Читать книгу Barry Loser and the birthday billions - Jim Smith - Страница 6

‘Cock-a-doodle-doooooo!’ screeched my baby brother, Desmond Loser the Second, from his bedroom next to mine.

It was 6.17am on Saturday morning, not that I minded because . . .

‘IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!’ I cried, jumping out of bed and running downstairs doing an excitement blowoff on every step.

‘Happy birthday, my darling little Snookyflumps!’ cooed my mum, cuddling me into her bright red fluffy dressing gown.

‘Thanks Mumsy Wumsy!’ I smiled, wriggling out of her cuddle and staring at the ginormous pile of presents sitting on our kitchen table.

In the middle of the pile sat a huge box covered in shiny silver paper.

‘Fandabby-keelness¹!’ I cried, doing a bum-wiggle dance until my pyjama bottoms fell down.

I knew exactly what was inside the box – a SHNOZINATOR 9000!

I twizzled one of my eyeballs over to the present list I’d stuck on the fridge door nineteen and three-quarter weeks before.

It said:

My mum spotted me looking at the list. ‘Ooh that reminds me,’ she said. ‘What did you do at school yesterday?’

‘Erm . . . answer boring questions mostly,’ I said, giving myself a mini salute for being so funny.

My mum did a face like a kangaroo eating a hedgehog and I dived into the presents, grabbing a squidgy jumperish-feeling one.²

‘Hmmm . . . let me guess – a yellow hoodie?’ I smiled, ripping it open. I’m famous for wearing yellow hoodies, in case you didn’t know.

Inside the wrapping paper was a white polo neck jumper.

‘Thought it’d make a change from all your yellow hoodies!’ chuckled my dad.

‘Plus it’s just like the one Wolf Tizzler wears in his adverts!’ said my mum, and I did a bday eye-roll because I’m comperleeterly bored of hearing my mum go on about Wolf Tizzler the whole time.