It’s really sunny here, and I’ve got 1,246 freckles on my face. It would have been more, but my mum spotted them, and got me with factor 5 million suncream.
Matt counted my freckles using a magic marker pen to mark each one, so he didn’t count any twice. The trouble is, the ink won’t wash off, so now I’ve got 1,246 blue dots on my face as well as the freckles.
I think it looks Ace.
Matthew thinks it looks cool.
My sister Natalie thinks it looks stupid.
Sally Butterworth thinks it looks like warpaint.
My mum thinks it looks like a disease.
My dad thinks that if he joins up all the dots, he could make a picture of England’s winning goal in the 1966 World Cup Final.
Have I broken the freckles record?
Best wishes
Danny Baker
PS While I’m here in Marisco, I have to dress up as a budgie called El Periquito, climb a tall tree, whistle a special tune and catch caterpillars in a bucket. I’m not sure why, but I’m going to have a go! I’ll see if I can whistle for longer and catch more caterpillars than anyone else has ever done.
Dear Danny,
Thanks for your letter. Sally Butterworth sounds an interesting girl.
Your attempt to break the world record for Freckles on a Single Face was superb, and was only 453 freckles short. Another day or two might have given you the extra needed. But don’t be cross with your mum – she was doing the right thing using suncream on you. Better safe than sorry!
You asked about the world record for squinting. That is held by Vinay Adatia, of Mysore, in India. Unfortunately, Vinay wasn’t trying to break the record. When he was ten years old, a mosquito landed on the end of his nose. Young Vinay screwed up his face, and squinted to look at it. At that very moment, the wind changed direction, and Vinay got stuck like that.
He stayed stuck like that for the next fifteen years, four months and nineteen days.
Of course, the wind changed again many, many times during those years, but Vinay’s squint was so well and truly jammed, it wouldn’t budge.
Eventually, Vinay got a job looking after Radha, the sacred elephant, at the Hindu shrine near Dooda Bellalu. One morning, he was washing Radha’s hind parts with a scrubbing brush, when the elephant broke wind so hard and with such a horrible pong, that not only did it blow Vinay’s hat off, it blew his squint off too! He is now a famous Bollywood film star.
The record for Non Wind–assisted Squinting is five days, sixteen hours and thirty–one minutes, held by Franz Überburger, of Wörgl, Austria. His attempt came to an end when he fell asleep from exhaustion, and his eyes returned to their normal position.
If you are going to attempt the squinting record, Danny, be like Franz Überburger, and make sure you try it out of the wind, and away from sacred elephants. Getting stuck with a squint would definitely affect your goalkeeping!
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
Danny and Sally sat on the low wall that enclosed the garden of the Hotel La Langosta. Nearby, Matthew played table tennis with Natalie.
Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.
Sally stuck her tongue out at Danny. It rolled into a perfect tube.
‘Now you try,’ she said.
Danny tried, but failed. His tongue just twisted, or bent inwards. ‘I can’t do it,’ he moaned.
Sally shrugged. ‘My mum says it’s jenny-ticks.’
‘What’s jenny-ticks?’
‘I don’t know – something in your body that decides if your tongue can roll into a tube or not.’
Sally demonstrated again and then said, ‘Let’s try to break that record for the Longest Kiss.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ answered Danny.
Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.
‘Why not?’ Sally leaned her face closer to Danny’s.
Danny gulped.
Her face was so close, it filled his view. Everything had gone silent, and all Danny could hear was his heart bashing inside his chest. Suddenly, Sally’s face disappeared, and a ping-pong bat filled his view instead.
‘Fancy a game, you two?’ asked Matthew.
‘What?’ Danny blinked, and gazed up at Matthew.
‘You and me against Nat the Nit and Sally Butterfingers.’ Sally glared at Matthew as he yanked Danny off the chair and dragged him over to the ping-pong table.
Natalie grinned at her brother and sang, ‘Danny’s kissed his girlfriend, Danny’s kissed his girlfriend.’
‘I didn’t!’ protested Danny.
‘Well, you would have, if Matt hadn’t stepped in.’
Danny blushed prawn-pink.
‘No I wouldn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘And she’s not my girlfriend. Come on, let’s play.’
Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.
Every time Danny glanced across the table at Sally, she smiled at him.
Matthew smacked Danny on the top of his arm with his ping-pong bat. ‘Keep your mind on the game!’ he hissed. ‘They’re winning!’
Danny tried. He tried hard, but it seemed that every time he hit the ball, it either pinged into the net, or ponged on to the floor. Finally he looped a weak shot into the air to make sure it got over the net. Natalie pounced on it, and smashed the ball back at him.
‘Yessssssss! The Girls beat the Boys!’
Natalie and Sally high-fived, and did a silly victory dance around the table.
‘See you at dinner, losers!’ yelled Natalie as she walked away laughing.
Matthew glared at Danny.
‘You were useless,’ he snarled.
‘You . . . you kept getting in my way,’ countered Danny.
‘Me? You couldn’t get the ball on the table!’
