Muckabout School. Ian Whybrow

about.

      That’s why at playtime on this, his fifth day at his new school, poor Gary felt it was his duty to stay indoors and write “Muckabout for ever!” until his arm ached. He glanced out of the window at the other children in the playground. They were having a great time playing football.

      Franky Fearless, who kicked the ball again and again, might have scored if it wasn’t for the giant William Whale, who blocked the goalmouth. Tim Tattle, the class stirrer, was encouraging Ricky Rude to pelt everyone with smelly mud. Whilst the others were busy, Wanda Offalot was quietly slipping out of the school gates.

      Gary looked back at the lines he was writing.

      “At least I’m getting into Mr Dawdle’s good books,” he thought.

      It was ages before all the children came back into the classroom. They threw themselves on the floor in front of the telly. “Video, video, video, video!” they chanted.

      Mr Dawdle smiled and opened the cupboard. “Alright, listen up, guys! You can have The Revenge of Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings Meets the Incredible Hulk, or Rugrats Go Mad in Jurassic Park. Which do you fancy?”

      He let them all have a good scream and shout about it. Then he noticed Gary bent over his desk at the back of the class. He was still writing, slowly and painfully doing the ‘r’ at the end of his ninety-ninth Muckabout for ever.

      “Wait up a second, Gary!” called Mr Dawdle. “What’s that you’re doing?”

      Gary blushed. He rose to his feet and made his way to the teacher’s desk.

      Mr Dawdle took the carefully written lines and frowned.

      “Who told you to do this?” the teacher asked. “You did sir,” said Gary.

      “I did? Oh Gary,” Mr Dawdle sighed. “You didn’t actually follow my orders, did you?”

      “Yes sir,” Gary replied.

      “And this is your best writing, isn’t it?” asked Mr Dawdle. “Proper, joined-up writing, with all the ‘t’s crossed!”

      “Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” mumbled Gary.

      “Oooo!” chorused the class. “Did you hear that, Mr Dawdle? He said he was sorry!”

      “And he called you ‘sir’,” sneaked Tim Tattle.

      “Gar-ee!” everyone groaned.

      Try as he might, Gary just couldn’t do anything right. He said his two-times table perfectly. He was the only child in the class who knew that fish were not mammals. And when Mr Dawdle asked his trick question – “Who wants to do some extra Geography?” – Gary was the one who fell for it. He looked really keen and nodded like mad.

      “No, no, NO, Gary!” said Mr Dawdle. “NOBODY wants to do extra Geography!”

      And just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, the chip fryer exploded.

      The fact that the chip fryer exploded didn’t bother Gary personally. He was much too good to eat anything as unhealthy as chips. But normal Muckabouts had chips with everything.

      They had sausage and chips, fish and chips, burger and chips, chicken and chips, ice cream and chips, chocolate and chips, beans and chips, chips and chips… pretty much anything, so long as it was chips.

      It was Mr Jolly, the headmaster, who delivered the bad news. He stood at the front of the class in a T-shirt that read:

       LOVE FATTY FOOD HATE SPORT

      “Muckabouts,” Mr Jolly said in his most serious voice. “We are gathered here today to pay our respects to the school’s chip fryer. I am sure many of you will have fine memories of that chip fryer. I know I have.”

      He sniffed and wiped his eye.

      “But I am afraid that the poor thing exploded from over-use.”

      He lifted the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a hairy round tummy. He used the T-shirt to wipe his nose.

      “Still – no point going hungry,” Mr Jolly said, pulling his T-shirt back into place and patting his tummy. “It’s packed lunches all round!”

      The whole school cheered!

      Quick as a flash, Mr Jolly produced a plastic raincoat and put it on, doing the zip up tight.

      From all around the canteen there came the snap and hiss of violently shaken fizzy drink cans being opened. That was soon followed by the squeals and shrieks of dozens of young Muckabouts spraying one another with fountains of brightly coloured, sugary liquid.

      The headmaster was ready. He pulled the hood of the raincoat over his head to protect his neck from getting too sticky whenever they tried to squirt him. To stop any of the sprayers getting too close, he screamed his war cry and pelted them with bread rolls.

      Then, when the food fight was over, the children dug into their packed lunches. Table by table, the noise changed to something like a regiment marching through deep gravel as all the children crunched away at their family-sized packets of crisps. That noise gave way in its turn to a gentle slurping as everyone began sucking the jam out of their doughnuts.

      Everyone, that is, except… Gary Goody.

      Gary always had a packed lunch, but up until now he had managed to keep it a secret from everyone else. Now, as he prised the plastic lid off his lunchbox, it was finally revealed. He had a succulent red apple and neatly cut slices of carrot and celery. He had a luscious egg, mayonnaise and cress sandwich in seeded wholemeal bread. And to finish he had a low fat raspberry yoghurt.

      Gary might have got away with it if he hadn’t been sitting next to William Whale. William was such an enormous child that his bottom took up most of the bench on its own.

      “ERRRR!” said William, as Gary crunched a stick of celery.

      “I beg your pardon?” Gary asked.

      “You can’t eat that in here!” William wailed, rising to his feet. “That’s healthy that is!”

      At that, the whole table rose in protest. It wasn’t long before Mr Jolly came over to see what was going on.