by Julian Clary
‘Oh, er, no problem,’ said Mr Bold. ‘I’ll pop to the supermarket right away. But before I go...’
Did you hear about the man who went to the doctor with rhubarb sticking out of each ear and custard up his nose?
The doctor told him to eat more sensibly!
By the time Mossy had been living with the Bolds for a week, his scratches had healed and he was completely recovered. In fact he’d eaten well and done no exercise whatsoever, so he was looking very contented indeed. With no more reports of any fox thefts or invasions, the residents of Fairfield Road presumed they’d seen the last of them and life had returned to normal. The pest control vans were no longer cruising the streets of Teddington and the sense of fear and suspicion was gone.
‘I think,’ whispered Mrs Bold to her husband, when they were tucked up in bed that evening, ‘it might be safe for Mossy and Sylvie to return to Bushy Park. No one seems to believe the Binghams’ story of wild hyenas in the street so hopefully everything has died down. I’ll miss Sylvie, though. She’s such a gentle, helpful fox and so good with the children.’
‘Yes, Bobby and Betty seem very fond of her too.’
‘I’m sure she’ll make a wonderful mother herself one day, but I really think Mossy would be an awful father. He’s so bullying and rude and greedy.’
‘Yes I know. And do you know what his favourite food is?’ asked Mr Bold.
‘Seconds!’ chortled Amelia.
The two hyenas had to put their heads under the pillow in case their foxy visitors overheard them laughing.
‘But you’re right,’ said Fred once he was able to speak again. ‘So long as Mossy doesn’t get up to his old tricks again, they should be fine and it’s time they left. We can’t afford to keep feeding them, and Mossy is so rude about our way of life, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to go. We can drop off the odd food parcel for them to make sure he doesn’t go back to his old stealing ways, but I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. He is bound to be glad to get back to the park and his life as a wild animal. We’ll tell them tomorrow at breakfast. After he’s eaten. He’s always in a better mood then.’
Breakfast at the Bolds’ was always a busy, jolly affair. There were three sittings, because not everyone could fit round the table at once. The twins and Mr and Mrs Bold were first, and they had cereal and toast with peanut butter. Mr Bold always had some jokes to try out that he’d thought of in the shower.
Did you hear about the man who slept under a tractor?
He wanted to wake up oily in the morning!
Why did the woman run round her bed?
Because she was trying to catch up on her sleep!
What do you call a sheep with no legs?
A cloud!
Laughing with their mouths full and spluttering bits of cornflake and crumbs over the table was, I’m afraid, an inevitable side effect of such hilarity.
When the Bolds had finished, it was the turn of Uncle Tony, Miranda and the students. Tony liked porridge with honey, Miranda enjoyed a fruit salad, and Craig the wild boar had mushrooms on toast. Miss Paulina the otter had kippers, and Snappy the goose pecked at some muesli and prunes and enjoyed spitting the stones at Miss Paulina, who endured the nuisance with a saintly expression on her face. Mr Bold usually did the washing-up, but had plenty more jokes to start everyone’s day off with a laugh.
What did the cat say when he lost his money?
‘I’m paw!’
What do you get if you cross a llama with a tortoise?
A turtleneck sweater!
What game should you never, ever play with unicorns?
Leapfrog!
The final sitting was for Mossy and Sylvie. Mossy didn’t like to get up early, and his ‘order’ was usually quite challenging. And that morning was no different.
‘I want a fry-up today,’ he barked – there was never a please or thank you from Mossy. ‘That means jumbo sausages, three rashers of streaky bacon, two fried eggs – duck or quail, I can’t abide hen’s eggs – grilled tomato, button mushrooms, black pudding, baked beans and crispy hash browns. Then I’ll be ready for a toasted muffin, smoked salmon with hollandaise sauce, sprinkled with chopped chives. And don’t be mean with the salmon. Then I’ll finish with some crunchy granola layered with fresh strawberries and raspberries, natural full-fat yoghurt and blueberry compote. And give me a freshly ground espresso while I’m waiting.’ Mr Bold rolled his eyes at Mrs Bold and started cooking.
