‘Whoosh!’ said Mickey Thompson, appreciatively, as Howard slid across the shiny floor, very fast.
‘Whoops!’ said Purvis, worriedly, as Howard crashed, and the cupboard door sprang open, and a huge muddle of boxes and biscuits and paper and pens and cardboard tubes and bits of bun cascaded out on top of him.
‘Yoooou………. CLUMSIES!!!’ bellowed Howard, muffledly, from underneath the heap.
‘Oh well!’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘It’s nice having the room back to normal again.’
‘Yes!’ said Purvis. ‘I think I’ll put the kettle on.’
Bernie
t was very cold in the office.
‘Brrr’ said Purvis. ‘It’s freezing.’
‘Yes, brrr,’ said Mickey Thompson, looking at Howard.
‘Brrr. Brrr. BRRR.’
Howard ignored them and carried on typing.
‘BRRRRRRRR; said Mickey Thompson.
‘TRUMPET,’ said Ortrud, joining in.
‘Will. You. SHOOSH,’ said Howard. ‘I’m trying to finish this report. It’s late.’
‘But it’s so cold, Howard,’ said Purvis. ‘Brrr. Brrr’
‘Brrr? said Mickey Thompson.
‘Brrr’ said Purvis.
TOOT’ said Ortrud.
‘Tut,’ said Howard, and stopped typing. ‘I know you’re cold,’ he said.
‘I know I know I know. I’m cold too. I’m so cold I can hardly move. I’m so cold I can hardly type. And you lot are making so much racket I can hardly think.’
He got up and fetched his coat.
‘Good idea,’ said Purvis. ‘We’ll wrap Ortrud in it.’
‘I was going to wrap me in it,’ muttered Howard, as he helped the mice drape it over Ortrud.
‘Can I wear this?’ asked Purvis, pulling a woolly scarf out of one of the pockets.
‘I expect so,’ said Howard.
‘And can I wear this?’ asked Mickey Thompson, pulling a woolly hat out of the other pocket.
‘Would you like the shirt off my back too?’ said Howard, through gritted teeth.
‘Won’t that make you even colder?’ asked Purvis, sounding concerned.
‘Wear these, Howard!’ said Mickey Thompson, holding up a pair of mittens.
Sighing, Howard took them, and put them on.
‘Mind you, it’s going to be tricky typing in mittens,’ said Mickey Thompson to Purvis, and they both giggled.
‘Let’s have some hush while I get on with this,’ said Howard, and he started to type again, slowly.
‘Why is it so cold, anyway, Howard?’ asked Purvis.
The radiator made a banging, clanking noise and everyone jumped That’s why,’ said Howard. ‘The boiler isn’t working properly.’
Suddenly there was a different kind of banging noise and the Clumsies dived under the desk just as Mr Bullerton BURST into the room.
He was wearing a hat,
‘Where is it?’ he barked.
‘I’m doing it now, Mr Bullerton,’ said Howard.
‘It’s supposed to be done already,’ said Mr Bullerton.
‘I know,’ said Howard, ‘but—’
‘Well, why isn’t it?
‘It’s so cold,’ said Howard, his teeth chattering.
‘I’m having trouble
Mr Bullerton stared at Howard and then at Howard’s hands.
‘Mittens?’ he squawked.
Mittens? You can’t type in mittens.’
‘Well, it isn’t easy, but—’
‘Take them off,’ said Mr Bullerton.
‘But if—’
‘Off!’ said Mr Bullerton.
‘OFF!’
‘But if I take them off, my fingers will freeze,’ said Howard.
Mr Bullerton stuck his face very close to Howard’s.
‘I don’t care about your fingers, Howard Armitage, or any other bits of you. All I care about is getting that report. Properly typed. Without mistakes. And without mittens. Have it ready by the end of the day, or you’re fired.’
Howard began typing frantically, and Mr Bullerton stalked out of the room.
Purvis and Mickey Thompson looked at each other.
‘Poor Howard!’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘We must find that boiler, and fix it,’ said Purvis. ‘Let’s start at the radiator and work backward.’
Next to the radiator was a small hole in the wall, so they climbed into it. Inside the wall was a long silvery pipe with an official-looking sign on it.
