Bye For Now

I am very very busy building new inventions with Granpa Jack and dad is paying me actual money to catalogue his teeth. It is all go and that is even without George and his savage stick-insect-eating ways. So it is bye for now until I come back.

I Have No Mercy

So, Mum is going out to the first Parent- teacher meeting in 2009. This is where she will shout at the new Parent-Governor, Dexter's Dad, Dave Dooley about eating too many sweets and keeping his bungalows out of school. I am glad I am not there because she has also begun a class in Karate. The election has definitely brought out a difficult side to her.
Anyway, she has left me in charge of my brother, George. Actually she left Dad in charge of George but he is Very Busy making important modifications to my Scalectrix track and Cannot Be Disturbed.
'Come on, George,' I say, 'let's go upstairs and play with my Dick Tracy set.' This is what Grandpa Jack gave me for Christmas. He says he had to stop using it because there were complaints from the other residents in his, Home for Retired Gentlefolk. So now I've got it.
After Dad's major explosion last week, I am not taking any chances with being seen. George starts off the first step okay but then gets stuck.
'Wait a minute,' I say and run up stairs. I find my cat, Serena lolling about on my bed and carry her like a baby. She sits at the top of the stairs watching him struggle and saying nothing. George begins scaling the stairs like a mini James Bond. He is also giggling and stops every so often to point at Serena. He is in love with her. She is never impressed with him.
Just before he can grab her, she gets up and says, 'My work here is done,' and heads for the spare room. As soon as she is out of sight, George forgets about her and starts examining the carpet for cat bits.
'Are you ready for some target practise, George?' I whisper. 'You're the Evil Henchman and I'm Dick Tracy.'
I stand at the end of the landing and take aim with my tag dart gun. The Evil Henchman dribbles. The doorbell rings and the dart hits the wall. I reload. The Evil Henchman has picked up some bits from the floor and is eating them. I cannot wait for blood poisoning to take him out so I try a head shot.
'WILFRED!' Dad calls. 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?'
'Nothing!'
The dart lands on the bathroom door. Evil Henchman is holding arms up in pathetic surrender but I have no mercy.
Reload. Aim. Fire.
'GRANDPA JACK IS HERE!'
'Coming.' Yes. The dart has brought down the enemy. Another case solved.

My Dad and Other Explosions

My Dad says that, 'you're developing a bit of an attitude there, Wilfred. I don't like the way you keep telling your brother what to do.'
'How else is he going to learn?' I ask. 'I have only shot him twice with my dart-tag-super-gun (present from Granpa Jack, yay) and he actually LIKES it.'
'There you go again,' he says and now he is all twitchy, 'answering back!' He is jigging from one foot to the other. 'In my day children were told things and they nodded their heads to show they understood.'
'I do understand,' I say and I nod my head for good measure. 'You're just wrong.'
Dad puffs up, turns red and blows a fuse. 'Just think of all the starving orphans in this world, Wilfred!' I give this idea a good go but I am not sure how it is the same as me shooting George. 'Think how lucky you are! My goodness, if you were living in Victorian times you'd most likely be beaten or badly maimed for answering back. One day you'll be in my trousers, Wilfred,' I shudder. 'When I think of all ...' and he's off, thinking out loud of all the things I should be grateful for. I wander off for a quick play with my scalectrix.
Happy New Year.

My Christmas Present To You

It's Christmas, nearly and Mum is absolutely empty of christmas cheer because Dave Dooley has won the parent governor fight. He has already given out free giant bags of sweets to us all which is brilliant. Except I will not be allowed to eat them at home so I have given them to Dexter for safekeeping. Hmmm. Everyone has had a threatening letter telling us that Mrs Trundle will be back after Christmas and Mr Bagnall has told us to enjoy the holiday.

Dexter's dad has bought the biggest christmas tree in the entire galaxy while my dad reycled one from last year and it is rubbish. For some reason, he has stuck some massive bird decorations on it. They are quite bad. Mum says that because George is bursting out of his baby suits and is walking (not my idea of walking unless you need at least two knee operations) we cannot 'take the risk with a big tree' because he might try and eat it or decorate himself with it. He needs to grow up.

Here is my Christmas present to you. It is an action movie for you to enjoy in case James Bond isn't on. Happy Christmas.

Local Parent Governor Politics Turned Nasty

WOODCHESTER CHRONICLE

LOCAL SCHOOL PARENT PROTESTS AT SCARE TACTICS FROM 'THE GODFATHER'

Local parent governor politics turned nasty today as feisty Dorothy Marshall, 40 (pictured with her son, George) slammed fellow contender, 30 year old builder, Dave Dooley, as "worse than The Godfather in that Mafia film".
'He's using bagfuls of sweets to bribe his way onto the school board!' she said. 'Then I was sent a threatening letter, warning me to stay away from the election! These are underhand, criminal and pathetic tactics and I have already made the police aware of what is happening. That man is a political vegetable.'
Mr Dooley commented, 'she's mad.'
There were reports of fighting in the playground today as children caught up in election frenzy exchanged blows. There were no serious casualties but acting head teacher, Mr commented, 'Our OFSTED report gave us an, 'excellent' for relationships between children, I just don't understand it.'
When asked about playground rivalry, Dorothy Marshall said that, 'I will not tolerate violence in any form on or off the playground and that certainly is one of the platforms of my school governor campaign; along with the reintroduction of locally sourced giant vegetables for school meals, extra targetted homework and a total ban on sweets and builders.'
When asked to clarify this last statement, Mrs Marshall said that she was not being elitist and that builders had every right to live normal lives just like the rest of us.
Mr Dooley commented, 'she's mad.'
'Events pertaining to the parent governor election are a school issue,' a police spokesman said 'although Mrs Marshall's arrest for disorderley conduct is a matter of public record.' Mrs Marshall refused to respond to the police statement.
This newspaper has learnt of a surprise last minute entry to the school governor race. Mr Ranjit Patel will be spreading a message of joy and peace and hoping to win votes with his message of yoga, sandals and happy thoughts.
Mrs Marshall said, 'whilst I agree with Mr Patel's philosophy, I cannot see how happy thoughts will get the dinner cooked although sandals might be a good idea in the summer.'
Mr Dooley said, 'they're both mad.'

