Читать книгу Barry Loser and the Case of the Crumpled Carton - Jim Smith - Страница 6

‘Salute the keelness!’ I shouted, leaping off the sofa and doing a quadruple-reverse-salute, which is what I do when my favourite advert comes on TV.

Tears of Granny Laughter is this keel new drink they’ve started selling at Feeko’s Supermarkets.

It comes in three granny flavours, Beryl, Irene and Gertrude, and the advert is all about how they make it.

It starts with Beryl, Irene and Gertrude queuing up to go into a cinema.

Then you see them laughing at a man in an old black-and-white film who’s hanging off a building with his legs waggling everywhere.

The three grannies are all wearing massive 3D glasses that have been specially made to catch the tears of laughter zigzagging out of their eyes, and at the end of the film all the tear-juice is poured into cartons of Tears of Granny Laughter.

‘Can I have some money for a Tears of Granny Laughter, Dad? Can I, Daddypoos? Can I? Can I? Can I?’ I said, running over and tugging my dad on his elbow, and Desmond Loser the Second opened his eyes and started screaming.

My mum wobbled back into the room, swinging a see-through plastic bag full of Desmond’s poo. ‘SHUSH, BARRY!’ she whisper-shouted, stroking Desmond Loser the Second’s cheek. ‘You’re upsetting Baby Des!’

Granny Harumpadunk slipped the china pig into her handbag and shuffled over to look at the baby.

‘Ooh, you’re the loveliest thing since sliced bread, aren’t you!’ she cooed, and I wondered what was so amazing about sliced bread.

‘Mu-um,’ I squeaked in my babiest voice ever, seeing as that’s what she seems to like so much these days, ‘Dad said I could have some money for a Tears of Granny Laughter.’

‘Tears of Granny Laughter,’ murmured my mum, as if she’d heard the name somewhere before. ‘Isn’t that that terrible new drink Feeko’s have been making out of little old ladies?’

‘It’s not real, that’s just the advert!’ I groaned, because everyone knows Feeko’s doesn’t use ACTUAL granny tears to make Tears of Granny Laughter. But my mum wasn’t listening.

‘I’m not having you drinking that stuff, Barry,’ she said, taking Desmond off my dad and peering into his eyes the way I peer into my cuddly Future Ratboy’s.

I clenched my fists and felt a Tear of Barry Annoyance start to work its way out of my eyehole.

‘But Mu-um, everyone at school drinks it!’ I wailed, which wasn’t comperleeterly true. Only Anton Mildew in my class had tried Tears of Granny Laughter so far.

Anton Mildew is the editor of our school newspaper, The Daily Poo. Ever since he said that Tears of Granny Laughter was even tastier than Fronkle, all I’ve wanted to do is drink a carton.

‘PLEE-EEASE!’ I whined, but not in an annoying, whiney way.

‘QUIET, BARRY!’ said my mum, without even looking at me.

I stuck my tongue out at Desmond and was just about to storm up to my bedroom, when Mr Hodgepodge heaved himself off the sofa and plodded over to where I was standing.

He was wearing his sparkly bow tie, which he thinks makes him look like a magician.

‘What’s that in your ear, Barry?’ he grinned, reaching out his shaky hand, and a 50p coin appeared between his fingers.

‘You go enjoy your bottle of Grandma Pop!’ he winked, dropping the 50p in my palm, and I slid it into my pocket before my mum and dad could see. Not that they were looking. Because they were too busy staring at Desmond Loser the Second.