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

by Steve Hartley

  Bunny Grylls – the girls’ leader – pulled the ticks off the kids with ‘Bunny’s Non-pop Non-stop Humane Tick-plucker’. Then Matthew and Vicky Wilmott (Sally’s best friend) counted them.

  I had eighty-nine ticks, including one right on the end of my nose, but Sally Butterworth had 577. Thanks to her, the girls won that competition, 4,567 to 3,112.

  I know she likes breaking records too, so I was wondering: is Tiger-ticky Sally a world-beater?

  Best wishes

  Danny Baker

  PS Josh Davis bottom-shuffled on to a big pine cone near the end of the race and had to go to hospital to have it removed. He’s kept it as a souvenir.

  The Great Big Book

  of World Records

  London

  Dear Danny

  Woodland Bottom-shuffling is fun, isn’t it? It originated in the rainforests of Cameroon and was brought back to Wales in the nineteenth century by Jones Owen-Jones, an explorer from St Melons. The BedPan tribe of pygmies had a genetic condition that gave them constantly itchy bottoms, and the only way they could get relief was to shuffle around the forest floor. Sadly, it made them easy prey for leopards, and the tribe is now extinct.

  With regard to Sally Butter worth’s ticks: I am delighted to tell you that she is a record breaker. She has easily broken the previous world record for Total-body Tiger-tick Infestation, which was held by tick-boffin Dr Ellie Doo. As a matter of interest, Dr Doo explored the Congo in the hope of collecting as many different species of tick on her body as possible. She had 433 individual creatures, from fourteen separate species, stuck on her body, and even discovered one – Tyrannotickus rex – that was previously unknown to science. Unfortunately it was as big as a dinner plate, and in less than an hour had sucked all four litres of blood from her body, including the blood the other 432 ticks had gobbled, killing poor Dr Doo and her entire collection of ticks. So think yourselves lucky it was just the Snowdonian Tiger Tick that had a chew on you!

  I have enclosed Sally’s certificate. Would you kindly pass it on to her?

  Best wishes

  Eric Bibby

  Keeper of the Records

  The War had escalated.

  The Bonzer Boys had ambushed the girls while they were on a toadstool hunt and bombarded them with mudballs. The Gobsmacking Girls retaliated when it went dark, by planting Trumphorn Toadstools in the boys’ shower block. The toadstools sprouted overnight and in the morning the showers were heavy with the rich aroma of fungusy farts.

  So the boys filled the girls’ lunchboxes with worms, woodlice and weevils. The girls got their own back by taking out the wooden slats in the boys’ bunk beds, and nine of the boys, including Danny, had fallen through and got stuck. But Danny was planning an attack of his own, and everything was ready …

  It had been over an hour since the loud, twangy sound of the Curfew Kazoo had echoed through the camp and lights had been turned out. Danny had kept himself awake making up his own version of the Camp Song:

  ‘Always trump when you are windy,

  If you don’t you’ll surely cry.

  Never wash when you are dirty,

  And you’ll stink up to the sky!’

  Soon he heard the rasp of Bush Tucker’s snores ripping through the darkness like a pig with a sore throat. Danny swung his legs over the edge of the bunk bed, lowering himself down until he felt his bare feet touch the edge of Matthew’s bed, then the floor.

  Matt was sleeping soundly, his hair poking out from beneath his duvet. Danny prodded him awake.

  ‘Silly-Sally-dolly-belly-bong-bang-bing!’ he whispered. ‘Fancy a midnight raid on the girls’ hut?’

  Matthew rubbed his eyes. ‘Dippy-dappy-soppy-Sally-ding-dang-dong,’ he mumbled. ‘To do what?’

  Danny reached under the bed and slid out a long, flat cardboard box with the words ‘Pritchard’s Pilchards’ printed down the sides. He carefully opened the lid, shining his torch inside for Matt to see. The box was criss-crossed with threads of flimsy silver webs, and swarmed with hundreds of hairy black spiders.

  ‘I wondered where all the spiders in the hut had disappeared to,’ said Matthew.

  ‘I’ve been collecting them,’ Danny explained. ‘There’s another boxful under the bed. I thought the girls would like to have them in their hut.’

  Matthew grinned. ‘Count me in!’ he hissed, sliding from under the duvet.

