can whistle at a box of toenails. She’s a lid off a daffodil with trumpets, but she’s got loops on a drainpipe to hoot! Sticky-tape buns climbed a feathery broom for bits and bobs of Ace delight, but fairies strum the droop.

  Hey diddle diddle, Bernard winks merrily at the dishcloths of doom.

  My wobbles die happy. The widgets swoon and Bernard can swing my trainers to fly through the ears of camels. Doggies sing for droopy drawers! Wonderfluff!

  Can three coughing spacemen drip whiskers on the Fingers of Gloop? The petals cut through the beans and juggled with a pair of buttery bats, then prancing angels dazzled the piles of withering toads, daring the pots to swish their mangles: purple hippos, purple llamas, purple lions or purple elephants. Oink!

  What do piglets find so funny, when mummies do the tango?

  Ding-dong

  Drainy Babbler

  Hello, Mr Bibby

  My best friend Matthew will translate this letter for you. I’m writing gobbledegook at the moment, and I’m talking gobbledegook as well. I was hit on the head by a great big box of Wonderfluff nappies, and now I keep talking rubbish.

  The weird thing is, Matthew can understand everything I say.

  The doctors are baffled. They’ve asked Matthew to stay at the hospital too, so that he can tell them what I’m saying. We’re both getting to miss school! Ace!

  Remember how I was trying to break the record for Walking Backwards? I had to stop to save my mum from being bashed by a big blow-up baby, but I know exactly how long I walked backwards for, because the accident broke my watch: thirteen days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds. Spooky!

  Did I break the record as well as my watch?

  Best wishes

  Danny Baker

  ‘Bucket scoops’, Danny and Matthew

  I’m sorry to hear about your accident with the box of nappies, Danny, but I’m glad to see your illness hasn’t affected your interest in breaking records.

  The World Record for Persistent Reverse Perambulation is held by Billy Walklater of Ambleside, Cumbria. He took walking backwards into the twenty–first century when he began using satellite navigation to guide him along. Unfortunately, after 332 days of Reverse Perambulation, his satnav took him down a dead end, and he walked backwards into a brick wall. Billy had broken the record, but his attempt was over. So he decided to make the most of the situation and go for the world record for Standing Against a Brick Wall. He has been there for 421 days so far, but has another 2965 days to go to before he can claim that record.

  Get well soon, Danny!

  Ding–dong

  Eric Bibby

  Keeper of the Records

  Professor Walkinshaw and Dr Sri stood by Danny’s bed.

  ‘Danny I’ve contacted my fellow Brain Boffins around the world to tell them about you, and they’re very excited. You and Matthew are unique, and they all want to meet you.’

  ‘Snip-snap,’ remarked Danny.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Matthew.

  ‘I’d like you both to spend a few days on the Bertha Blenkinsop Ward, so that we can study you and try to make you better, Danny.’

  ‘It’s where all the other children with baffling illnesse stay.’ Dr Sri smiled. ‘It’s got a really good games room.’

  ‘Wonderfluff!’ said Danny. ‘Clean that tricky zebra and keep the garden small.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Matthew. ‘Let’s hope there are some kids our age to play with.’

  At the door to the ward, Dr Sri stopped and pulled a false beard out of his pocket. It was short and black. He hooked the ends over his ears, and carefully arranged the beard close to his chin.

  He reached into a small box by the door, and pulled out two more beards. He handed a long, curly orange one to Danny, and a thick, bushy brown one to Matthew.

  ‘Will you put these on, please?’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Matthew.

  Dr Sri smiled. ‘You’ll see.’

  He led them down the corridor towards three nurses who were standing by the reception desk. They were wearing false beards too. One of them strolled over to the boys.

  ‘I’m Sister Morris,’ she said, ‘and you must be Danny and Matthew.’

  She showed them into the games room, where a boy and girl sat in front of a screen, using handsets to control two brightly coloured racing cars speeding around a track. The boy was also wearing a false beard.

  ‘Bucket scoops!’ called Danny.

  ‘That means “Hello”,’ said Matthew. ‘Danny’s started to talk gobbledegook, and only I can understand him. That’s why we’re here. I’m Matthew, by the way.’

  ‘Hi, my name’s Alex,’ said the boy, ‘and this is Abigail.’

  ‘What time’s the doorknob?’ asked Danny.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ translated Matthew.

  ‘Well, my bottom turns blue whenever I eat a banana,’ replied Alex.

  ‘And my ears began to buzz when my dad grew a beard,’ said Abigail. ‘Listen.’

  Danny and Matthew leaned close to Abigail. Her ears were buzzing softly, as if each one had a small bee trapped inside it.

  ‘Wonderfluff!’ breathed Danny.

  ‘Cool,’ agreed Matthew. ‘Why aren’t you wearing a false beard?’ he asked Abigail.

