Читать книгу Barry Loser Hates Half Term - Jim Smith - Страница 8

‘Call you when I get there!’ cried my mum, reversing out of the driveway, and we all waved. She’d thrown her travel bag into the back seat of her car, seeing as Great Aunt Mildred lived about eight million miles away and she’d have to stay until she was better, which might be all week.

‘B-but, Maureen . . .’ warbled my dad, bending over to pick up Desmond Loser the Second. ‘What about my bad back? I can’t look after Barry and Desmond all on my own!’

‘Oh don’t be pathetic, Kenneth!’ said my mum, honking the horn, and she was gone. Which meant . . .

‘PARTY TIME!’ I shouted, running back into the sitting room. I forward-rolled on to the sofa and flopped my legs over the back of it, settling down to watch the rest of Future Ratboy, upside-down-stylee. ‘This half term is gonna be AMAZEKEEL!’

‘It is NOT party time!’ shouted my dad, marching into the room and plonking Desmond on the carpet. ‘ARGH, MY BACK!’ he cried, taking about three hours to straighten up again.

Future Ratboy ended and I flipped myself backwards off the sofa, somersaulting through the air and landing bum-first on the coffee table. ‘I know - let’s jump up and down on my mum and dad’s bed!’ I cried, waggling my hands around like a tree.

‘Keelness times a millikeels!’ shouted Bunky, and me, him and Nancy all ran upstairs.