Holiday Hullabaloo
Page 7
Funksome Strange
Fuzzbonk An ugly, ugly person
Gentlegeorge A gentleman
Glump A trudge or a long, slow walk
Glumper A tiresome, moaning person
Grunch To eat
Grunty-groaner A worrier
Gundiskump An enormous, greedy fish
Gurnip A name for a very old person
Jiggish Fun
Jubbly Lovely
Moodsie Grumpy
Nervish Nervous
Nipster A toddler
Nonkumbumps Nonsense
Panty-bloomers Overling underwear
Porklet A young, chubby thing
Snizzling Snoring
Squirmer Coward
Trolliday A troll holiday
Truccaneer A troll pirate
Wonderbunk Wonderful
Winky Tiny
You’ll laugh your panty-bloomers off with these little belly-bunglers …
Q. What is Lady Jaundice’s favourite game?
A. Swallow the leader!
Q. Why did Malaria eat Marjorie’s sofa?
A. Because she had a suite tooth!
Q. What do you get if you cross Rubella with a flea?
A. A lot of very worried dogs!
Q. Why did Grandma Joan take a bath?
A. So she could make a clean getaway!
Q. What do trolls eat for breakfast?
A. Dreaded wheat!
The Ballad Of Lady Jaundice
At the moment she was born, a cry went all about.
‘Lock the little rotter up and never let her out!’
She’d a gonker for a mother and a blighter for a dad.
It didn’t take a brainy-bonk to see she would be bad.
For even as a nipster she wore an evil sneer,
That nasty, thieving dungle of a trainee truccaneer.
Marauder of the mud-beds and fungus fiend was she.
The Troll That Stole was destined to go down in history.
As soon as Jaundice learned to walk, she was master of the sword,
And dreamed of battles yet to come and stealing treasured hoards.
At five, she slew a slurch, armed with nothing but a stick,
And sailed across the undersea without ever feeling sick.
She could beat ten grown trolls in a fight and sink ten ships to boot,
This pluglet with a bloody thirst for stolen left-sock loot.
Marauder of the mud-beds and fungus fiend was she.
The Troll That Stole was destined to go down in history.
Jaundice grew, and with her grew a wicked little mind.
She hatched a plot to steal every left sock she could find.
She broke into the left-sock store and nabbed the blunkin’ lot.
Then glumped off to the overworld till everyone forgot.
No one knows what happened to that rotsome, thieving glumper,
But if you see her, troll law states you have to go and thump her.
Marauder of the mud-beds and fungus fiend was she.
The Troll That Stole was destined to go down in history.
Turn over to read about Neville’s funksome first night in the Underneath …
The Wrong Pong
With a great big whoosh, Neville found himself falling at a ferocious speed through a foul-smelling, rusty pipe. The water around him splooshed and churned as he was spun down into the darkness.
A hefty arm suddenly wrapped itself round Neville’s waist. He squirmed but the arm held tight.
‘Up we go,’ came a voice behind Neville. He heard the sound of a chain being grabbed and he was swung up out of the disgusting water and into the air.
Neville landed on his belly with a BUMP. ‘Oooooof !’
He clambered to his feet, coughing and spluttering out the rotten taste of toilet before he was sick. What was going on? Neville started to cry. He couldn’t see anything in the gloom. Mum was always telling him there were no such things as toilet monsters and now one had got him.
Somehow, Neville’s glasses had managed to stay wedged on his nose, but they were all dirty and smeared with … he didn’t want to think about what they were smeared with so he quickly wiped them on his pyjama bottoms.
When he put his glasses back on, Neville could see that he was standing in the open mouth of an enormous pipe, high above churning water below him, coming from lots of other pipes. There were little lanterns made from jam jars and milk bottles hanging from the ceiling. Hundreds of them, with drooping wax candles melting and flickering inside each one.
Neville had never been in the sewers before but he was pretty certain there weren’t supposed to be lanterns.
‘Right, youngling,’ boomed a voice. ‘Wait till I get my grabbers on you. What were you thinking, running off like that? You’re in big, big trouble.’
Neville spun round. In front of him loomed something from a nightmare. It looked like a human that had been crossed with a knobbly potato or a big old ginger root and was twice as tall as Neville’s dad. It was fussing with a batch of ugly-looking fish hanging from a hook on its belt. Neville noticed an empty hook and wondered if it was for him.
‘Your mooma would knock you through nextdoor’s back wall if she knew you …’ The thing looked up and saw Neville in the lantern light. Confusion spread across its face like a rash. ‘Who are you?’ it asked. Neville couldn’t say anything. ‘You ain’t my youngling! Where’s Pong?’
It stormed towards Neville and picked him up as easily as picking up a rag-doll. ‘WHERE’S MY YOUNGLING?’
‘I-I-I don’t know,’ Neville stammered. ‘I was just using the toilet and you grabbed me.’
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First published 2011
Text copyright © Steven Butler, 2011
Illustrations copyright © Chris Fisher, 2011
Cover illustration by Chris Fisher
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The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
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ISBN: 978-0-14-133404-2