  ‘Because I’m the reason everyone’s wearing them in the first place,’ she explained. ‘Professor Walkinshaw is hoping I’ll be cured if I get used to the sight of them.’

  ‘Has it worked?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘It’s starting to,’ answered Abigail. She reached for a small square black box that hung around her neck on a strip of pink ribbon. ‘This is a sound-level meter. The reading’s getting lower and lower all the time. You should have heard the noise when it began. My ears sounded like racing cars!’

  Danny laughed. ‘Wonderfluff!’ His tummy rumbled. ‘Why did you shovel coal on a mongoose?’ he asked. ‘Cream crackers!’

  Alex and Abigail looked at Matthew.

  ‘That means, “When do we have lunch? I’m starving!”’

  ‘In about half an hour,’ replied Alex. ‘But don’t get excit
ed, the food here stinks. You’re lucky it’s not Friday, or you’d be getting stinky fish.’

  ‘Yeah, and beans and sprouts and cabbage,’ complained Abigail.

  Matthew pulled a face. ‘Gross.’

  ‘It’s great fuel for farts though,’ commented Alex. ‘On Fridays we can all trump for England.’

  Danny’s eyes lit up as an idea popped into his head.

  ‘Tip-tap the moonbeams, because kittens bob their heads to tubas,’ he said.

  Matthew frowned. ‘What are you up to, Danny?’

  Alex and Abigail looked puzzled.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Alex.

  ‘This Friday, every kid in the hospital must hang on to their trumps,’ explained Matthew.

  ‘Why?’ giggled Abigail.

  ‘Walnuts are skating down the rug because their noses are like train sets,’ babbled Danny. ‘Snooker cue.’

  Matthew grinned. ‘We’re going to try and break the world record for the Loudest Trump – pass it on.’

  ‘How do we dollop cat-food on the light bulbs of smooth?!’ Danny asked.

  Alex and Abigail turned to Matthew.

  ‘Why trump for England when we can trump for the world?!’

  Shock Tactics

  Danny yawned, stretched and trumped. Alex and Abigail were right: this horrible hospital food was brilliant fart fuel. Matthew had been running tests with the sound-level meter, trying to see which food produced the loudest trumps. He’d calculated that boiled cabbage produced the most gas and the longest trumps, beans gave the best sound and most pleasant vibrating tone, but sprouts were best for volume.

  Over the past few days, a steady stream of Brain Boffins had walked into Danny’s room and stood scratching their heads and stroking their false beards in bafflement. They had tried various cures, but so far nothing had worked.

  They had talked to Danny in his own style of gobbledegook.

  ‘Tie up the egg roll and fan a broom socket,’ said the professor.

  ‘I’ve tussled with tumbleweed on a damp and dusty bee,’ pronounced Dr Sri.

  ‘Flip a goalpost sandwich,’ exclaimed Sister Morris.

  Danny stared at them. ‘Snitch the crumpets, bar none,’ he said.

  ‘What a load of rubbish,’ translated Matthew.

  Danny woke up one morning and there was a huge cardboard cut-out of Baby Ben Bradshaw staring down at him from the end of his bed. He jumped in fright, but it didn’t cure him.

  Neither did being tapped gently on the head for an hour with a Wonderfluff nappy.

  Danny got out of bed and put on his dressing gown. He shuffled sleepily down the ward towards the games room. He opened the door and jumped back in shock.

  The room was crammed with children, doctors and nurses. Danny’s mum and dad, and Matthew’s mum and dad were there too, along with Natalie and Matthew, Alex and Abigail. Everyone (apart from Abigail), was wearing a false beard, but what astonished Danny most was that every single person in the room was wearing a supersized Wonderfluff nappy over the top of their normal clothes.

  Danny shook his head as if trying to shake the sight from his eyes.

  They all stared back at him, silent and hopeful.

  ‘Well?’ asked Mum anxiously.

  Danny rolled his eyes. ‘Are the watering cans woozy because there’s a singing kipper in my trouser pocket?’ he asked.

  Everyone in the room groaned with disappointment.

  Matthew grinned. ‘No, Dan, we’re not all wearing nappies because we had the hospital curry last night. The Boffins thought the sight of everyone wearing a nappy would cure you.’

  Danny glanced at Natalie and chuckled. ‘Why smudge Dopey when you can elbow the bursting bubbles?’ he asked.

  Matthew laughed. ‘You’re right, Dan, she does look a total twit!’

  Natalie’s face turned crimson. She ripped her nappy off and hurled it to the floor. ‘You are going to be so sorry about this!’ she growled at the boys as she stomped out of the games room.

  ‘Nappies off, everyone,’ called Dr Sri. Professor Walkinshaw sighed heavily. ‘The Sudden Visual-trigger Sensory-overload Resolution has failed,’ he announced. ‘I’ve failed.’

  ‘This is the most baffling case I’ve ever seen,’ one of the Brain Boffins commented. ‘We need more brains on this one.’

