Danny Baker Record Breaker (5): The World's Itchiest Pants

by Steve Hartley

  Just as he raised a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, Danny felt the floor move beneath his feet and heard something crack and creak under the table. He peered down to see the tiles on the kitchen floor lifting and shifting.

  There was a tearing sound as strips of wallpaper peeled away from the walls around the room, tumbling to the floor in a heap. The paint on the kitchen door started to bubble and pop.

  ‘What… ?’ he whispered. ‘Could it be … Phase One: the smelly sweat?’

  A bunch of flowers in a vase on the window sill wilted as Danny stared at it, the petals falling, the leaves shrivelling and turning brown.

  The toast on the plate next to him curled up at the corners, and the milk in his bowl of cereal curdled into thick, cheesy lumps.

  ‘And …’ Danny’s nose began to itch and twitch, ‘the explosive sneezes?’

  The tickling became more intense. Suddenly, a booming, thunderous sneeze exploded from him, peppering his breakfast bowl with bogeys, and splattering congealed milk and soggy cornflakes far and wide.

  ‘A … A … A … TISHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

  Upstairs, he heard Dad cry out, ‘We’ve got a gas leak!’

  ‘It’s not gas, it’s ME!’ shouted Danny, doing an excited jig around the kitchen. ‘I’ve got it at last! I’ve got Skunk Flu!’

  He heard the sound of feet rushing down the stairs, and a moment later Natalie burst into the room, followed by Mum and Dad.

  ‘Phwoar!’ sneered his sister. ‘What a horrible …’ She got no further. Her face turned green, her eyebrows shot up in surprise and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

  Mum gasped and staggered backwards, covering her face with the collar of her dressing gown, her hair coiling into ringlets in the toxic air.

  Dad held his arm over his mouth and nose and dashed for the kitchen door, yanking it open just as Matthew arrived to pick Danny up for school. The cloud of Skunk-flu Stink surged out of the door, lifting Matthew off his feet and dumping him on his behind in the melting snow.

  ‘Awesome!’ he spluttered, breathing in the thick, sickly odour. ‘Your plan worked! You smell like … a blocked toilet in a rotten-egg factory!’

  ‘And a dead kipper down a drain,’ added Mum.

  ‘And an orang-utan’s armpit,’ added Dad.

  Natalie added nothing: she was still unconscious on the floor.

  ‘Runny green cheese and Joey’s sloppy nappies aren’t going to cover this pong,’ continued Dad. ‘We’re going to need gas masks!’

  ‘Ace!’ grinned Danny. ‘I’m definitely going to have the World’s Whiffiest, Waggiest, Burpiest, Record-breakingest Skunk Flu Ever!’

  Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong

  To the Keeper of the Records

  The Great Big Book of World Records

  London

  Annwyl Mr Bibby (That means ‘Dear Mr Bibby’ in Welsh)

  We’re having a Welsh Week at school, because my class is going to the Phwllwygoly-wig Adventure Centre in North Wales (our teacher says it’s pronounced Poo-wiggly-wig! Ace!) We’ve been singing in Welsh, baking slimy seaweed bread, wearing funny black hats, eating leek soup and playing rugby (it’s not as good as football).

  We’ve also made funny walking sticks called Tallypant Twytty-knockers. They’re shaped like a daffodil, and in the mountains around Poo-wiggly-wig they play a game called the Twytty-knocker Grab. You drop a pile of the sticks on the ground, bounce a ball as high as you can, grab a few sticks and then catch the ball. You keep doing it until you drop the ball. The winner is the person who’s collected the most twytty-knockers.

  It’s really hard, but I kept practising and managed to grab seventeen sticks! Is there any chance I’ve broken a record?

  Best wishes

  Danny Baker

  PS I was hoping to get the chance to ride the scariest rollercoaster in the world, the Pontypyddl PantWetter, when I’m in Wales, but my dad says it’s in a different part of the country. Not Ace!

  The Great Big Book

  of World Records

  London

  Dear Danny

  You will feel at home at the Phwllwygoly-wig Adventure Centre: it’s a record breaker! It has the biggest domed wigwam in Wales: ‘The Wygol-y-wigwam’. It is 21 m high at the centre and has a circumference of 135 m.

  The ancient game of Twytty-knocker Grabbing is only played in Phwllwygoly-wig, because that is the only place where you find the Tallypant Twytty. This is a rare breed of Welsh mountain sheep, who has a right leg shorter than its left leg, so that it can walk straight across the steep mountain hillsides without falling over. However, it can only go in one direction, because as soon as it turns round, it does fall over. Local farmers use the twytty-knocker to drive the sheep backwards across the mountain so they can begin grazing again.

