My Brother's Christmas Bottom--Unwrapped!

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Dad! I’m soaked!’

  Do you know what Dad did? He began crooning to the tune of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’! ‘We’re sponging on the drive, We’re sponging on the drive. What a glorious feeling, I’m glad to be alive!’

  He stopped suddenly and dumped his bucket by Mr Tugg’s front porch. ‘Hey, Nick! I’ve just had a great idea. We could do this much more quickly with our garden hose. We can stretch it from our house – no problem.’

  ‘Are you sure it will work?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. It’s perfect – and it’ll be so much faster. We’ll get this done in no time.’

  Moments later Dad had unwound the hose and was spraying the car all over while I dashed about trying not to get soaked. It was certainly quicker – and also wetter. Dad danced round the car along with his song.

  ‘I’m watering the car, it’s better by far. It’s such a good idea – I am such a star!’

  That was when Mr Tugg came back out and he didn’t seem very happy. In fact he had gone straight into a major firework explosion, fizzing and crackling all over the place.

  ‘Turn off that hose! Can’t you see the car’s front windows are open? Didn’t you check? What kind of nitwit are you?’

  ‘What? Can’t hear you,’ Dad shouted back, waving the hose all over the place so water sprayed in every direction. Mr Tugg ducked to avoid a soaking and came charging straight down the porch steps.

  Unfortunately he didn’t notice Dad’s bucket and his left foot rammed straight into it.

  ‘Aargh! What idiot put that bucket there? My foot’s stuck and it’s soaked through! Shut those car windows, you fool!’

  Mr Tugg tried to reach Dad but the bucket on his foot slowed him down a lot. He looked like some mad escaped robot. And then he stumbled on the hose line. Mr Tugg didn’t fall but he yanked on the hose and that made Dad swing round to see what was going on and he sprayed Mr Tugg with water, full frontal.

  You’d think a wet firework wouldn’t work, but this firework just got even more explosive!

  ‘YOU BLITHERING BONE-BRAINED BODGER! Turn off that hose! Look! Look what you’ve done!’

  I ran to our house and turned off the water while Dad gazed sadly at our dripping neighbour. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘You are a bit wet, aren’t you?’

  ‘IT’S NOT ME – IT’S THE CAR!’ yelled Mr Tugg. ‘LOOK AT IT! IT’S SOAKING!’

  Dad was puzzled. ‘You can’t wash a car without it getting wet,’ he pointed out.

  ‘YOU DON’T WASH CARS ON THE INSIDE! THE WINDOWS WERE OPEN. LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!’

  Mr Tugg yanked open the driver’s door and a small lake gushed out, straight over both his feet. Then, complete with bucket-foot, he began to stagger towards Dad in a kind of squelchy lurch, arms and hands outstretched. I think he wanted to strangle him!

  Dad opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He slowly turned to me, eyes wide with horror. ‘Leg it!’

  3. Who’s the Poop-a-doodle Noodle-brain?

  Guess what? We’re not washing cars any longer. We’ve been banned by Mum. Anyhow, she reckons she’s had a better idea.

  ‘We are going to make things,’ she announced.

  ‘You’ve already suggested that, Mum,’ I pointed out. ‘Cheese went into terminal meltdown because he didn’t want a space ship made from yoghurt pots.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Mum said. ‘We are going to make biscuits and cakes and gingerbread men. We’ll dip some in chocolate. We’ll tie ribbons on some so they can hang on the Christmas tree and we shall sell them.’

  Tomato clapped her little hands. ‘We’re going to have a party!’ she bubbled.

  ‘It’s not a party and the biscuits aren’t for us,’ I tried to explain. ‘We’re going to sell them.’

  ‘But I want some.’ Tomato’s lower lip began to tremble. Tears were on their way.

  ‘Me too!’ cried Cheese. By this time Tomato was clinging to my left leg and Cheese was clinging to my right. The twins were ganging up on me. Help!

  ‘We want bickies!’ they shouted.

  I looked desperately at Mum. She laughed and came to the rescue.

  ‘You can have some of the leftovers,’ she told the twins and they let me go. Phew!

  ‘And you can have some too, Nicholas.’ Mum patted my head as if I was only four. Huh.