‘Yeah, because –’
Before Danny could finish, Matthew threw his bat down on the table and stormed off. ‘Matt!’ called Danny, but his friend carried on walking. Danny looked at Sally. She rolled her eyes. ‘Urgh! Boys!’
Silly Sausage
Hotel La Langosta
Marisco
Spain
Dear Mr Bibby
I’m the Marisco Junior Chorizo-pushing Champion! This morning some of the Kids’ Club here at the hotel entered the annual championships. You have to use your nose to push a Spanish sausage along the ground for as far as you can. It was fun!
Matthew dropped out pretty quickly, and so did all the other kids, except for Sally Butterworth. My knees and hands and back were killing me, but I wouldn’t give up and neither would Sally. In the end, Sally had to stop when the big scab came off her knee, but I went on for another fifteen laps of the course. I pushed the chorizo sausage for 8.88 km.
Matthew says that Sally let me win, but I think he’s just jealous.
I won a gold medal shaped like a sausage. It’s not real gold, but it’s still Ace. The local chorizo-pushing team have asked me if I want to be in their squad when we come out to live here. They’ve never won the Spanish Chorizo-pushing Cup, and want to get the best players they can. I might do it!
Can you tell me, has anyone ever pushed a chorizo further than 8.88 km? I’m very stiff and sore today, and I’ve got to do the ‘El Periquito’ thing in a few days. I hope I’ve not spoilt my chances to break that record.
Best wishes
Danny
Dear Danny
Congratulations on winning the Marisco Junior Chorizo–pushing Championship. I’m sorry, but your excellent performance was many shoves short of the world record.
In 2000, to celebrate the birth of the new millennium, Luis ‘La Nariz’ Lopo set off from Madrid in an attempt to push a chorizo sausage around the world with his nose, in a symbolic gesture to bring about world peace. He had pushed the sausage for 3,932.6 km, when his route took him across Red Square in Moscow, Russia, during a military parade. Tragically, because ‘La Nariz’ was so close to the ground, he wasn’t seen, and was run over by a Russian T–90S tank. A
mazingly, although the tank squashed most of Luis, it completely missed his nose and the chorizo, both of which can now be seen, stuffed and on display, in the museum of his home town, Fisgón.
Good luck with the ‘El Periquito’ ceremony, Danny.
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
It was early in the morning on the day of the ceremony. Sally Butterworth sat close to Danny trying to teach him how to waggle his ears. Danny’s face twitched and convulsed with the effort.
Sally grabbed Danny’s ears, and wiggled them.
‘You need to move this part of your head –’ she slapped him on the forehead – ‘not that part of your head.’
‘It’s no good,’ complained Danny. ‘I can’t do it.’
Sally smiled.
Oh-oh! thought Danny. She’s got that ‘Kiss-Me-Quick’ look again!
He felt someone grab his arm and drag him on to his feet. It was Matthew.
‘Come on, it’s time you put your budgie costume on,’ said his friend.
Danny yanked his arm free of Matthew’s grasp.
‘Stop dragging me around, and telling me what to do,’ he snapped.
‘I’m just looking out for you,’ replied Matthew.
‘I can look out for myself, thanks. You’re worse than Mum.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Right, if that’s how you feel, you stay here, canoodling with your girlfriend.’
Sally giggled.
‘I will if I want to,’ said Danny. ‘You’re just jealous.’
‘Yeah, right!’
‘Yeah, right!’
Matthew strode away.
‘I hope the caterpillars get you, Budgie-face!’ he called over his shoulder.
Danny tried to think of something snotty to say back to Matthew. He couldn’t. They had never fallen out before.
‘Get lost!’ he shouted, but he didn’t really mean it.
Sally rolled her eyes again. ‘Urgh! Boys!’
El Periqurto
In the hotel bedroom, Danny’s mum put down the video camera that she had been trying to mend in time for the ceremony. Then she helped him put on the bird costume.
‘You’re very quiet,’ she said as Danny stepped into his pink, three-toed budgie feet. ‘Is everything all right?’
Danny shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
Mum began to pull the bright blue stretchy tights up Danny’s legs.
‘Mum, why am I doing this?’ he grumbled.
‘I thought you wanted to do it.’
Danny sighed. ‘I do, but what’s it all about?’
Mum held up the budgie suit. It was covered in vivid sky-blue feathers, with black and white striped wings sown along the arms, and a short, pointed black and white tail.
‘There’s an ancient tree in the centre of the town square that is supposed to have been planted by Saint Peter of the Fishes, Marisco’s patron saint. The locals believe that while the tree is alive their fishermen will continue to catch plenty of seafood . . .’
Danny put his arms into the budgie wings. Mum joined the two parts of the body together, and began to fumble with the zip.
‘Over a hundred years ago, the tree was infested with a plague of caterpillars that all hatched out on the same night and began to munch away at the leaves. The townsfolk prayed for a miracle to save their tree, and the miracle arrived the next morning, when a blue and white budgie flew into town and ate all the caterpillars.’
She pulled the zip carefully towards Danny’s neck.
‘El Periquito – the budgie – saved the tree from certain death and saved the fishermen from going out of business. As it munched away, the bird filled the square with its chirpy song. Then, when it had eaten every caterpillar, the budgie flew away, never to return.’