‘What does it say?’ asked Mickey Thompson.
Purvis stood on Mickey Thompson’s back to get a better look.
“SECTOR B (LOWER) ACCESS
ONLY LAST INSP 9.89
REF JPJ,”
read out Purvis.
‘Gerromff!’ said Mickey Thompson, muffledly.
‘Eh?’ said Purvis, climbing off.
‘I said, “would you mind ever so slightly getting off me now please thank you”,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘It doesn’t seem to make any sense at all,’ said Purvis.
‘Maybe we should go back then,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘It must be nearly tea time.’
‘You’ve only just had your lunch,’ said Purvis. ‘Come on.’ So they climbed into the pipe and slid down and around and around and down … … for what seemed a very long time.
who was beginning to feel anxious about whether they’d ever reach the end, and what they’d find there if they did.
But eventually they arrived in the basement. They’d never been this far down in the building before. It was gloomy and cold and echoey and smelt of damp and feet. Purvis shivered.
Through thick clouds of yellowy grey steam they saw an enormous, dome-shaped thing. It was made of rusty metal and was covered in dust and soot.
There were a lot of pipes going into it and a lot of other pipes coming out of it and it was topped off with a coMplicAted arrangement of bellows, springs and dials.
‘Wow,’ breathed Purvis. ‘The boiler.’ He walked all the way around and fetched up in front of the largest of the dials.
‘Hello!’ said the boiler. Purvis jumped backwards and Mickey Thompson shot underneath a nearby cupboard. ‘Um … may I help you?’ asked the boiler, politely.
‘Well,’ said Purvis. ‘I’m Purvis. And he’s Mickey Thompson.’ He nodded in that direction and Mickey Thompson reappeared, and waved.
‘I’m Bernie,’ said the boiler.
‘We’ve come to fix you,’ announced Mickey Thompson.
‘Oh yes?’ said Bernie, nervously.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Purvis. ‘The building’s freezing cold and Howard says it’s because you’re not working properly, which means he can’t work properly, which means there’ll be trouble from Mr Bullerton.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Bernie, dissolving into a fit of coughing, which made his pressure gauges rise alarmingly and steam shoot out.
Everything shook and there was the sound of pipes hamming in the distance.
Purvis handed up a tissue.
‘I’m all bunged up,’ said Bernie. He Sneezed five times and sniffed loudly.
‘That’ll be what’s causing it,’ said Purvis, nodding. ‘Don’t worry—we shall un-bung you.’
‘Oo,’ said Bernie, ‘Righty-o. Err… how?’
‘Um…’ said Purvis.
‘Yes?’ said Bernie.
‘Well.’ said Purvis.
‘With our un-bunging equipment,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Exactly,’ said Purvis. ‘We’ll go and fetch it now.’ They started to go towards the door.
‘Wait!’ said Bernie. They stopped.
‘While you’re at it, I don’t suppose you could bring me a little something, could you?’
‘Of course,’ said Purvis. ‘What would you like?’
‘Hot blackcurrant juice, please,’ said Bernie.
‘OK,’ said Purvis. ‘Back soon.’ They set off again.
‘Wait!’ said Bernie
. They stopped again.
‘And a chicken sandwich.’
‘No problem,’ said Purvis. ‘Won’t be long.’ They set off again.
‘Oh, err …’ said Bernie. They stopped again. ‘Or maybe a chocolate-spread sandwich…’
‘How about chicken and chocolate-spread?’ suggested Mickey Thompson.
‘Fine,’ agreed Bernie. ‘And some—’
‘Bye!’ said Purvis, bustling Mickey Thompson out of the basement.
‘Crisps,’ said Bernie, as they hurried away. ‘Is there any cake?’ he called after them, hopefully.
When they got back to the office Howard had gone to a meeting and Ortrud was waiting for them.
‘Right,’ said Purvis. ‘Ortrud and I will go and find things while you make the sandwiches.’
There was a bit of a squabble about whether Bernie had wanted the chicken and chocolate-spread to be separate or together but Mickey Thompson said he’d do some of each to be on the safe side.
