We Want to be On the Telly Page 2

  ‘Oh good,’ I said, with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

  We went to one of those bulk-buy supermarkets – the sort of place restaurants get their food supplies from. We bought catering-size tins of rice pudding. Do you know how big a catering-size tin of rice pudding is? It’s the same size as a large bucket, a bucket full, full, of rice pudding. Mum and Dad bought thirty tins. THIRTY! Plus a heavy-duty tin opener.

  Back at the house they got to work and were soon tipping one tin after another into the pond.

  ‘It looks great,’ said Dad.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mum.

  ‘Lumpy,’ I muttered as they went indoors to change. When they came back out, Mum was wearing a yellow polka-dot bikini, sunglasses and carrying a deckchair. Dad had his trunks on, plus his snorkel and face mask, as promised. He’d also found an old pair of rubber flippers.

  They waded into the pond.

  ‘Urrgh,’ went Mum. ‘It’s a bit –’

  ‘Lumpy?’ I suggested.

  ‘Cold,’ she corrected, setting up her deckchair and plonking her bottom on it. Dad chose to lie near the edge, idly kicking his flippered feet and flicking rice pudding into the air.

  ‘OK, Heathrow,’ he said. ‘Get on that phone to the telly people.’

  I went indoors with a heavy heart.

  It was the same woman I had spoken to before. ‘I told you last time, it has to be for at least a year. Then we might be interested.’

  I didn’t bother to tell my parents. I knew what they would say so I rang the newspapers next.

  ‘Are their heads poking out or are they living beneath the rice pudding?’ asked the man at the other end of the phone.

  ‘They’re not deep-rice-pudding divers,’ I answered crossly. ‘Of course their heads are poking out.’

  A disappointed grunt came from the phone. ‘Shame. We had someone in a giant rice pudding last month. They had their heads sticking out too. We don’t need another one. Can’t you ask your parents to pop their heads underneath and stay there?’

  ‘If they did that, they wouldn’t be able to breathe,’ I snapped. ‘And you wouldn’t be able to see them either so what would be the point in taking a picture?’

  ‘Good thinking,’ answered the man. ‘No point at all, so no picture. Goodbye.’ The phone went dead. It was just as well, otherwise I might have ended up with two parents AND a gnome, all in need of the Kiss of Life.

  I went and told Mum and Dad. Funnily enough they didn’t seem all that disappointed.

  ‘What many people don’t realize is that rice pudding makes you itch,’ said Dad.

  ‘Especially when it gets inside your bikini,’ added Mum, scratching herself all over. ‘And it’s also rather clammy,’ Dad muttered.

  They got to their feet. Mum folded her deckchair. They held each other by the hand and slopped up to the house. Dad threw a sad glance back at the pond. ‘Shame about that,’ he said. ‘Never mind. We’re bound to think of something to get us on the telly.’

  ‘Bound to,’ said Mum brightly. ‘I can’t wait.’

  I can, I thought. I can wait forever.

  4

  What’s Large, Pink and Flies Backwards?

  ‘I saw a picture once of a house with a shark sticking out of the roof,’ said Dad, that same afternoon.

  ‘Did you, Pa?’ asked Mum.

  ‘I did. It was in a newspaper. It wasn’t the local paper. It was in a NATIONAL paper.’ Dad nodded hard to show how impressed he was. ‘The shark was poking right out of the roof as if it was leaping into the sky.’

  ‘A house with a shark on the roof,’ Mum repeated slowly, chewing the idea as if it was a nice big lump of roast chicken, with gravy. ‘Have we got a shark, Pa?’ she asked.

  I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears. What kind of person asks a question like that? What did Mum think Dad would say? Yes, dear, there’s a fully grown shark in the fridge. I’m surprised you didn’t notice. I’ll just get it out and pop it on the roof.

  Dad shook his head. ‘No, we haven’t, Ma. But maybe we can get one. I’ll take a look on the Internet.’

  I sighed. I seemed to be doing a lot of sighing lately. Still, at least they’d given up the bath and the pond ideas.

  Dad went off to his little office. It wasn’t an office at all really. It was just a corner of the front room where he kept the computer. He fiddled and diddled for a while and then he started making some phone calls. After a while he gave up.

  ‘It’s very odd, but you can’t seem to buy sharks.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Mum was SO disappointed.

  Dad suddenly beamed at her. ‘But I got something else instead.’ Mum clapped her hands like an excited child. A thought struck me. Actually, my mum WAS an excited child. In fact both my parents were children.

  Aaargh! How did I end up older than my parents? Well, maybe not exactly older, but certainly A LOT MORE SENSIBLE.