  Dad wanted to know how we would sell the cakes and biscuits.

  ‘I’m glad you asked,’ said Mum, ‘because I’ve had an idea for that too.’

  ‘You’re full of ideas today, aren’t you?’ grunted Dad. I think he was a bit annoyed actually. It’s usually Dad who comes up with the bright ideas.

  ‘Yes I am,’ Mum said brightly. ‘The thing is, we can make all sorts of different things for Christmas – tree decorations, mince pies, biscuits – anything we can think of. Then we sell everything at our Open Day.’

  ‘Open Day?’ Dad repeated suspiciously. ‘What’s our Open Day?’

  ‘We open our house and garden to the public,’ Mum said.

  For several seconds there was a stunned silence. Then everyone began talking at once.

  ‘We can’t have people tramping all over the house!’ cried Dad. ‘This isn’t a stately home, you know.’

  ‘They can’t come in my bedroom!’ I added.

  ‘Are we supposed to show them EVERYTHING?’ shouted Dad, waving his arms around. ‘Do we give them a guided tour and say “And here, Madam, is our lovely toilet? Take a look at our bath – do get in and try it out for yourself? Here, let me scrub your back?”’

  ‘STOP BEING RIDICULOUS!’ cried Mum. ‘Of course it won’t be like that. They will come into the downstairs only. We sell our bits and pieces and we serve them tea and coffee and cakes and so on. Also, they can see all the animals in our garden. It’s like a mini-farm out there, with Rubbish the goat, Schumacher the tortoise, all the rabbits and chickens and so on. Children will love it and so will their parents and we’ll make lots of money just in time for Christmas. Now try to tell me what’s wrong with that?’

  Mum folded her arms crossly and sat down in a huff.

  I glanced at Dad. He was tugging at his beard and that meant he was thinking very hard.

  ‘Sounds like a pretty good plan to me, Dad,’ I offered. He growled and scowled and pointed an accusing finger at Mum.

  ‘I’ll tell you something, Brenda,’ he began, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘This idea of yours, well, all I can say is – IT’S UTTERLY NUTTERLY BRILLIANT! Would you like a dance?’

  He grabbed Mum and began to twirl her round the floor. It would have been OK if we weren’t in the kitchen, but we were. Within seconds the pair of them had sent two plates crashing to the floor, knocked over the milk and trodden on Tomato’s left foot.

  ‘Waaaaaahh!’

  ‘Oops!’ said Dad, gathering my sister into his arms. ‘I think we’ve got a squashed Tomato. Shall I kiss it better for you?’

  And do you know what he did? Dad took off her shoe, peeled off her sock AND KISSED HER FOOT! TOTAL YURRKK!

  That’s disgusting! I’m never going to be a parent when I grow up if you have to do things like that.

  Tomato was OK really and Mum gave her some banana to eat. Good trick! She could hardly cry with half a banana in her mouth.

  After that we sat down and drew up our master plan. We thought of all the different shapes we could make with gingerbread: Father Christmas, angels, stars, holly leaves, snowmen, space rockets (guess whose idea that was?), snowflakes and chickens (Tomato’s idea).

  We cleared the kitchen table and covered it with a plastic cloth. Mum got out all the stuff we would need, plus a whole lot more, just in case. Soon one end of the table was piled high with little tubs and jars and packets of this and that. At the other end of the table was another pile of mixing bowls, jugs, spoons, forks, egg whisks and so on.

  A deep roar from a motorbi
ke outside announced the arrival of Granny and Lancelot.

  Granny came into the kitchen carrying a suitcase.

  Dad’s face clouded over. ‘You’re not coming to stay are you?’ he gasped.

  ‘Ron, she’s your mother!’ laughed Mum. She turned to Granny. ‘Just ignore him,’ she advised.

  ‘Oh I shall,’ smiled Granny, offering Dad her cheek. ‘Fancy a big boy not wanting his mummy any more. Come on, Ron, give your mummy a big kiss!’

  Dad paid no attention. He was still looking at the suitcase suspiciously and wanted to know what was in it.