  The world record for grabbing the sticks is seventy-three, by Champion Twytty-knocker Grabber Olwyn Humphries of Abersoch, so your attempt was an excellent one, but well short of the best.

  Enjoy your stay in Wales, Danny.

  Best wishes

  Eric Bibby

  Keeper of the Records

  ‘Look at the size of that wigwam!’ said Danny, peering through the window as the coach pulled to a halt in a forest clearing that was the Phwllwygoly-wig Adventure Centre. ‘Mr Bibby says it’s a record breaker!’

  Danny and Matthew stared out at a huge domed building in the centre of the clearing. It was made of brown canvas stretched over long, curving tree trunks, and seemed to have grown like a big pimple from the forest floor.

  Two long, wide wooden huts stood on either side of the wigwam, one painted custard-yellow, the other gooseberry-green, while a row of ten conical tents signposted ‘The Pee-pee Teepees’ stood behind it. Towering trees with trunks as straight as pencils pressed in on the clearing, enclosing it like a fence. Clumps of daffodils burst from the ground for as far as Danny could see, like little glowing fountains of green and gold in the shadowy forest.

  ‘Girls, follow me to the girls’ cabin,’ called Miss Dunderhead, stepping out of the coach and striding away to the yellow hut.

  ‘Lads are in the green cabin,’ said Mr ‘Polly’ Parrot. ‘Find a bed and unpack your things. If anyone wants the toilet, you’ll find them in the Pee-pee Teepees on the far side of the giant wigwam in the middle of the camp.’

  Danny and Matthew grabbed their packs and raced across the muddy ground.

  ‘Bunk beds!’ exclaimed Danny as he pushed through the door at one end of the hut. ‘Ace!’

  ‘I bags the bottom bunk!’ said Matthew, diving on to the nearest empty bed.

  ‘I bags the top bunk!’ laughed Danny, clambering up the wooden ladder two steps at a time and hanging upside down making monkey noises at his friend.

  The ten other boys from Danny’s class charged into the hut to claim their bunks. They were soon followed by around ten boys from another school, and playful pillow fights broke out.

  ‘What school are you from?’ asked one of the new kids, bashing Danny over the head with his pillow.

  ‘Coalclough Primary,’ replied Danny, laughing and fighting back. ‘What about you?’

  ‘We’re from …’ But before the boy could answer, Mr ‘Polly’ Parrot yelled ‘QUIET!’ and the hut fell silent. ‘Leave your bags on your beds and get over to the wigwam for the Welcome Powwow,’ he ordered. ‘Take your wellies off and leave them outside on the left of the entrance.’

  The boys funnelled out of the hut and hurried across the clearing.

  ‘Ace!’ gasped Danny as they entered the wigwam.

  ‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.

  The curving canvas roof rose high above them like a massive cave. It was painted white and decorated all over with drawings of animals and trees. The floor was covered with colourful square rugs, and the space buzzed with the excited chatter of dozens of kids sitting cross-legged on them.

  Teachers from the two schools directed the boys to one side of the wigwam and the girls to the othe
r. Danny and Matthew found a space on a rug and sat down.

  Suddenly, with a loud cry of ‘Geronimo!’, a man and woman swung over the children’s heads into the wigwam on ropes, landing nimbly like cats in front of the audience. The man had curly blond hair and wore a gooseberry-green sweatshirt. He raised a short wooden whistle to his lips and blew:

  ‘QUAAAAAAAACK! QUACK! QUACK!’

  ‘G’day!’ he yelled. ‘Welcome to the Wygol-y-wigwam, the biggest in the world! What a ripper gang of ankle-biters you are! My name’s Bradley Tucker, but you can call me “Bush”! I’m from Australia and I’ll be in charge of all these Bonzer Boys!’ He waved his arms, encouraging his side of the room to cheer loudly.

  The woman was dressed in a custard-yellow fleece and had pulled her long black hair into a flopping ponytail. ‘My name’s Bunny Grylls,’ she announced. ‘I’m an Aussie too, and I’m Leader of the Gobsmacking Girls!’

  The girls’ side of the room tried to out-cheer the boys. Bunny blew hard on an owl whistle to settle the kids down again: ‘HOO-HOOOOOO! HOO-HOOOOOO!’