‘What about you, Sylvie?’
‘Just a cup of tea please, Amelia,’ said the vixen, looking embarrassed. ‘And a slice of dry toast if you can spare it.’
With such a lot of food to get through, you’d think Mossy’s breakfast would take hours, but once it was ready he wolfed it down hungrily and then gave a satisfied burp. Mrs Bold nudged Fred and mouthed the words: ‘Do it now!’
‘Ahem,’ began Mr Bold. ‘Breakfast to your liking?’ he began.
‘It was OK,’ said Mossy. ‘The tomato was a little soft. And I’ll have extra sausages tomorrow.’
‘Ah. Righto,’ said Fred. ‘Only we were thinking. Once it gets dark tonight we reckon it would be perfectly safe for you and Sylvie to go home to Bushy Park. Lovely for you, eh? Get back to your old foxy ways? Bet you’ve missed that. Although, of course, no more invading the bins and stealing food from houses. Lesson learned, wouldn’t you say?’
There was an awkward silence. Mossy stared at his empty plate and Sylvie watched him wide-eyed with trepidation.
‘I expect,’ continued Mrs Bold breezily, ‘you must be missing your old den. Shouldn’t leave it for too long. Badgers might move in. It’s been lovely having you here but—’
‘GO HOME?’ boomed Mossy. ‘You must be joking! It’s not safe out there with all those dangerous humans. And I hate humans. Sylvie and I are staying put.’
Mr and Mrs Bold’s eyes widened and they stared at Mossy, then at each other. It was really a rather awkward situation.
‘But having you here was only a temporary arrangement,’ said Mr Bold reasonably. ‘We don’t really have the space or money to house more animals. It can’t go on for ever.’
‘Yes it can. And it will,’ said Mossy decisively. ‘We’re far better off here. It’s safe. We’re well fed – well, most of the time. This is five-star accommodation. Maybe four and a half, given the mushy tomato. I’ve had to mark you down for that. Why would we want to go back to living in the park and scavenging for our dinner? We’re staying here.’
Mr and Mrs Bold did the only thing they (as hyenas) could do in the circumstances: they laughed. A forced laugh to begin with, but as the reality of the situation became apparent, together with the knowledge that they were stuck with unwanted guests for the foreseeable future, a kind of desperate, hysterical laughter took hold until they were literally crying.
Mossy and Sylvie stared at them in alarm until, eventually, they pulled themselves together.
‘Oh dear, do forgive us,’ said Mrs Bold, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s just that, for a moment we thought you meant you would be staying with us for ever!’
‘That’s right, yes,’ said Mossy.
‘You mean you’d like to become Bold students? Learn to live like humans and then, er, move on to an exciting new life?’ asked Mr Bold hopefully.
‘Yuck. No. I’ve told you. I hate humans. I’m a fox and I like being a fox,’ growled Mossy. ‘I’m a fox for ever and this is my for ever home. And that reminds me. I hate sleeping on a bed. I want a fox den in our room. Order a tonne of earth, would you, from the garden centre? Now I’m going for a nap. Come on, Sylvie.’ Mossy then sauntered out of the kitchen. Sylvie, head bowed, followed behind him. But before Mr or Mrs Bold could say anything, he returned.
‘And don’t think about trying to get us out. We know all your secrets, remember? I’d hate to be the one who puts an end to your domestic bliss.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Pest control would have a field day round here, wouldn’t they, if your secret got out? Walking, talking hy
enas and a grizzly bear! A monkey and a wild boar! You’d be on the front page of every newspaper.’
‘Now listen, Mossy,’ began Mr Bold. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Shut it!’ snapped Mossy. ‘I’m serious, all right? So unless you fancy seeing your family split up and carted off to the zoo – that’s if they don’t shoot the lot of you – I suggest you do as I say. You’ve been outfoxed, mate. Who’s laughing now, eh? Ha!’ Mossy gave an evil laugh of his own, then cocked his leg on the kitchen door and left, his long, bushy red tail swaying from side to side as he walked regally down the hall towards the stairs.