  ‘Just some old clothes that Lancelot and I don’t need any longer. I know you are very short of money and I thought some of these clothes might be useful.’ Granny opened up the suitcase and began tugging out jumpers, baggy trousers, patched jackets, flowery hats, giant frilly knickers –

  ‘Mother! We do not wish to wear your old knickers, thank you very much!’ cried Dad, holding them up in horror. Lancelot creased up with laughter.

  ‘They’re so big I reckon you could get three grannies in that pair, babe!’ he said.

  Granny turned very red and she snatched them back. ‘They got in there by mistake. Stop making such a fuss, Ron. You’re embarrassing Nicholas and the little ones.’

  We weren’t the least bit embarrassed. It was Granny! She quickly tried to change the subject by asking us what we were doing.

  ‘You’ve got it all set up for something,’ she hinted, eyeing the kitchen table.

  Mum had to tell Granny about the biscuits, and Granny and Lancelot got terribly excited and asked if they could help too.

  ‘I haven’t made gingerbread for years,’ said Granny.

  ‘And I’ve NEVER made gingerbread,’ added Lancelot.

  So we had to let them join us and it was a bit of a squeeze. We only have a small kitchen and whenever anyone wanted to move, everyone else had to shuffle about. It was crazy, but we got to work.

  Soon it was like a factory. Everyone was making something. We were rolling out gingerbread, cutting shapes, dropping things on the floor, spilling stuff, not to mention sending clouds of flour into the air from time to time. Our arms were white up to our elbows. The twins had so much flour smudged on their faces they looked like a pair of ghosts.

  We were all working so hard we didn’t notice just how much mess we were making. Lancelot started whisking up some icing to put on the finished biscuits when they came out of the oven. I don’t think he’d put the beaters in the whisk properly because all of a sudden both the beaters broke loose and went whizzing across the room like a pair of miniature UFOs and half the icing mix went with them.

  Dad ducked as one beater twirled past his head, splattering his hair with icing. The other beater hit the ceiling, stuck there for a few seconds and then dropped straight back down and landed – SPLOP! – on Lancelot’s head. It looked like he had an aerial poking out of his skull.

  We all stared at him. Lancelot looked carefully at what was left of the whisk he was holding and said, ‘It wasn’t supposed to do that.’

  We spent the next half hour cleaning. Meanwhile the kitchen filled with the smell of baking biscuits – yum yum! When they came out of the oven they looked brilliant.

  ‘Want a bicky!’ cried the twins. Well, we all did! And as soon as they were cool enough Mum handed some round.

  ‘The Christmas tree shapes are mine and the others are Ron’s,’ she announced. ‘What are they meant to be, Ron?’

  ‘Snakes.’

  ‘Snakes?’ repeated Mum. ‘I don’t think snakes are very Christmassy.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Dad. ‘I thought, you never see snakes at Christmas, do you? Why should they miss out? So this year I’m inviting snakes to take part in Christmas.’

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ Mum told him.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Dad grinned.

  ‘And I love you because you’re an idiot,’ Mum went on.

  ‘Oh. That’s all right then,’ Dad beamed.

  So we tried the gingerbread. Mum’s was lovely – just right. We tried Dad’s too but you have never seen so much coughing and spluttering and rushing to the sink for some cold water and everyone washing out their mouths and the twins starting to cry and generally complete chaos and uproar.

  ‘RON!’ yelled Mum. ‘Why have you made these biscuits with CURRY POWDER? Ron, come back here! Don’t you run away and hide! We’ll come and find you! Ron – you nincompoop, you utterly poop-a-doodle noodle-brain. RON!’

  4. Here Come the Christmas Vampires

  We found him. He was in the double wardrobe in Mum and Dad’s bedroom, hiding behind Mum’s dresses. He is such a clown!

  ‘It was a mistake,’ Dad insisted. ‘The tubs of powder must have got mixed up. I sniffed one and it had a nice, strong smell so I thought it must be ginger. I didn’t mean to do it,’ he added, sounding a bit like me when I was six and had done something wrong.

  Mum has now banned him from cooking. ‘I don’t want any more of your ridiculous curry snakes, thank you very much. You can make some notices to put in local shops to say that we are holding a CHRISTMAS OPEN DAY this weekend. Nicholas and I are going to think about other things to make that we can sell – decorations for the tree and so on.’

