Saint Benedict was the saint of nettle rash. Not the sort of saint I want to be.
We are in the blue bit of The Museum and this is the Vikings. Weird Bloke is rushing which is weird because we cannot fill out our delightful worksheets properly. So, for example, one of the questions is:
If you were a Viking what name would you call yourself?
Draw a picture of you as a Viking plus your house and a diary for the past 5 years (include your favourite food and pastimes!)
Miranda is all set to spend the rest of the day on thinking about her name alone. When Weird Bloke shouts at her, she comes up with, Jade. Dexter and Me call ourselves, 'Peter' and Isambard puts down Sven because that is his brother's name.
'Excellent!' screeches WB and tangles up his legs as he scrabbles to his feet.
We LOOK at each other.
'I'll just put this worksheet in the bin...' says Isambard and he sidles over to a Viking cauldron.
'Yes! Yes! Very good!' says WB and now he is getting his big hanky out and mopping actually underneath his wig. 'Bit hot in here.'
Then Dexter spots something interesting. 'Battle axes! Clubs! Look at this!' He touches the pointy end of a sword which is completely forbidden by law and WB screams.
'My head!' he cries. 'It's on fire!'
It is defintely scarlet and it is now covered in bumps.
'Poison ivy,' says Isambard.
'Course not!' says Miranda. 'That is not a native species!' Her Dad is a world famous insect man and she thinks she is an expert on anything to do with nature and everything else in the world.
'Could be nettles,' I say. 'You need to spit on some dandelion leaves and rub it over you.'
'Get it off me!' he cries.
He is wrestling with the shoelace round his head. The wig is now half round his face like a mad beard. He runs and wrestles his way through the red bit which is the victorians. This is a shame because of all the fantastic inventions but now we are absolutely flying through history.
By the time we run into the Romans (yellow), Mr Trundle's head is scarlet all over.
'I love the Romans!' says Miranda. She smooths out her worksheet.
'HELP!' squeaks WB.
This calls for action. I grab at a Roman centurion, find the short dagger and charge at WB's shoelace. 'Hold him down!'
'You've got a gladius,' says Miranda, lying across WB's legs and ticking a little box on the worksheet. The others then jump on top of Mr Trundle and I saw through the shoelace and rip off the wig. The underneath is plastered with nettles. '
'Just as I thought - see!' I thrust the wig at Miranda.
'Humph!' She throws it away. It lands on the centurion' s helmet. 'A galea,' she murmurs. Tick.
'He's not moving,' says Dexter, climbing off his head. 'He's not breathing much either.'
'Just sleeping, I expect,' I say. 'He has been quite busy.'
'Could be dead,' suggests Isambard. He prods him quite hard with a nearby roman sandal. ('Caligae.' Tick.) 'He is dead.'
'Get his wig back on, then no-one will know anything,' says Dexter in a mysterious kind of way. He jumps up and pulls at the centurion's helmet. The helmet comes off together with WB's wig and another blonde wig belonging to the centurion. Dexter places the blonde wig on WB's head. 'There, much better.'
'You killed him,' says Miranda, pointing at me. 'I'm telling.'
'Then we'll have to kill you as well!' I jump up, dagger at the ready.
She glances at the information board next to the centurion. 'I'll just take that scutum and your pilum!' she says, grabbing a shield and a spear.
Dexter and Isambard crouch down. 'Wilf! Wilf! Wilf!' they yell.
Mirnanda and me circle the dead body of Mr Trundle. I snarl. Then Peter the viking appears.
'Oops,' I say.
'Wasn't me,' says Miranda.
Dexter has legged it. Isambard is studying the insides of a roman kitchen.
Peter strides over to WB stretched out on the roman pavement. He bends down and stares at him. 'Who?' he roars. 'Who has been interfering with the Roman Centurion??!!'
And he plucks the wig from WB's dead head.
Miranda has no chance against ME (see pic)