For Sarah and Paul – I haven’t danced to
Culture Club since 1984! ~ D R
For the fab Frosties ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Yuck!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Beg!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Bum!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
Bertie dumped his bag and coat in the hall and burst into the kitchen. His mum was writing a letter.
“Mum! Guess what?”
“Hello, Bertie!” said Mum. “How was school?”
“Oh, the same,” said Bertie. “But Mum, you’ll never guess what…”
“Probably not,” said Mum, going back to her letter.
“There’s a fair tomorrow night!” cried Bertie, excitedly. He waited for his mum to jump up and turn cartwheels. But she just said “Mmm” and went on writing.
“A funfair, Mum, with rides and prizes and everything!”
“Yes, you said.”
“So can I go? Tomorrow night. Please Mum, can I?” Bertie was hopping from foot to foot as if he needed the toilet.
Mum looked up. “No, Bertie. I don’t think so.”
Bertie’s mouth dropped open. “But … but why not?”
“Because I said so. I took you to the funfair last year and I remember what happened.”
Bertie cast his mind back to last year. True, he’d nagged his mum all night to go on the ghost train – then screamed to get off. True, he’d fallen in the watersplash trying to rescue his toffee apple, but that could have happened to anyone.
“But Mum!” he begged. “All my friends will be going.”
“Bertie, I said no. No means no.”
Dad was in the garden raking the lawn.
“Dad!” cried Bertie, rushing outside.
“Bertie, I just swept that up.”
“What?”
Dad groaned. “That pile of grass you’ve just trampled through.”
“Oh, sorry.” Bertie looked at his shoes. If people left piles of grass lying around how was he meant to avoid them?
“Dad,” he said. “Can you take me to the funfair tomorrow night?”
“No,” said Dad.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got choir practice.”
“But it’s only on for one night.”
“Sorry, Bertie. Ask your mum.”
“I did. She won’t take me either.”
“Then you can’t go.”
“But … but … arghh!” Bertie stomped off, trailing grass all through the house.
It wasn’t fair. Why did he have such mean, selfish parents? They were always dragging him off to places he didn’t want to go – like the dentist’s or the countryside. But when it came to something important – like a funfair – they always said ‘No’. Surely there was someone who could take him?
Of course! Gran! Gran was never too busy to do things with Bertie. She’d probably be grateful he asked her!
CHAPTER 2
DING DONG!
Gran opened the door.
“Oh, hello Bertie, come in. I was just talking about you!”
Gran was watching telly with her neighbour, Sherry. Bertie had met Sherry before. Generally he did his best to avoid her.
“Hello Bertie! Come and give your Auntie Sherry a big kiss.”
Bertie screwed up his face as Sherry planted a lipsticky kiss on his cheek. “Well!” she said. “Isn’t he growing up fast?”
“I know,” said Gran.
“Next thing you know he’ll be coming round with his girlfriend!”
Bertie turned crimson. Girlfriend? He’d rather bring his pet tarantula!
“Gran,” he said. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow? No, I don’t think so.”
“Only I was thinking maybe you’d like to take me to the funfair.”
“The funfair!” said Gran. “Goodness, it’s ages since I went to one of those.”
“I love a good funfair,” said Sherry, helping herself to a slice of cake.
“So can you take me?” said Bertie. “Tomorrow night? Can you?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Gran. “Maybe Sherry would like to come, too?”
“What a good idea!” said Sherry. “We’ll make a party of it. Won’t that be fun, Bertie?”
“Oh … er yes,” said Bertie. If he could go to the fair he’d put up with anyone – even Sherry.
CHAPTER 3
Saturday night arrived. The funfair was lit up like a Christmas tree. Bertie breathed in the sweet smell of candyfloss. Music boomed and thumped. The ghost train wailed. People on the rollercoaster screamed. This is going to be brilliant, thought Bertie. No mean parents to tell him what to do. He could hardly wait!
They pushed their way through the crowds, looking at all the rides.
“Oooh,” said Sherry, “I don’t know where to start.”
Bertie stopped. At one of the stalls was a sign in big red letters:
TRY YOUR LUCK! WIN A PRIZE!
His eyes lit up. In the middle of all the plastic watches and droopy dollies was the biggest jar of sweets he’d ever seen.
It was full to bursting with lollypops, toffees, chews and chocolates. Bertie reckoned there had to be at least a thousand sweets in there – enough to last him a whole week!
All you had to do was throw a hoop and land it over the jar.
“Gran, can I have a go? Can I, please, can I?” Bertie begged.
“Of course, dear.” Gran got out her purse and paid the Hoopla man. The best thing about Gran was she hardly ever said ‘No’.
Bertie took careful aim. His first hoop fell way short. His second skimmed off the Hoopla man’s head. His third hit the sweet jar with a plunk! and pinged off.
“Oh, bad luck, Bertie!” said Sherry. “Let me have a try.”