  Danny pulled out the second box of spiders and handed it to Matt. The two boys grabbed their wellington boots and tiptoed silently to the door. The key turned in the lock with a loud click. The boys froze, waiting for Bush’s voice to boom at them, but only his snores disturbed the silence. They crept out into the black night.

  A soft wind tugged at their pyjamas and made the trees whisper warnings in the darkness. ‘Don’t do it!’ they seemed to hiss. ‘You’ll be sorry!’

  The boys slipped their boots on, straining their eyes to peer into the night for Llewellyn and guard-goose Gwyneth. The camp seemed deserted.

  ‘Come on,’ whispered Danny. ‘Stick to the shadows and keep your ears open.’

  They skirted around the edge of the camp and past the Pee-pee Teepees, until they reached the girls’ hut.

  Danny spotted that the door to the hut was slightly ajar. He eased it open a few centimetres and the boys carefully tipped the hairy spiders out. The creatures scurried away into the dark, silent dormitory.

  ‘Mission accomplished!’ whispered Danny. ‘Return to base!’

  As they turned to make their way back, they heard a loud honking bark coming from the trees.

  HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

  ‘Intruders is it, Gwyneth?’ hissed Llewellyn’s voice in the darkness nearby.

  ‘Oh no!’ gasped Matthew. ‘We’re goose-food!’

  Danny thought fast. He pushed Matthew back into the shadows. ‘Get back to our hut when the coast’s clear! I’ll cause a diversion,’ he said, then dashed out into the clearing in front of the Wygol-y-wigwam, to trip the security sensors.

  Four floodlights snapped on, dazzling Danny with intense white light. He screwed his eyes tight shut, and when he opened them again, Sally Butterworth stood in front of him wearing red pyjamas and purple wellington boots.

  ‘Silly-Sally-dillydally-bing-bang-bong!’ said Danny. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Dopey-Danny-dillydally-bing-bang-bong!’ replied Sally, looking as surprised as he was. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just out for a stroll,’ he replied.

  They glared at each other suspiciously. Sally opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped as what Danny thought must be the biggest, ugliest, gruesomest goose in the world waddled out of the darkness. Its wings were spread out and its long neck stretched forward in an attack position.

  HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

  Sally huddled close to Danny, and grabbed his arm.

  ‘G-g-good g-g-goosey,’ he stammered.

  Gwyneth marched towards them, honking loudly.

  ‘Doesn’t understand English, my Gwyneth,’ chuckled Llewellyn the security guard, looming out of the darkness behind the goose, ‘only Welsh.’

  Danny gulped. ‘What’s Welsh for “Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong”?’ he asked Sally.

  ‘I think that is Welsh,’ she replied.

  Luckily, at that moment, Bush and Bunny ran from their huts to see what had caused the commotion.

  ‘Caught these two snooping around after Lights Out, we did,’ said Llewellyn, calling Gwyneth to heel and slipping a lead around her neck. The goose honked once at Danny and Sally, fixing them with her beady yellow eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, you two,’ said Bush. ‘You know the rules. You’re gonna have to do the Poo-wiggly-wig Wipe-up: scrape off the sloppy leftovers from every meal, and wash up the dish mountain!’

  Sally turned and glared at Danny. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ she snapped.

  ‘You started it, Buttyworm!’ he replied.

  Bunny Gry
lls wagged her finger at him. ‘Now that’s no way to speak to your girlfriend,’ she said.

  Danny growled with frustration. ‘SHE’S … NOT … MY… GIRLFRIEND!’

  Flea-bitten

  Next morning, the Wakey-wakey Hooter parped through the forest, blasting the campers from their sweet dreams. It stopped, and for a moment there was silence in the camp. Then shrill shrieks from the girls’ hut sliced through the peace and quiet.

  Danny hung upside down from his bunk bed, grinning at Matthew.

  ‘In. The. Net!’ he said, dropping to the floor and hurrying outside. ‘The Bonzer Boys are on the scoreboard!’

  The boys spilt out into the courtyard to see what was happening as a stream of screaming, spider-infested girls barged from their hut.

  Sally Butterworth burst through the door. A delicate silver web stretched from her ear to her shoulder, and a spider as big as a biscuit swung from her nose.

  ‘Get it off! Get it off!’ she yelled.

  Danny sauntered over to her and gently lifted the spider on to the ground. ‘Soppy-Sally-dillydally-bing-bang-bong,’ he said.