  The professor nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m going to call every Baffleologist in the world. We’ll have a symposium, and Danny and Matthew will be the stars of the show!’

  The Mighty Trump

  Today was the Big Day: Stinky-fish Friday.

  The games room was full of kids. Matthew had been round the hospital to pass on the plan, and everyone who could be there was there. Matt had calculated that they needed at least sixty bottoms. Everybody had eaten stinky fish and beans and cabbage for lunch, along with second helpings of sprouts. Alex had even had third helpings. Their stomachs gurgled and groaned and grumbled as the gas built up.

  Danny and Matthew stood in the centre of the room.

  ‘Hurry,’ moaned Alex. ‘I’m going to explode.’

  Danny knew how he felt.

  ‘Did the snapdragon spread jam on a windmill?’

  Matthew looked at Abigail. ‘Have you got the sound-level meter?’ he asked.

  She nodded and handed the small black box to Matthew. ‘Actually, I don’t need it any more,’ she admitted. ‘My ears stopped buzzing completely yesterday when I saw all those beards. I didn’t tell them I was cured though, because they’d have sent me home and I’d have missed the Trump.’

  Matthew placed the sound-level meter in the centre of the room.

  ‘Drop a bread bin up the stairs and brush the scooter,’ Danny told Matthew. ‘Tall tigers wrestle with a jelly flea and watch the pink rabbits “boom!”.’

  ‘Everyone bend over and point your bottoms at the meter,’ Matthew instructed. ‘Danny’ll count to three – sorry, I mean “flea” – and when he says “boom!” let rip!’

  The kids put their fingers in their ears and bowed low. Danny shouted, ‘Bun . . . glue flea . . . boom!’

  As one, they blew out the built-up gas. It was a humongous, growling, roaring trump. It was a trump so loud and ferocious that the windows in the room shattered, the television exploded, a water pipe burst, picture frames crashed off the wall, chairs clattered over, books toppled from bookshelves, the light in the room began to flicker, and everybody’s false beards flew off.

  ‘Tickle my flowerpots!’ exclaimed Danny.

  Professor Walkinshaw and Dr Sri hurried into the room and stared at the devastation.

  ‘What’s that terrible smell?’ asked Dr Sri, holding his nose.

  ‘Was it a gas leak?’

  ‘Was it an earthquake?’ yelled the professor.

  ‘It was a trump,’ explained Matthew.

  ‘Something happened to my bottom!’ cried Alex, looking shocked.

  ‘And mine!’ laughed Matthew, holding his behind and wiggling. ‘It was a ripper!’

  ‘No, I mean something else, something . . . strange.’

  Alex picked up a banana from the floor, where it had been blown out of the fruit bowl by the force of the trump. He peeled it, took a big bite and swallowed. After a moment, he dropped his trousers and glanced over his shoulder. Everyone stared at Alex’s bottom, and his bottom stared back at them, pink and rosy. It hadn’t turned blue!

  The professor was thrilled. ‘Heavens to Betsy!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s been cured! This is all thanks to you, Danny! Accidental Flatulence-induced Symptom Resolution is unheard of!’

  Dr Sri translated, ‘He means that this is the first time anyone has been accidentally cured by a trump.’

  ‘Wonderfluff!’ exclaimed Danny.

  The professor stroked his false beard thoughtfully. ‘It could be the loudness or the force of the trump that produced the resolution,’ he said. ‘But I suspect that the precise mixture of chemicals in the trump gas reacted with the blue in Alex’s bottom and turned it pink.’<
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  ‘We need to analyse it quickly, before it disappears,’ said Dr Sri.

  Danny’s tummy rumbled. ‘Peel the flutey bugle, Wobble, and dangle a lollypop!’ he laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, there’s plenty more where that came from!’ Matthew translated.

  ‘Bernard, is the octopus melting on the skateboard?’ Danny asked him.

  His friend went over to the sound-level meter and looked at the reading. ‘We got a hundred and ninteen point nine decibels.’

  ‘The grass-green mole was the pick of the chocolate cans.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Danny, that must be a record,’ agreed Matthew. ‘Should we get writing ^r to Mr Bibby?’

  ‘Gumboots!’ Danny grinned.

  The Stars of the Show

  St Egbert’s Children’s Hospital, Walchester

  Bucket scoops, Captain Barnacle

  I’m Drainy boots. Our carpets go moo, and bouncing Bernard rumbles merrily in his coffee-pot, for better or worms.

  The lemony handbags pickled on your tram tracks and saw deep wallows of tinkling lilac troops. An aeroplane shook a Snowball, but it wouldn’t shake for Drainy. When penguins waddled on woozy tops, lava lamps waltzed on an itchy gumboil and couldn’t slurp in a Fusspot. Warty diggers snuggle-up bumps! Did the whatnot rasp a nippy biscuit?