‘It’s a pity about the cake,’ said Purvis. ‘I think we finished it all yesterday.’
‘There’s a piece of sponge cake in Howard’s desk drawer, actually,’ blurted out Mickey Thompson.
Purvis and Ortrud looked at Mickey Thompson and Mickey Thompson looked a bit sheepish.
‘Err, I just happened to notice it,’ he explained, trying to sound casual.
Everyone agreed that Howard would want Bernie to have his cake, so Mickey Thompson went off to fetch it.
‘And don’t eat any of it, Mickey Thompson,’ called Purvis.
‘I won’t!’ protested Mickey Thompson, huffily.
In half an hour they met back and examined what they’d gathered, which was a lot. Purvis had:
A Broom
A bottle of extra-strength, lemon-scented washing-up liquid
A tin of Mr Buff-it-up furniture polish (marked Best before Oct 1987)
‘Whose are those?’ asked Mickey Thompson.
‘Mr Bullerton’s,’ said Purvis. ‘He goes to the gym at lunchtime, and changes.’
‘But what are they for?’ asked Mickey Thompson.
‘Buffing,’ said Purvis. ‘They’re nice and soft. Ortrud found them in his office.’
Ortrud TRUMPETED, proudly.
Mickey Thompson had made Bernie a get-well card with a picture of a cup of tea on it, and a picnic of:
Three kinds of sandwich (chicken, chocolate-spread, chicken and chocolate-spread)
Two flavours of crisps (Salt ‘n’ Vinegar and Cheese ‘n’ Onion)
A large tartan flask of hot blackcurrant juice
He had also found Howard’s slice of sponge cake, which had pink icing with hundreds and thousands on top and was, as he pointed out, still in its cellophane wrapper.
They bundled everything on to Ortrud and led her over to the hole in the wall.
They looked at the hole and then at Ortrud.
‘I don’t think she’ll fit,’ said Mickey Thompson.
Ortrud looked a bit crestfallen.
‘Never mind,’ said Purvis. ‘We’ll just have to go the office way. They’ve all gone to the meeting so it should be OK.’
So they climbed on to Ortrud and set off.
Purvis was right—there was no one around.
Swaying slightly, the Clumsies started down the empty corridor, picking up speed as they rounded the corner.
Or trud’s load was beg inning to tilt dangerously just as they reached the lift, but luckily the doors opened with a ping and they fell inside.
‘Where to?’ said the lift.
‘Basement please,’ said Purvis, and suddenly the floor seemed to fall from beneath them as they
whooshed
downwards
very
fast.
‘YEEEEEEEEEEP!’ said the mice. The lift came to a sudden stop, hovered for a moment or two and then whooshed back up again.
‘SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEP!’ said the mice and ‘TRUMPET!’ said Ortrud.
‘Oops, sorry, silly me,’ tittered the lift, and whooshed them down again so quickly that no one had time to say anything at all before the doors pinged open and they tumbled out in a heap on to the basement floor.
‘Byeee!’ called the lift, whooshing off again.
Bernie was pleased to see them and even more pleased with his picnic, so Mickey Thompson fed pieces of food into him while Purvis carefully poured the washing-up liquid over Bernie’s top and sides and into all his pipes. Then Ortrud squirted water at him with her trunk, and they started scrubbing.
It was a difficult job: Bernie was very dirty, very ticklish and got the hiccups.
‘Eek! Hic!
Ooo! Hic!
You’re tick…hic!…ling!
Hic! Nooo!
Hic! Eee!
Hic! Ooo!’ he hooted. There was a loud bang, and Bernie had to have three cups of hot blackcurrant poured in before it was safe to carry on. But eventually he was covered in a huge cloud of lemony bubbles. So were the Clumsies and most of the basement.
‘How are you feeling now, Bernie?’ asked Purvis.
‘Still a bit blocked in my main out-pipe, I’m afraid,’ said Bernie, stuffily.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Purvis.
‘Ortrud can blow up it. That should shift things.’