  ‘We’ve got oodles of awesome adventures, crazy crafts and cool competitions for you this week,’ Bunny continued. ‘And it’s boys versus girls all the way!’

  ‘But first, the Camp Rules,’ said Bush. ‘Number One: every time you meet one of your mates, you must use the camp greeting, which is: Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong!’

  The kids began to laugh and chatter again, until a blast on Bush’s duck whistle made them quiet once more.

  ‘Rule Number Two,’ said Bunny. ‘You get up at six thirty when you hear the Wakey-wakey Hooter.’ She gave three blasts on a klaxon horn. ‘And you go to sleep, Lights Out at nine thirty, straight after you hear the Curfew Kazoo,’ she added, pulling an instrument from her pocket and tooting a silly tune.

  ‘Rule Number Three,’ said Bush. ‘No one is allowed out of their hut after we blow the Curfew Kazoo. If you want to go to the toilet in the night, you’ll need a Pee-pee Pass-out.’

  ‘If you’re caught outside after Lights Out without a Pass-out,’ said Bunny, ‘you’ll have to do the Poo-wiggly-wig Wipe-up.’

  ‘Llewellyn, the security guard, and his guard goose, Gwyneth, patrol the camp after dark,’ continued Bush. ‘And let me tell you, you don’t want to meet gruesome guard-goose Gwyneth on a dark night in the forest. She’s as cranky as a frog in a sock!’

  Bunny nodded. ‘Too right, Bush! The competitions start this arvo, right after lunch, with a woodland bottom-shuffle relay race.’

  At that moment an excited yelp burst from the girls’ side of the room.

  ‘DANNY!’

  All faces turned to stare at a girl waving frantically in Danny’s direction. She wore a crimson jacket and her bright red hair was twisted into two tight pigtails.

  She pointed at Danny and squealed, ‘That’s my boyfriend!’

  Danny’s tummy did a somersault and his toes curled up inside his socks. He ducked down, his face burning, as all faces swivelled round to stare at him.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ he hissed at Matthew. ‘It’s Sally Butterworth!’

  ‘We met in Spain last summer,’ Sally yelled to everyone. ‘And we’ve got the world record for kissing in a tree!’

  ‘Woooooooooooooooooooo!’ whistled the other kids, laughing with delight.

  Danny looked for somewhere to hide, but he was stuck. Bunny blew hard on her owl whistle – HOO-HOOOOOO! HOO-HOOOOOO! – and the room fell silent once again.

  ‘What a rip-snorter of an idea for a competition!’ she laughed. ‘Maybe tomorrow you two can show everyone how it’s done!’

  ‘No way!’ shouted Danny, scrunching up his face. ‘I’m allergic to girls. They give me spots.’ He pulled his jumper over his head, trying desperately to disappear.

  The powwow finished with Bush and Bunny teaching the kids the camp song and holding a competition to see who could sing it loudest:

  ‘Always eat when you are hungry.

  Always drink when you are dry.

  Always wash when you are dirty.

  Always smile and never cry.’

  ‘The Gobsmacking Girls are first on the scoreboard!’ yelled Bunny. ‘I say we definitely won that one!’

  When it was over, Danny and Matthew tried to sneak from the wigwam, but Sally Butterworth was too quick and ambushed them by the entrance.

  ‘Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong,’ chirped Sally, smiling at the boys. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here.’

  ‘Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong,’ said Danny, trying to ignore the grins of the other boys as they pushed past.

  There was a small dark-haired girl standing just behind Sally. ‘This is my best friend, Vicky Wilmott,’ she said. ‘Vicky’s brilliant at maths, just like you Matt. She can do really hard sums in her head.’

  ‘143,967,552 multiplied by 3,718,’ said Danny.

  Vicky frowned, and stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth while she worked out the answer.

  ‘535,271,358,336,’ she replied.

  Matthew pulled a calculator out of his coat pocket, and tapped in the numbers. He gaped at Danny. ‘3.6 seconds, and she’s right,’ he said. ‘Cool!’

  ‘19,674,887 divided by 7,833,’ said Danny.

  Vicky screwed her face up once more. ‘2,511.79459.’

  ‘Mega cool!’ gasped Matthew.

  Sally linked Vicky by the arm. ‘You beat me at football last time we met,’ she said to Danny. ‘This time, I’m not going to be on the losing side.’ She smiled dangerously, and with a swish of her bright red pigtails flounced out of the wigwam.