  ‘I want to make things too,’ Dad complained. ‘I like making things.’

  ‘We know,’ said Mum. ‘There was the Tyrannosaurus slide you made Nicholas when he was seven and now he’s thirteen and you still haven’t finished it. There’s the extra shed you started to build for the garden but it fell down before you could put the roof on. Then there was the climbing frame you built for Cheese and Tomato to play on and it’s still only half done. Now it’s covered in ivy.’

  ‘It does look pretty when it’s in flower,’ Dad pointed out.

  ‘Ivy doesn’t flower,’ Mum said stonily. ‘Have you ever noticed how often you don’t finish things? I don’t want to have a pile of unfinished Christmas decorations that nobody wants to buy.’

  ‘But I’ve got some cracking ideas,’ Dad said.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, you know how people often put a Christmas fairy on top of their tree? Why is that? Why does it have to be a fairy?’ Dad asked.

  Mum shook her head. ‘Ron, you’re not going to suggest we put a Christmas snake on top of the tree, are you?’

  Dad took a deep breath as if he was about to say ‘yes’ and then thought better of it. ‘Er, no, but why is it always a fairy? Why can’t we have a gnome, or a hobgoblin? What about a Christmas vampire? Fairies are so goody-two-shoes, aren’t they?’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s what people want at Christmas,’ Mum argued. ‘Funnily enough they don’t often ask for Christmas vampires.’

  ‘They would if they knew where they could get them. I think Christmas vampires would be very popular,’ Dad went on. ‘In fact, I’ve thought of something even better. How about we make some little Mr Tuggs and we stick him on top of the Christmas tree? That would be brilliant! Mr Tugg sitting there with –’

  ‘I get the picture,’ Mum put in quickly. ‘And I think you’re being very silly. Go away and write out those notices to put in the shops. Nicholas and the twins and I are going to make sensible Christmas decorations.’

  As Dad went from the room he called over his shoulder in a very BORING voice. ‘Hope you have fun, Nick, making FAIRIES.’

  I have to admit I was not exactly looking forward to it. Christmas vampires – now that sounded a lot better. I suggested it to Mum. ‘I could make, say, two and we could see if they sell or not.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Mum gave in. ‘But no more than two, and please don’t get too much like your Dad.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not possible really. NOBODY could be like your Dad. He’s a one-off.’

  I think Mum’s right!

  Cheese and Tomato helped us with the decorations. Mum gave them bits of
ribbon and showed them how to tie the ribbon on so that the decoration could be hung on a tree, or somewhere suitable. That kept the twins busy for a good long while, but the results were not always perfect.

  Most of Tomato’s angels were dangling upside down because she had strung them up by the leg!

  Mum looked at the upside-down angels in amazement. ‘What is it with this house? Or is it something about the people who live in it? Why on earth are they the wrong way up?’

  This was Tomato’s brilliant answer. ‘They’re from Ossylala. My teacher says Ossylala is on the other side of the world and the world is round and we’re on the top bit and if you walk all the way round to the bottom you’d be upside down, wouldn’t you? So the angels in Ossylala must be upside down too.’

  If you haven’t guessed, Ossylala is Tomato’s way of saying Australia. Meanwhile, Cheese had been tying his ribbons to a pile of Father Christmases. He’d tied them round the belly!

  I think Mum just gave up in despair at that point. She went back to the kitchen to be on her own. While she was gone I made as many Christmas vampires as I could. It was great fun. I decorated them with bits of silver glitter and tinsel to put them in the Christmas mood. I only left two on the table and I hid the rest. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. Maybe I can sell them at school later.

  Dad disappeared outside clutching a pile of notices to put up. He was out for a couple of hours. This is what they said:

  FANTASTIC OPEN DAY!

  COME AND SEE YOUR LOCAL

  MODEL FARM IN ACTION.

  CHICKENS! GOAT! RABBITS!

  TORTOISE! ELEPHANTS!

  TEA, COFFEE, DRINKS,

  CAKES, BISCUITS

  PLUS

  EXCLUSIVE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!

  ENTRANCE 50p