  ‘Dopey-Danny-dillydally-bing-bang-bong to you!’ she yelled, brushing at her arms and legs and shaking her head to get any spiders out of her pigtails. ‘With knobs on!’

  Danny grinned.

  ‘You!’ she growled.

  ‘Me!’ replied Danny, scratching his left armpit.

  Vicky Wilmott strolled over to them. ‘Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong, Matt,’ she said. Her head was enveloped in a shining cap of silvery webs, and the dozen tiny spiders that had spun them.

  ‘Silly-billy-dillydally-bing-bang-bong, Vicky,’ Matthew replied, scratching his tummy. ‘Your hair looks cool.’

  Thanks. I like spiders.’

  ‘They don’t,’ said Danny, grinning at a group of girls who seemed to be doing a strange dance, running round in circles, screeching wildly and waving their arms about their heads.

  ‘Don’t be soft, girls!’ said Bunny Grylls, wading into the hysterical mob. ‘At least they’re not poisonous like the ones back home. On my first trip into the Australian outback, I woke up one morning covered in deadly Burrumbuttock Bottom-biter spiders. I had to sit on a wombat for three days to neutralize the effects of the venom!’

  Danny rubbed his elbow, then scraped at his knee. He noticed Matthew standing on one leg to scratch his toes. Six or seven of the other boys from his hut were scratching themselves furiously.

  ‘I’ve got fleas!’ cried Jimmy Sedgley.

  Danny glared at Sally. ‘You!’

  ‘Me!’ she answered. ‘That makes us even!’

  Bush picked one of the fleas off Jimmy and examined the insect closely. ‘Holy Dooley! This is the Snowdonian Fidgeting Flea,’ he said. ‘These little beauties produce five-hundred and sixty-nine flea-babies every hour! It’s no wonder you’re all crawling. They make you itch like blazes!’

  Bush rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘These bities usually live on the Lesser-warty Woodland Hedgehog. I wonder …’

  He went into the boys’ hut and emerged a minute later with a family of spiky and not-too-warty hedgehogs in a cardboard box. ‘Just as I thought: I found these little fellas snuffling around under your beds,’ he said. ‘That’s why you’re all jumping with fleas.’

  ‘Competition time!’ said Bunny. ‘Who’s the most infested, boys or girls? Matt, Vicky, get counting!’

  ‘Fab!’ cried Vicky.

  ‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.

  Bush turned to Danny and Sally. ‘Don’t forget, you two: from today, and for the rest of the week, you’re doing the Poo-wiggly-wig Wipe-up: scrape up the slops and wash the dish mountain!’

  ‘Bet I can slop and wash more dishes than you,’ scowled Sally.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ replied Danny. ‘Go for your dishcloth!’

  Mucky Pups

  Poo-wiggly-wig Adventure Centre

  Wales

  Dear Mr Bibby

  This place is Bug Central! I managed to collect 1,899 spiders, and me and Matt let them loose in the girls’ hut last night. They were not happy.

  The girls had the last laugh though, because Sally Butterworth hid some flea-infested hedgehogs in our hut, and this morning every one of us was covered with fleas. Matt and his new friend Vicky Wilmott counted a total of 22,371 fleas on all the boys. Jimmy Sedgley had 18,423 all to himself. Our Leader, Bush Tucker, says Jimmy must have very tasty blood.

  We’ve all been fumigated again. Ace! Jimmy was wondering if he had broken a world record with his flea-count, so I said I’d ask you.

  Best wishes

  Danny Baker

  The Great Big Book

  of World Records

  London

  Dear Danny

  You can pass on the good news to Jimmy Sedgley that he has broken the world record for Individual Plea Infestation, previously held by American magician and illusionist David Chill-Blaine. In 2005, Mr Chill-Blaine stood for ten days, sixteen hours, forty-two minutes and eleven seconds, in a locked glass box in Trafalgar Square while 15,941 South Korean Fighting Pleas nibbled at his body. Amazingly, he didn’t scratch once.

  Eventually he was forced to come out when the glass tank he was standing in got so covered in pigeon droppings that no one could see him any more.

  Was it a trick? Doctors appointed by the Great Big Book of World Records checked his skin. They found no reason to disqualify him from claiming the record for Individual Plea Infestation, which Jimmy Sedgley has now broken.