  Welly Wars

  Everyone returned to the Wygol-y-wigwam for lunch. Danny pulled off his muddy wellingtons, dropped them in the boys’ boot zone by the entrance and scurried inside. He kept his head down while he ate his lamb stew and Welsh cakes, in case Sally Butterworth tried to embarrass him again.

  ‘Where’s Silly Bottyburp?’ asked Matthew, gazing around the enormous tent. ‘She’s not here. What’s she up to?’

  ‘If we’re lucky, she’s been captured by aliens and taken to the planet Zigga-bigga-fafa-iggy-dig 9,’ replied Danny.

  At that moment he spotted Sally’s bright red pigtails as she sauntered back into the wigwam.

  ‘No such luck,’ he said, ducking down again. ‘She’s just been to the Pee-pee Teepees!’

  The lunch bowls were collected, and Bush blew hard on his duck whistle. QUACK! QUAAAAAAACK!

  ‘First to get to the woodland bottom-shuffling course gets a point for their team! Look lively!’

  The kids charged through the tunnel and headed for their boots.

  ‘Where’s my welly?’ demanded Danny, seeing that he only had one boot.

  ‘And mine?’ said Matthew.

  ‘And mine?’ chorused the other boys.

  ‘There they are!’ shouted Danny’s classmate Jimmy Sedgley, pointing to the roof of the boys’ hut. It was strewn with the missing wellingtons.

  ‘The Welsh Welly Fairies must have flung them up there while you were eating,’ suggested Sally, charging off into the forest with the rest of the girls.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ said Danny, pulling on his single boot and hopping after her. The other boys did the same, but they didn’t stand a chance, and the girls easily won the race.

  Danny looked at the fed-up faces of the other boys as they lined up for the woodland bottom-shuffle relay. ‘Come on, lads,’ he urged. ‘Let’s show those cheating girls who’s best!’

  The boys bottom-shuffled as hard as they could, weaving between trees and rocks along the twisting, bumpy course, but the girls shuffled harder and once again were victorious.

  ‘I told you,’ taunted Sally. ‘This time, I’m going to be on the winning team!’

  As the kids made their way back through the woods to the huts, Danny spied some gloopy frog spawn bobbing stickily at the edge of a shallow pond, and a wicked idea popped into his head.

  ‘Where can I get a bucket?�
�� he said to Matt.

  That evening the kids returned to the Wygol-y-wigwam for supper and sing-song.

  ‘Save me a place, Matt,’ said Danny. ‘I need to go to the Pee-pee Teepees.’

  The clearing was deserted. Danny saw the rows of wellington boots lined up outside, boys on the left, girls on the right. He dashed round to the back of the boys’ hut where he’d hidden a bucket of frog spawn. Danny slopped a dollop of the gloopy jelly-eggs into each of the girls’ wellingtons and hurried back to supper.

  The naughty Welsh Welly Fairies have been up to their tricks again,’ he whispered to Matthew, tucking into a Welsh spicy sausage.

  After supper and singing the camp song, Bunny announced, ‘Time for bed, kids! Ladies first!’

  Danny held his breath.

  Bunny led the girls out of the wigwam and the boys hurried out after them. Danny heard the lovely squelch and squish as the unsuspecting girls shoved their feet into their frogspawny boots.

  Sally Butterworth stormed up to Danny, frog eggs dripping down the sides of her wellingtons.

  ‘You!’ she yelled.

  ‘Me!’ he laughed. ‘This means WAR!’ declared Sally.

  ‘Bring it on!’ grinned Danny.

  Tickety-boo!

  Poo-wiggly-wig Adventure Centre

  Wales

  Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong, Mr Bibby!

  That’s the Poo-wiggly-wig greeting! Guess what? Sally Butterworth’s here. She’s still going on about that yucky kissing world record we set in Spain, and she’s still mad about her team losing the football match against us, and the row we had about her jelly-lips wrecking my Mexican Jelly-wave.

  We were out in the woods yesterday doing a woodland bottom-shuffle relay race. When we woke up this morning, everyone was covered with Snowdonian Tiger Ticks. They’re little stripy orange-and-black balls with short wriggly legs. Bush Tucker, the boys’ leader, is a bug expert. He says ticks stick their long pointy mouths under your skin and suck out your blood until they pop and let loose zillions of babies. Ace!

  We’ve been quarantined, which means we’ve got to stay for an extra two weeks. Mega Ace! The whole camp’s got to be fumigated. We’ve got to be fumigated!