Gran and Sherry both tried their luck. Sherry won a prize – but not the jar of sweets Bertie had been hoping for. Instead she won two sets of Deely Boppers. Sherry put one on. They wobbled around on her head crazily, flashing red and green.
“You try them, Dotty,” she giggled. “I bet they’d suit you.”
Gran put on the other pair and they both doubled up, hooting with laughter.
“What do you think, Bertie?” they asked, posing arm in arm.
“Um, great,” said Bertie. “But aren’t you a bit, you know, old for them?”
“Ooh look! He’s gone all pink!” giggled Sherry. “Are we embarrassing you, Bertie?”
Bertie trailed behind Gran and Sherry, watching their Deely Boppers bob up and down like yo-yos. This wasn’t what he’d planned at all.
In fact, he was starting to think this could turn into the worst night of his life. He seemed to be stuck with two alien grannies from the Planet Bonkers. What if someone from his class saw him? He’d never live it down.
Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. Climbing off the roundabout was a pale, smug-faced boy, holding a balloon. It was his sworn enemy, Know-All Nick.
Bertie looked around in desperation. He couldn’t be seen with two mad grannies wearing disco lights. He had to escape!
Quickly, he grabbed Gran by the arm and steered her in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going now?” asked Sherry, hurrying after them.
“Look, bumper cars!” pointed Gran. “Bagsy I drive!”
Gran bought three tokens from the lady in the booth.
“Couldn’t I go by myself?” pleaded Bertie.<
br />
“Don’t be silly,” scoffed Gran. “It’s no fun on your own.”
Gran dragged him over to a bright red bumper car and the three of them squashed in. He could see people pointing them out and laughing. He slid down in his seat, trying to hide.
The music started and Gran’s foot slammed down on the pedal. The car lurched away.
BUMP! They crashed into the yellow car in front.
THUD! They swerved left and rammed a silver car.
“Ha ha! Got you!” yelled Gran. She wrenched the steering wheel round and they went into a spin before zipping off again.
“You’re going the wrong way!” cried Bertie, pointing at the cars heading towards them like a swarm of bees.
“Rubbish!” said Gran. “They’re going the wrong way.”
BUMP! CRASH! WHAM!
A dozen bumper cars slammed into each other and shuddered to a halt.
Arguments broke out as the drivers tried to reverse and thudded into each other. One of the attendants waded in to try and calm everyone down. Bertie meanwhile had spotted a boy with a balloon waiting with his dad. He sank even lower in his seat. It was Know-All Nick.
“Bertie!” said Gran. “What are you doing down there?”
CHAPTER 4
Bertie bit into a hot dog and tried to think. Somehow he had to get away from the grannies before they ran into Nick again. They passed a ride called Rattle and Roll. A sign in big letters said:
WARNING!
THIS RIDE NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 7’ S, OVER 70’ S OR NERVOUS NINNIES.
Bertie suddenly had a brilliant idea. All he had to do was pick all the scariest rides in the fair. Everyone knew grannies hated scary rides. They could go off and have a quiet cup of tea while Bertie enjoyed himself.
“What’s next then, Bertie?” asked Gran.
“This one!” pointed Bertie.
“Heavens!” said Gran. “Rattle and Roll?”
Sherry looked up at the gigantic tower. “I dare you, Dotty,” she said.
Gran’s eyes twinkled. “I double dare you back,” she said.
Bertie stared at them. “But … won’t you be scared?” he asked.
“Of course we will,” laughed Gran.
“I’ll probably scream my head off,” giggled Sherry.
“Me too,” said Gran. “But Bertie can hold my hand.”
Bertie took his seat between Gran and Sherry. The safety bar clunked into place.
GRUNT! SNORT! The machine sounded like a dragon. They began to rise slowly into the air. Higher and higher. Bertie tried not to look down.
“This isn’t that scary,” he said.
SNORT! WHOOSH! They shot earthwards at a million miles an hour.
Gran screamed. Sherry shrieked. Bertie hung on for dear life.
UP they shot. Then DOWN.
UP. DOWN. DOWN. UP. DOWN.
Bertie clutched at his stomach.
Finally the ride stopped and the bar went up.
“Woo! That was amazing!” whooped Sherry, as they got off.
“I’ve come over all giddy!” gasped Gran. “Are you all right, Bertie? You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“URRRRRR!” groaned Bertie.
They queued at one of the food kiosks. By the time they reached the front Bertie wasn’t feeling quite so dizzy. He couldn’t decide between candyfloss or a toffee apple or a fizzy drink – so he had all three.
Holding everything at once proved a bit tricky. He tried putting the candyfloss in his pocket to eat his toffee apple, but it got stuck to his trousers. When he pulled it off it somehow fell on the floor.
“Ugh! That’s dirty, Bertie. You can’t eat that!” said Gran.
“Why not?” said Bertie. “It’s only a bit of grass.” He picked off an ant and took a big mouthful. “Want shum?” he asked.
“Er, no thanks, you have it,” said Gran.
Turning a corner, Bertie screeched to a halt. Know-All Nick had just arrived at the bottom of the helter skelter. Bertie looked around desperately for somewhere to hide. Any moment now Nick would spot them and come over.