As soon as they were alone, Mrs Bold flung her arms round Mr Bold, clinging to him. ‘Oh, Fred! What are we going to do?’ she wailed. ‘We can’t let him treat us like this!’
Mr Bold patted his wife’s back. ‘There now, Amelia,’ he comforted her. ‘It’ll be all right. I’ll think of something.’
‘But we can’t let him blackmail us like this. It’s... criminal!’
‘I know. There must be something we can do. I need to have a think.’ Fred sat Amelia on a chair and got her a glass of water.
‘And meanwhile?’
‘Well, er...’ He shrugged.
‘Just don’t make a joke, dear,’ pleaded Mrs Bold. ‘I don’t think there is anything that could make me laugh right now.’ Fred thought for a moment. But he was stumped.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘For once, I don’t think there is either.’
There are times when grown-ups think it best not to tell children the truth. But the children usually guess anyway.
Like if Twitchy the hamster sadly dies and the adults don’t want the children to be upset, they replace it with another one that looks about the same and hope the children don’t notice. Except the new Twitchy has a brown patch on his leg that wasn’t there before – not to mention longer whiskers and a rather grumpy personality. So the children soon guess. They’re not stupid. And sometimes the children don’t want to upset their parents by telling them they’ve guessed there is a new Twitchy in the old Twitchy’s place, and the whole thing gets rather complicated. Everyone is so busy pretending, trying not to upset everyone else, it can get rather, well, upsetting.
So while Mr and Mrs Bold tried to smile and carry on as normal in front of the twins, Betty and Bobby soon noticed something wasn’t quite right. For a start, their parents had stopped laughing. Mrs Bold frowned, despite herself, whenever Mossy was around, and a worried look would cross their father’s face as he wrote down Mossy’s latest food order. Caviar and foie gras were very expensive snacks, everyone knew that. How could their parents afford them? And why did they never say no to Mossy?
Then there was the skip full of soil that appeared on the drive one day when the twins came home from school with Minnie.
‘Is that for your garden?’ asked Minnie.
‘No, afraid not,’ said Mr Bold, wiping the sweat from his brow as he shovelled it into a wheelbarrow. ‘Mossy wants it to build a den in his room upstairs.’
The wheelbarrow was trundled through the house to the foot of the stairs and then Mr Bold and Mr McNumpty transported it upstairs by the bucketload while Mrs Bold looked very worried about her carpet.
Mr Bold half-heartedly made some jokes.
What did the big bucket say to the little bucket?
You look a little pail!
What’s worse than raining buckets?
Hailing taxis!
The twins laughed, but Mr McNumpty was panting for breath and didn’t join in.
Moving the earth upstairs took several days.
‘Why are they doing this?’ Bobby asked his sister. ‘If I asked to build a den in my bedroom with all that muck they’d say no for sure.’
‘Well I’ve noticed that Mum and Dad do whatever Mossy asks,’ shrugged Betty.
‘Me too,’ said Bobby. ‘I don’t like the way he speaks to them. Or Sylvie. Or us!’
‘He’s rude and horrid,’ agreed Betty. ‘And I wish he’d move out. I know we always welcome animals to our house. And I know we’re always helpful. But most animals are friendly and grateful. Sometimes I wish we’d just left him in that stupid cage.’
‘And he isn’t making any effort to live like a human, so what’s the point of him being here?’ asked Bobby. ‘And he eats SO much food! Mum has to go shopping twice a day.’
Betty nodded thoughtfully.
‘There is something going on,’ she told her brother. ‘But I’ve no idea what it is...’
Then the next Saturday something odd happened. When the twins came downstairs for breakfast, Mr Bold wasn’t there.
‘Where’s Dad?’ asked Bobby.
‘Gone to work,’ said Mrs Bold, pouring cereal into a bowl.
‘But it’s Saturday!’ pointed out Betty, outraged. ‘We always wash the Honda together, then go to the sweet shop!’
‘Well not today, I’m afraid,’ said their mother, trying unsuccessfully to sound bright and breezy. ‘Overtime. A rush on for more jokes at the Christmas cracker factory, so that’ll be useful to pay all the food bills.’ Mrs Bold then glanced up at the ceiling, as if the ‘useful’ part referred to Mossy.
