Read Danny Baker Record Breaker (5): The World's Itchiest Pants Online
Authors: Steve Hartley
Danny Baker Record Breaker (5): The World's Itchiest Pants (10 page)
I had eighty-nine ticks, including one right on the end of my nose, but Sally Butterworth had 577. Thanks to her, the girls won that competition, 4,567 to 3,112.
I know she likes breaking records too, so I was wondering: is Tiger-ticky Sally a world-beater?
Best wishes
Danny Baker
PS Josh Davis bottom-shuffled on to a big pine cone near the end of the race and had to go to hospital to have it removed. He’s kept it as a souvenir.
The Great Big Book
of World Records
London
Dear Danny
Woodland Bottom-shuffling is fun, isn’t it? It originated in the rainforests of Cameroon and was brought back to Wales in the nineteenth century by Jones Owen-Jones, an
explorer from St Melons. The BedPan tribe of pygmies had a genetic condition that gave them constantly itchy bottoms, and the only way they could get relief was to shuffle around the forest floor.
Sadly, it made them easy prey for leopards, and the tribe is now extinct.
With regard to Sally Butter worth’s ticks: I am delighted to tell you that she is a record breaker. She has easily broken the previous world record for Total-body
Tiger-tick Infestation, which was held by tick-boffin Dr Ellie Doo. As a matter of interest, Dr Doo explored the Congo in the hope of collecting as many different species of tick on her body as
possible. She had 433 individual creatures, from fourteen separate species, stuck on her body, and even discovered one – Tyrannotickus rex – that was previously unknown to science.
Unfortunately it was as big as a dinner plate, and in less than an hour had sucked all four litres of blood from her body, including the blood the other 432 ticks had gobbled, killing poor Dr Doo
and her entire collection of ticks. So think yourselves lucky it was just the Snowdonian Tiger Tick that had a chew on you!
I have enclosed Sally’s certificate. Would you kindly pass it on to her?
Best wishes
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
The War had escalated.
The Bonzer Boys had ambushed the girls while they were on a toadstool hunt and bombarded them with mudballs. The Gobsmacking Girls retaliated when it went dark, by planting Trumphorn Toadstools
in the boys’ shower block. The toadstools sprouted overnight and in the morning the showers were heavy with the rich aroma of fungusy farts.
So the boys filled the girls’ lunchboxes with worms, woodlice and weevils. The girls got their own back by taking out the wooden slats in the boys’ bunk beds, and nine of the boys,
including Danny, had fallen through and got stuck. But Danny was planning an attack of his own, and everything was ready . . .
It had been over an hour since the loud, twangy sound of the Curfew Kazoo had echoed through the camp and lights had been turned out. Danny had kept himself awake making up his own version of
the Camp Song:
‘Always trump when you are windy,
If you don’t you’ll surely cry.
Never wash when you are dirty,
And you’ll stink up to the sky!’
Soon he heard the rasp of Bush Tucker’s snores ripping through the darkness like a pig with a sore throat. Danny swung his legs over the edge of the bunk bed, lowering himself down until
he felt his bare feet touch the edge of Matthew’s bed, then the floor.
Matt was sleeping soundly, his hair poking out from beneath his duvet. Danny prodded him awake.
‘Silly-Sally-dolly-belly-bong-bang-bing!’ he whispered. ‘Fancy a midnight raid on the girls’ hut?’
Matthew rubbed his eyes. ‘Dippy-dappy-soppy-Sally-ding-dang-dong,’ he mumbled. ‘To do what?’
Danny reached under the bed and slid out a long, flat cardboard box with the words ‘Pritchard’s Pilchards’ printed down the sides. He carefully opened the lid, shining his
torch inside for Matt to see. The box was criss-crossed with threads of flimsy silver webs, and swarmed with hundreds of hairy black spiders.
‘I wondered where all the spiders in the hut had disappeared to,’ said Matthew.
‘I’ve been collecting them,’ Danny explained. ‘There’s another boxful under the bed. I thought the girls would like to have them in
their
hut.’
Matthew grinned. ‘Count me in!’ he hissed, sliding from under the duvet.
Danny pulled out the second box of spiders and handed it to Matt. The two boys grabbed their wellington boots and tiptoed silently to the door. The key turned in the lock with a loud click. The
boys froze, waiting for Bush’s voice to boom at them, but only his snores disturbed the silence. They crept out into the black night.
A soft wind tugged at their pyjamas and made the trees whisper warnings in the darkness. ‘Don’t do it!’ they seemed to hiss. ‘You’ll be sorry!’
The boys slipped their boots on, straining their eyes to peer into the night for Llewellyn and guard-goose Gwyneth. The camp seemed deserted.
‘Come on,’ whispered Danny. ‘Stick to the shadows and keep your ears open.’
They skirted around the edge of the camp and past the Pee-pee Teepees, until they reached the girls’ hut.
Danny spotted that the door to the hut was slightly ajar. He eased it open a few centimetres and the boys carefully tipped the hairy spiders out. The creatures scurried away into the dark,
silent dormitory.
‘Mission accomplished!’ whispered Danny. ‘Return to base!’
As they turned to make their way back, they heard a loud honking bark coming from the trees.
HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
‘Intruders is it, Gwyneth?’ hissed Llewellyn’s voice in the darkness nearby.
‘Oh no!’ gasped Matthew. ‘We’re goose-food!’
Danny thought fast. He pushed Matthew back into the shadows. ‘Get back to our hut when the coast’s clear! I’ll cause a diversion,’ he said, then dashed out into the
clearing in front of the Wygol-y-wigwam, to trip the security sensors.
Four floodlights snapped on, dazzling Danny with intense white light. He screwed his eyes tight shut, and when he opened them again, Sally Butterworth stood in front of him wearing red pyjamas
and purple wellington boots.
‘Silly-Sally-dilly-dally-bing-bang-bong!’ said Danny. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Dopey-Danny-dilly-dally-bing-bang-bong!’ replied Sally, looking as surprised as he was. ‘What are
you
doing here?’
‘Just out for a stroll,’ he replied.
They glared at each other suspiciously. Sally opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped as what Danny thought must be the biggest, ugliest, gruesomest goose in the world waddled out
of the darkness. Its wings were spread out and its long neck stretched forward in an attack position.
HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
Sally huddled close to Danny, and grabbed his arm.