Meanwhile, the rest of the building was starting to feel warm, and damp. Howard came back from his meeting and began typing again. As the building got hotter and wetter, Howard typed faster and faster. He had just finished the report when the door opened and Mr Bullerton squelched in. ‘It’s done!’ said Howard. ‘Hmph,’ said Mr Bullerton, sounding disappointed. ‘Yes, well, I don’t need that any more—I forgot to tell you. But what’s all this?’
He flapped his hands about.
‘All what, Mr Bullerton?’ said Howard, tiredly, as a large droplet of water fell from ceiling and splashed off Mr Bullerton’s head.
‘THIS!’ snapped Mr Bullerton. ‘Wetness. And mess Look!
Howard looked. There were puddles of water on the carpet, and trickles of water down the walls, and a lot of bubbles floating about.
‘Oh dear,’ said Howard.
Then the radiator started banging and clanking again, very loudly.
‘THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR RADIATOR,’ shouted Mr Bullerton.
‘OH DEAR,’ shouted Howard.
‘DON’T KEEP SAYING “OH DEAR”,’ shouted Mr Bullerton. ‘DO SOMETHING.’
‘LIKE WHAT?’ shouted Howard.
‘HIT IT!’ shouted Mr Bullerton.
‘I’m not sure that’s—’
‘NOW!’ shouted Mr Bullerton, to Howard.
‘NOW!’ shouted Purvis, to Ortrud.
Ortrud blew, Howard hit, and… a great jet of lemony, bubbly, chickeny, chocolatey blackcurrantiness burst out of the radiator, all over Howard and Mr Bullerton.
‘Ooh, that feels much better,’ said Bernie, happily.
When the Clumsies got back to Howard’s room, Howard was sitting in his chair looking purple, and Sticky, and cross.
‘Howard!’ said Purvis.
‘Purvis!’ said Howard.
‘We’ve been mending the boiler!’ said Mickey Thompson, brightly.
‘I thought you probably had,’ said Howard.
‘So, did you finish the report?’ asked Purvis, putting the kettle on.
‘Yes,’ said Howard.’
‘And did Mr Bullerton like it?’
‘No,’ said Howard. ‘He’s gone home. For a bath.’
‘We’ve got his pants,’ said Mickey Thompson.
Howard closed his eyes, and made a groaning noise.
‘Hurry up with that tea. And pass me the cake I’ve been saving. I need it.’
The Clumsies looked at each other.
‘Err,’ said Purvis.
‘What now?’ said Howard.
‘We fed it to Bernie, the boiler,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘We knew you’d want him to have it,’ said Purvis.
‘And he wasn
’t well,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘And he said it was delicious,’ said Purvis.
‘I’m delighted,’ sighed Howard, sneezing, as a large, yellow bubble landed on his nose and went
The Waggiest Tail Part 1
One day, Howard Armitage seemed even more distracted than usual. He kept sighing, and gazing out of the window.
Purvis made him a cup of tea, but he let it go cold. Mickey Thompson brought him a sausage, but he let that go cold too.
Then they tried clattering up and down on his computer keyboard—which usually attracted attention—but he just carried on sighing and gazing.
‘Howard,’ said Purvis, eventually. ‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘Yes,’ said Howard. ‘I’m worried about Allen, my dog.’
‘Oo! I didn’t know you had a dog,’ said Purvis.
‘I think he might be a bit depressed,’ said Howard. ‘He keeps sighing and gazing out of the window.’
The Clumsies exchanged glances.
‘Maybe we could cheer him up?’ suggested Purvis. ‘Why don’t you bring him in with you tomorrow?’
‘Err, pleasant dog, is he?’ asked Mickey Thompson, trying to sound casual.
‘He’s a very pleasant dog,’ confirmed Howard.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Purvis. ‘We’ll play with him, and give him tea.’
So the next day, Howard brought Allen into the office and left him with the Clumsies while he went off to a meeting. Over a pot of tea the mice asked Allen whether there was anything worrying him, and Allen sighed.
‘I’ve got myself into a tight spot,’ he explained.
‘That happens to us quite often too,’ said Mickey Thompson, cheerfully.
‘What kind of a tight spot?’ asked Purvis.
‘I’ve gone and agreed to take part in a competition,’ said Allen, ‘and I’m dreading it.’
The Clumsies Make a Mess Page 2