Читать книгу Barry Loser and the Holiday of Doom - Jim Smith - Страница 19

The words swam down my earholes and into my legs, making them go wobbly.

I leaned against the washing machine, which had been busy washing our best clothes for Plonkton all week.

‘What, like Bunky and Nancy?’ I said all shakily, probably because the washing machine was wobbling around like some kind of giant metal jelly cube.