He ducked under a barrier and joined a queue for one of the rides.
“Goodness!” said Gran. “Are you sure?”
“What?” said Bertie, looking up. He gulped. The sign said:
MIGHTY MEGAMAX
THE WORLD’S FASTEST ROLLERCOASTER.
Bertie had never been on a rollercoaster before. To tell the truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to. But it was too late, they’d reached the front and Gran was paying for the tickets.
RUMBLE, RUMBLE, RUMBLE!
Bertie clung to the safety bar as their carriage climbed the steep track. The rollercoaster looked scarier than Miss Boot on a Monday morning. When he glanced down his stomach gave a lurch.
Maybe all that candyfloss wasn’t such a good idea. He felt sick. He felt dizzy. He wanted to get off.
The carriage reached the crest of the hill and Bertie gaped at the drop below.
ARRRRRRGGHHHHHHH!
They were hurtling towards the ground at the speed of light. He was going to die. They were all going to die.
“WHEEE!” whooped Gran and Sherry. “This is fun!”
Five terrifying minutes later the carriage slowed to a halt. Bertie staggered out. His hair stuck out like a hedgehog. His legs had turned to jelly. His face was a pale green.
“Hello, Bertie!” jeered a voice. “Enjoy your ride?”
Know-All Nick was waiting by the barrier, and he was holding something large and shiny.
“Look what I won on the hoopla!” he boasted.
Bertie stared at the giant sweet jar stuffed with lollipops, chocolates and chews. His stomach heaved. He was going to be…
BLEUUUGHHHHH!
CHAPTER 1
“Don’t you look smart!” beamed Mum. “Come and look in the mirror.”
Bertie plodded into the hall and scowled at his reflection. He was wearing a sailor suit. It was Victorian History Day at school and everyone was supposed to come in costume. Mum had found the sailor suit in a charity shop.
Bertie thought it was the drippiest thing he’d ever seen. The white trousers flapped above his ankles. The shirt had a stupid floppy collar. The hat had a wobbly blue pompom.
“There! What do you think?” asked Mum.
Bertie pulled a face. “I look like a girl,” he said.
“Bertie, that’s what boys used to wear in those days. I think you look very smart.”
“Can’t I go as a pirate? I’ve got the eyepatch and everything.”
“It’s Victorian Day,” sighed Mum. “They didn’t have pirates.”
“A dustman then?” said Bertie.
“No!”
“Or a robber? I bet they had robbers.”
“Bertie,” said Mum. “I went to a lot of trouble to find you this costume and you’re going to wear it. Now hurry up and get ready.”
Bertie stomped up the stairs to look for his shoes. It’s not fair, he thought. Why were parents always telling you what to wear? He didn’t go round telling them what to wear!
In his bedroom Bertie stared gloomily at himself in the wardrobe mirror. All his friends would have much better costumes than him. Donna was going as a flower girl and Eugene as a butler. Darren had said he was coming as a chimney sweep, which Bertie wished he’d thought of himself. All he had was a sailor suit with a stupid collar and a silly pompom. Maybe if he got rid of the collar the shirt wouldn’t look so bad?
RIPPPP!
Uh oh – he seemed to have torn it. Now the collar was hanging loose on one side. His mum would have a fit if she saw it. He yanked at the other side to even it up.
RIPPPPPP!
Yikes! That had only made things worse. The collar had come off but the shirt had a big rip in it. Now he looked like a scruffy old beggar.
Bertie stared. What a brilliant idea! He could go as a beggar! In Victorian times there were millions of beggars. You could hardly walk down the street without tripping over one. And h
e wouldn’t even have to change his costume. All it needed was a few small alterations. Now where did Mum keep the scissors?
“Bertie!” Mum shouted. “What are you doing up there? You’re going to be late!”
“Coming!” said Bertie. He thumped downstairs and landed in the hall.
Mum stared in horror. “Bertie! What have you done?”
“It’s my costume!” said Bertie. “I’m a beggar!”
Bertie was still wearing his sailor suit, or what was left of it. The sleeves hung in tatters. The white trousers looked like they’d been attacked by killer moths. (Bertie had got a little carried away with the scissors.) Bertie’s feet were bare and he was wearing a scruffy old cap on his head.
Mum leaned heavily against the front door. “How did this happen?” she groaned.
“I did it myself,” beamed Bertie.
“I can see that. You’ve completely ruined your costume!”
Bertie shrugged. “Beggars don’t wear sailor suits,” he said. “They have to look poor. If they went round in sailor suits no one would give them any money.”
Mum peered at him closely.
“What’s that on your face?”
“Dirt,” said Bertie.
“No, those red blotches. You look like you’ve got measles.”
“Oh yes,” said Bertie. “Poor people were always getting plagues and diseases, we did it in school. Don’t worry it’s only felt pen, it’ll probably come off.”
Mum passed a hand over her eyes.
Yuck! Page 1