  Mr Chill-Blaine does still hold the Plea-induced Itch-resistance world record.

  Would you please pass on Jimmy’s certificate and my congratulations!

  Best wishes

  Eric Bibby

  Keeper of the Records

  After a breakfast of cockles and bacon, and cheese on toast, Danny and Sally had finished doing the slops and dish mountain for the third day in a row, and stood looking at the Cool Competition scoreboard. The Gobsmacking Girls were way ahead of the Bonzer Boys.

  Sally grinned. ‘Wow! We’re slaughtering you,’ she said.

  Danny nodded. ‘And everyone seems to be getting records, except me.’

  ‘It’s not everyone – just me and Jimmy.’

  ‘It feels like everyone,’ replied Danny.

  They made their way through the woods towards the mudslide area. It was in a narrow, steep valley, and the boys had set up on one side of the stream, the girls on the other.

  ‘See you at the Supper Sing-song, Dan,’ said Sally, climbing the steep slope towards the girls.

  Danny scampered up to join Matthew, who was smoothing a gloopy patch of mud down with his hands.

  ‘Dippy-dappy-soppy-Sally-ding-dang-dong, Dan!’ said his friend. ‘Did you beat Salty Buttybum at the brekkie slops and dish mountain today?’

  ‘Silly-Sally-dolly-belly-bong-bang-bing, Matt’ replied Danny. ‘No, she won by a teaspoon.’ He looked at the mudslide. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Pretty good. We’ve got to make a curly-wurly slide that spells out a word, and see how many kids we can get to slide to the last letter,’ explained Matthew. ‘We’re spelling “gastro-enteritis”.’

  Danny looked across the valley at the girls’ effort. It was already longer than the boys’, and had lots of l’s and w’s and y’s in it. ‘That’s not a proper word.’

  ‘Vicky says it’s a place in Wales, and she should know, she’s half Welsh.’

  ‘Which half?’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘The top half, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘She can play football, so her legs must be English!’

  Danny joined in making the slide. When it was complete, the boys took turns to sit on a tea-tray and hurtle down and around the wet, muddy letters. It was great until they got halfway down, when the tea-tray clunked over a bump, throwing each rider into the shallow stream running along the bottom of the valley.

  The girls had planned it better. They had got the angle right and made the mud
so slippery that the tea-tray rocketed down the slide, off the end of the word, and skipped along for four or five metres.

  ‘Spiffy! The Gobsmacking Girls win again!’ cheered Bunny Grylls. ‘That’s the longest mudslide word I’ve ever seen!’

  ‘I’ll go and ask Vicky if she’d like to measure it with me,’ said Matthew, setting off down the slope.

  ‘Matt …’ called Danny, but his friend had already dashed over to where Vicky stood.

  Danny joined the queue to have a go on the girls’ mudslide. He sat down on a rotting fallen tree trunk and soon felt something tickle his ankle. He glanced down and saw a line of ants hurrying up his trouser leg. There was a nest in the rotting log, and Danny was sitting on top of it!

  ‘Ace!’ he said, mesmerized by the long lines of tiny brown creatures scurrying to and from the nest. The ants climbing up his leg had reached his bottom …

  Danny began to wiggle.

  Then he began to squiggle.

  Soon he began to jiggle.

  ‘Mega Ace!’ he laughed.

  ‘What’s the matter, Danny?’ asked Bush. ‘Have you got ants in your pants?’

  ‘Yeah!’ replied Danny truthfully.

  ‘I think you’re the Cheekiest Scamp in the Camp, young fella!’ said Bush as Danny wiggled, squiggled and jiggled away, furiously scratching his itchy bottom.

  Ants in His Pants

  Poo-wiggly-wig Adventure Centre

  Wales

  Dear Mr Bibby

  Yesterday, the girls made an Ace mudslide, and spelled out the word:

  Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

  It was 73.67 m long, and was so greasy and skiddy that everyone managed to get from the first letter to the last! The girls’ leader said it was the longest mudslide word she had ever seen. Did they break the world record?

  Best wishes

  Danny Baker

  PS I got a few ants in my pants yesterday, but I couldn’t keep them there. When they got a whiff of the Welsh cakes cooking for supper, they were off! What’s the longest time anyone has ever survived having ants in their pants? I’m going to give it a go!

  The Great Big Book

  of World Records