The World's Biggest Bogey (10 page)

Baby Ben Bradshaw of Biggleswade, the Wonderfluff Nappy Tot, quivered and shuddered. Then, with a huge roaring whistling fart, took off into the air above Danny and his mum.

The jet-propelled baby whistled and swooped around the Wyz Byz store, knocking over more displays and ripping signs from the ceiling.

‘Mum!’ shrieked Danny as blow-up Baby Ben banked and looped over the frozen-fish cabinet and went fizzing directly towards her.

All thoughts of his record gone, Danny turned around and raced towards his mother. She stood transfixed and terrified as the giant plastic infant charged at her like an angry bull. At that
moment Danny’s world went into slow motion. His head throbbed with the sound of his own thumping heartbeat and the horrible whine of the monster baby’s squealing fart.

The rocketing inflatable skimmed the puff pastry . . . shaved the nose-hair trimmers . . . brushed the cotton-wool balls . . . and closed in on his mum. With one final despairing effort Danny
launched himself upwards, his body arching gracefully into the air as though reaching to save a penalty in the top corner of his goal. He stretched and pushed the baby-shaped missile away from his
mum and up towards the roof.

The impact smashed Danny into a pile of giant-sized Wonderfluff nappy boxes, and the whole lot crashed down on top of him.

Everything went black.

Danny opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a strange bed, surrounded by flashing, beeping, whirring instruments. There was a woman nearby dressed in a pale blue
uniform, with white clogs on her feet. She was writing in a file of papers.

Danny guessed that he was in hospital.

He was tremendously thirsty and asked the nurse for a glass of water. ‘My cardigan is full of holes, earwax,’ he croaked.

The nurse looked up from the papers. ‘You’re awake.’ She smiled.

‘Gumboots, Bobbin,’ replied Danny.

The nurse frowned.

‘How do you feel, young man?’

Danny licked his parched lips and tried to ask again for a drink. ‘My cardigan is full of holes, earwax,’ he repeated.

‘Is it?’ answered the nurse. She looked puzzled. ‘You were bumped on the head by a giant box of Wonderfluff nappies. Do you have a headache?’

Danny shook his head. ‘Beep, Bobbin,’ he replied. ‘But the blue kangaroo is tired and my cardigan
is
full of holes.’

‘Er . . . of course it is,’ said the nurse, and scurried out of the room.

She returned a minute later accompanied by a small, smiling doctor.

‘Hello, Danny.’

Danny held his hand up in greeting. ‘Bucket scoops, Wobble,’ he replied.

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

‘My name’s Doctor Gururangan, but you can call me Doctor Sri. How are you feeling?’

Danny mimed drinking, and said, ‘My cardigan is full of holes.’

‘Would you like a glass of water?’ asked Dr Sri, filling one from a nearby jug.

‘Gumboots, earwax!’ exclaimed Danny.

He gulped the water thirstily. ‘Saddlebags,’ he said as he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Dr Sri flashed a light into each of Danny’s eyes. ‘Do you remember
what happened to you?’ he asked.

‘Gumboots, Wobble,’ answered Danny nodding. ‘The blob pickled the plum basket and the treetops threw pies at a wombat.’

The doctor and nurse glanced at each other.

‘I’ve never seen anything like this before,’ admitted Dr Sri.

He picked up the red telephone and pressed four numbers. After a moment he said, ‘Professor Walkinshaw, would you come down straight away and examine Danny Baker? I know it’s very
rare, but I think we may have a case of Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements.’

When the professor ambled into the room, he wasn’t at all what Danny was expecting. He had untidy hair and long, curly mutton-chop whiskers. Under his crumpled white coat he wore an old
tartan shirt, baggy blue trousers and cowboy boots. For some reason, Professor Walkinshaw reminded Danny of his grandad’s favourite comfy old chair.

‘Hi, Danny.’

‘Bucket scoops, Wobble.’

‘How are you doing, young man?’

‘My ears can see daisies.’

‘Interesting,’ murmured the professor. He turned to the nurse. ‘Have you had
any
sense from Danny?’

‘None, Professor. He’s been talking complete gobbledegook since he woke up.’

The professor rubbed his chin. ‘This
can
happen when patients wake in a strange place. Danny might begin to talk normally when he sees something familiar.’

‘Danny’s family and his best friend Matthew Mason are waiting outside,’ suggested the nurse.

‘OK, show them in and let’s give it a try, ’ said Professor Walkinshaw.

Danny’s mum raced in and kissed and hugged Danny tightly. His dad ruffled Danny’s hair.

‘Bucket scoops, Beans on Toast,’ said Danny. He smiled at Natalie. ‘Bucket scoops, Dopey.’

Matthew stood by the door and gave him the thumbs up.

Danny grinned at his best friend. ‘Wonderfluff!’

Mum frowned. ‘Danny what are you talking about?’

‘Snowflakes burnt my banjo, Beans!’

Mum and Dad looked at each other anxiously, and then at the doctors. ‘We don’t understand. What’s the matter with him?’

‘I’m afraid Danny has a severe case of Trauma-induced Nonsensical Pronouncements,’ answered the professor.

Dr Sri smiled at Danny’s mum and dad. ‘What the professor means is that the blow on the head has made Danny talk gibberish.’

Natalie snorted. ‘Danny always talks gibberish – how can you tell the difference?’

‘Dribble on the fat bucket, Dopey,’ replied her brother.

‘I was hoping that it was a mere case of Temporary Acute Vocabulary Disorientation Syndrome,’ said the professor. ‘But obviously it’s more serious than that.’

‘Unfortunately, seeing your familiar faces hasn’t cured him,’ explained Dr Sri. ‘But don’t worry, if anyone can make Danny well again, it’s Professor
Walkinshaw. He’s the world’s leading expert on baffling illnesses.’

‘Nothing’s beaten me so far,’ confirmed the professor.

‘So he will get better?’ asked Mum.

‘I hope so, Mrs Baker, but I can’t promise. You may never understand another word Danny says to you, ever again.’

‘Tootle on the turtle, Bernard?’ asked Danny.

‘Yeah, I’m OK, Dan,’ replied Matthew. ‘How’re you?’

‘Our tadpole licks a carrot. Are your drumsticks marching up my nose?’

Matthew rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a half-eaten bar of chocolate. ‘This is all I’ve got,’ he said, ‘but you can have it if you want.’