DON'T. That's All. Just DON'T.

After we got home from the police station and a BIG WARNING that next time Mum would be slapped with an ASBO before she could say "Parent Governor", I find this on the hall floor.



Dear Mrs Marshall

My people have heard that you intend to stand for Parent Governor at Nupton Valance Primary. DON'T. That's all. Just DON'T.

Yours Sincerely

A Well Wisher


'"DON'T"!' Mum is screeching and her hair is flying about. 'That Dave Dooley can't stop me standing for School Governor!'
'I don't think it is Mr Dooley,' I say.
Recently, I have been watching elderly programmes on freeview. One of them is called 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' and it is absolutely the best detective stuff without cars, I have seen. Sherlock has a sidekick called Dr Watson and even though he is a doctor, he is a bit stupid. Sherlock solves everything, uses disguises, jumps about a lot and even has an arch enemy called Professor Moriaty.
'Why not? Why not?' shouts Mum.
'Elementary,' I say and stroke my chin for good measure. 'Look at the spelling, it's all correct - isn't it?' I am mostly guessing at this one but Mum nods. 'And see the paper,' I hold it up to the rubbish energy saving half watt bulb. 'It's the really good printing paper from Tesco and ...' I wave it about for effect, ' ... it does not smell of aftershave.'
'What's going on?' Dad comes up from the cellar, holding a set of false teeth. 'Why're you so late, Dorothy? You know Wilfred has school tomorrow.'
Mum turns to me and flares red like a warning light. I ignore her because she has to learn.
'Mum attacked Mr Dooley with a bin bag of sweets and got arrested.' I shrug. 'It was fun.'
'I see,' says Dad and he is mashing the gnashers together in his hand. 'Bed, Wilfred. I have to discuss something with your mother.'
Hmmm, I do not have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess what that is about.

The Zombie is Toast

I am told I cannot go trick or treating because it's against, The Rules. We are eating spaghetti bolognese made almost entirely of giant marrow, apart from the spaghetti. It is horrible.
'You might upset some old people,' says Mum because she is very keen on old people.
'Granpa Jack is old and he's taking a group of old people out to get treats.'
'He is not!' shouts Dad.
'He is,' I say 'and he says they're all going to be demons and wear red pants and tights.' Mum gives a little scream. 'AND, Dexter is going with his dad, Mr Dooley and he's dressing up as a gut eating zombie,' I inform them as I suck up one piece of spaghetti at a time. Mum gives Dad a look across the table. 'It's true' I say. I can sense them wobbling now under the power of my fantastic arguing. 'Furthermore, (their eyes widen with wonderment at my cleverness, I am on a roll) Mr Dooley is going to collect as many sweets as he can so that he can donate them to the school tuck shop.' Wait for it.
'There isn't a school tuck shop,' says Dad. 'For the very good reason that all your teeth will drop out.'
I pause and savour the moment. Here we go. 'There will be when he becomes school governor.'


So, I am Count Wilfredo complete with excellent 75p fangs, black cloak from Tesco and a giant bucket for snatching all the sweets from under the nose of the Dooley zombie. Mum is a ghost. She found one of my old sheets and cut eyeholes out. She didn't notice the spiderman on the back and I haven't told her.
Outside, Mum strides down the High St. She is walking as though she is wearing a business suit.
'We'll just call on people we know,' she says, 'then we won't alarm the elderly. Tuck shop indeed!' she adds. She is a very brisk ghost, flapping her arms and twirling round all the time and is already surprising all the baby children out with their responsible adults. 'Sorry didn't see you there!' she tries to pick up one of the children she has knocked over.
'Monster!' says its parent which is not technically correct.
'Better keep an eye out for Mr Dooley,' Mum says, rushing away from the scene of the crime, ' - don't want him hogging all the sweets!' She is trying to sound jolly about sweets now which is a dead giveaway. She wants his blood.
I spot Dexter who is bandaged up to his eyeballs in loo roll.
'How many sweets have you got then?' I yell.
'Not quite enough for a school tuck shop,' shouts Dexter.
'Nearly there, though!' yells the impressive zombie next to him. 'Bet even your mad parents will vote for me when they hear about how much free stuff I've got for the school.'
He holds up a bulging bin bag.
'Er, maybe,' I say. Mum sidles up behind me.
'Bet your Mum will spit bricks when she hears about this, eh?' he yells.
'Er ...' I er.
'Better than her DISGUSTING organic veg crud she makes for all those poor old people ...'
'Um ...'
'They feed it to their cats! And even the cats won't eat it! Ha!'
'Well ...'
'Aghhhhhhhh!' The spiderman ghost flies past me.
The zombie is toast.



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