I’m afraid the truth was that the food bills were now so big that Mr Bold had had no option but to take on extra work at the factory, otherwise the rest of the family would have had to start going hungry.
Bobby looked despondent. He’d been looking forward to washing the car as usual with his sister and father, and then choosing some chocolate at the shop.
‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘You can come to the market with me for a change, and help me sell my novelty hats.’
Teddington market was held every Saturday afternoon in Church Street. It was popular and lively and rather up-market: there were stalls for ceramics, posh pasties, organic pet food, vintage vinyl, flowers, tasty hot food and glittery mobile phone accessories. Mrs Bold’s fancy hats stall was very popular and because her home-made hats were so unusual, people came back every week to see what her latest creations were.
Mrs Bold, you may have heard, can make hats out of anything you might imagine: pegs, broken plates, empty baked bean tins, old clocks, dead mice: you think of it and Mrs Bold will make a hat out of it. Smart ladies of Teddington snap up the hats each week and wear them to church on Sunday morning or to weddings or on holiday. The ladies compete with each other to see who is wearing the ‘latest’ design, and in fashionable circles Mrs Bold’s wit and originality are much praised.
Mrs Bold was very pleased with her latest hats, which were the mud and feather bonnets she had made with Sylvie’s help following the night of Mossy’s rescue. Not as tall or spectacular as some of her previous offerings, but surprisingly chic and retro in a rustic sort of way.
The twins helped their mother set up the stall and put all the hats on display.
Mrs Bold bought the twins a hot dog each, but was then rather busy with her customers. When their best friend Minnie wandered into the market, looking for a little coat for her dog Walter, Bobby and Betty were delighted.
‘Hi, Betty! Hi, Bobby! Didn’t expect to see you here,’ she said. ‘Don’t you usually wash the car with your dad on Saturdays?’
‘Dad had to go to work,’ said Bobby sadly. ‘His boss needs more jokes apparently. So we had to come and help Mum sell her hats.’
‘Throwing wet sponges around is definitely more fun than selling hats,’ concluded Betty. ‘We’re so bored.’
Minnie thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t we help your dad?’ she asked.
‘How?’ said Betty.
‘Well, we could make up some jokes for him. And there are lots of people here at the market. Why don’t we ask everyone we see if they know any funny jokes?’
‘Brill idea!’ said Bobby. ‘Then when Dad comes home we can tell him all the jokes we’ve collected!’
‘And he won’t need to do overtime again!’ added Betty, jumping up and down with excitement.
Mrs Bold also thoug
ht Minnie’s idea was an excellent one – and it would keep the twins occupied too. There was some empty space at the end of her stall, now that several hats had already been sold, so Betty, Bobby and Minnie set up their JOKES WANTED! shop, quickly making a sign with a marker pen on an old cardboard box.
‘Roll up! Roll up!’ called Bobby. ‘Jokes wanted here please! Old jokes, new jokes – we’ll take them all. No joke considered too old or corny. We’re not fussy!’
Betty and Minnie stood by hopefully with a pencil and notepad.
‘What do we get for ’em?’ asked a bald man with tattoos, who’d wandered over from the nearby fruit and veg stall.
‘Er, we’ll take them off your hands for you,’ said Betty. ‘No charge!’
‘They’ll go to a very good home,’ promised Minnie. ‘And make people happy.’
The bald man rubbed his chin. ‘OK,’ he said.
What do you get if you cross a sheepdog with a rose?
A collie-flower!
Several of Mrs Bold’s customers had overheard the joke and chuckled to themselves.
‘Actually,’ said a woman in a floral dress, who had just purchased a turban-style hat made out of a coiled-up draught excluder with a candle stuck in the top, ‘I’ve got an old joke I’d like to get shot of.’ She cleared her throat.
How do you make a tissue dance?
Put a little boogey in it!
There was a roar of laughter from the bald man.
What do you call a baby monkey?
A chimp off the old block!
Soon the jokes stall had attracted a crowd and the jokes were coming thick and fast.
Why was the belt arrested?
Because he held up some trousers!