Mum slid the tight white hood over Danny’s head and fitted it snugly around his chin. She smoothed down the four black feathered spots around his neck and fixed the stubby yellow beak over his nose.
‘The caterpillars still hatch out on the same day every year, but there’s usually only a few hundred or so. A young boy climbs the tree dressed as El Periquito, collects them in a bucket and whistles the “Budgie Song”, which I’m told was composed in 1876 by a man named Manuel de Compostela.’
She straightened the suit around Danny’s body, and smiled.
‘Lovely. Go and look at yourself.’
Danny rustled over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. He lifted his arms to spread his wings, and whistled a few bars of the Budgie Song.
‘Ace,’ he said.
But he didn’t really mean it.
Half an hour later, Danny stood in the town square of Marisco, dressed in the budgie suit and carrying a bucket. The sun had risen above the roofs of the old pink buildings that formed the square, and Danny was already hot.
It seemed like the whole town had come out to see him. The same band that had greeted them at the stadium played the same loud, cheerful tune. Gogo La Gamba, the giant prawn mascot of Real Marisco, had a new tail and was there to cheer Danny on.
Danny’s dad stood next to him. He glanced around the crowd.
‘Why did Matt decide to stay at the hotel?’ he asked.
Danny shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Have you two fallen out?’
Danny shrugged again, but said nothing. He wished he hadn’t told Matthew to ‘Get lost!’
Sally Butterworth was standing nearby and blew him a kiss. Danny rolled his eyes.
The Mayoress of Marisco, Señora Juanita Delgardo, held up her hand, and the band and the crowd fell silent.
‘Today is the anniversary of our Deliverance from the Plague of Caterpillars,’ she announced. ‘It is the day the caterpillars hatch out in our sacred tree, and the day El Periquito climbs into the tree to collect them.’
The crowd applauded.
‘I now ask Father Ignatius, from the Church of the Holy Budgerigar, to bless El Periquito and send him on his sacred task.’
An old priest stepped forward, placing his hand on Danny’s head. The priest mumbled a prayer in Latin and sprinkled Danny with Holy water. He crossed himself, then gestured for Danny to climb the tree.
Danny marched forward to the ladders propped up against the trunk of the massive old tree. A net stretched around the base of the tree to catch him if he fell.
‘When do I start to whistle?’ he asked.
‘From the moment you pick up the first caterpillar to the moment you collect the final one,’ answered Father Ignatius. ‘El Periquito sang as he munched, from start to finish.’
Danny had been learning the Budgie Song for days. He pursed his lips, and blew. The notes trilled and echoed around the silent square. When he got to the top of the ladder and climbed into the tree, the crowd cheered.
Danny waved. He scanned the crowd quickly, to see if Matthew had turned up to watch him after all, but he couldn’t see his friend anywhere. Sally waved back at him.
Danny turned and looked at the branches around him. He gasped.
‘What is wrong, Señor Danny? Are there no caterpillars?’ called the Mayoress.
‘There are thousands of them!’
The Mayoress went pale and held on to the priest’s arm.
‘Thousands?’
‘Millions!’ confirmed Danny. ‘They’re everywhere!’
He stared goggle-eyed at the green and yellow caterpillars that were crawling over every inch of bark and leaf.
The band fell silent. Hushed, horrified whispers rippled through the townsfolk.
‘It has happened again!’ said Father Ignatius. ‘The plague has returned!’
‘Shall we send more people up into the tree?’ suggested the Mayoress.
‘No!’ cried Father Ignatius. ‘It must be El Periquito who collects the caterpillars!’
The old priest gazed up at Danny with red, watery eyes.
‘Only Danny Baker can save us now!’
&nb
sp; The Kissing Tree
Danny toiled all day in the scorching sun, working his way higher and higher into the tree, picking the small wriggling creatures from underneath leaves, knocking them off twigs and dropping them into buckets. All the time he worked, Danny whistled the Budgie Song.
His limbs ached, his lips ached, but he carried on collecting and he carried on whistling, only stopping to drink water.
The sun dropped lower in the sky. The light began to fade. The mood of the people gathered around the tree was sombre and tense. They all stood gazing up anxiously at Danny as he crawled to the tip of the final branch.
He dropped the last caterpillar into his bucket.
‘Finished!’ he called hoarsely, and carried on whistling.
The roar from the throng of people watching Danny echoed around the square. It was as though Real Marisco had won the Cup!
Father Ignatius put his hands together and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
Danny began to pick his way slowly and painfully back down through the branches, but then stopped. His limbs and lips, tight and tense all day from climbing, gripping and whistling, had finally given up. Danny’s body and mouth locked tight with cramp.
He couldn’t move a muscle.
He couldn’t say a word.
He was stuck.
He heard someone below shout, ‘Help him!’
Then he heard Sally Butterworth yell, ‘I’ll save you, Danny!’
Sally raced from the crowd and scurried up the ladder. In seconds she had clambered into the tree and reached the branch where Danny was perched. She smiled at him.
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