  Mum was still clapping her hands. ‘What did you get, Pa?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see. It has to be delivered. It’s going to arrive tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I am so excited!’ cried Mum. ‘I think I might burst.’

  ‘BANG!’ cried Dad, and burst out laughing.

  See what I mean? Children.

  What happened next? Well, we were woken up by loud noises early the following morning. I pulled back my curtains. There was a large crane outside, one of those cranes on the back of a truck. The truck had a trailer attached to it.

  There was something big on the back of the trailer, but I couldn’t see what it was because it had a cover thrown over it. The truck driver jumped down from his cab and Dad went out to speak with him. Dad, I couldn’t help noticing, was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown. His teddy was sitting in his dressing-gown pocket like a baby kangaroo in its mother’s pouch.

  ‘Where do you want it, mate?’ asked the truck driver. ‘Front garden?’

  Dad shook his head and pointed up. ‘On the roof.’

  The truck driver pulled his baseball hat from his head and scratched his bald skull. ‘On the roof? Are you sure? What do you want it up there for?’

  ‘Because that’s where it has to go,’ Dad said simply.

  ‘OK. You’re the boss.’ The driver shook his head. Even from my bedroom window I could see he was muttering to himself. Most people start muttering shortly after meeting my dad – or mum, for that matter.

  The driver walked back to the trailer. He undid the ropes holding the cover down. Finally he grabbed one corner of the cover and pulled it away. Do you know what was underneath? A rhinoceros. A full-size plastic rhinoceros. Painted pink.

  I gazed down at the scene below. Mum went running up the garden path to the gate, also in her dressing gown and pyjamas.

  ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous, Pa!’ she cried. ‘That will look wonderful on our roof.’

  Dad nodded and grinned. ‘We’ll be on the telly for sure,’ he said.

  The truck driver went to his cab. The engine revved. The crane began to move. Slowly it lifted the huge rhino from the trailer and swung it round towards the house. The crane arm began to extend, getting longer and higher, reaching up into the sky. The pink rhinoceros slowly twirled round as if it was trying to work out where it was going.

  Now it was hovering above the roof. Down it came, bit by bit, until CRUMP! Its four fat feet made contact with the roof. The crane hook was disengaged and the arm shrank back to normal size. The driver jumped down from his cab and gazed up at the rhino on the roof.

  ‘Are you quite sure that’s where you want it?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Mum. ‘That’s perfect.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be off, then.’

  As the truck drove away, my parents stood in the garden, gazing up at the pink beast.

  ‘Let’s go and phone the TV people,’ suggested Dad, taking Mum’s arm and steering her back into the house. He went straight to the phone.

  ‘It’s been up there since this morning,’ said Dad. ‘Just a mome
nt, there’s a funny rumbling sound … I can’t hear you –’

  The noise was dreadful. It made the whole house shake. It sounded as if something ginormous was sliding down our roof. That was because something ginormous WAS sliding down our roof.

  THE PINK RHINOCEROS!

  ‘Quick!’ cried Dad. ‘Get out the back!’

  We rushed out to the garden and looked up. We were just in time to see a giant pink rhino’s bottom sliding backwards down the roof and heading straight for us.

  ‘Quick!’ cried Dad. ‘Get back in!’

  Faster and faster went the rhino, bringing down tiles with it. Faster and faster in a great scraping roar of noise until it reached the edge of the roof, shot over the gutter and plummeted down, down, down until –

  SPLOOOOPPP!

  Gigantic blobs of rice pudding came flying out of the pond in every direction as the back half of the pink rhinoceros landed with its bottom fair and square in the middle of the pond. Rice pudding thudded against the house, splattering the door and windows until we couldn’t even see out.

  At the same time there was a dreadful CRUNCH! from the front of the house. We rushed to the front room and stared out of the window. The rhino had obviously snapped in half on top of our roof and the front half had slid down and crash-landed on to the garden path, blocking our front door.

  Silence. Mum and Dad stared at the shattered creature and then at each other. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ said Mum sadly.

  Dad stroked his chin. ‘What a shame. It looked quite good for a few moments, up on our roof.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Dad?’ I began. ‘The front door won’t open and neither will the back door. How am I going to get to school?’

  5

  Mr Jollop Knits a Jumper

  I was late for school. Very late. I ran all the way, but my feet kept sticking to the pavement because of all the rice pudding on the bottom of my shoes. I was dreading it. Mr Jollop was sure to want to know why I was turning up at half past ten in the morning.

  ‘Ah, Heathrow,’ Mr Jollop began, before I’d even shut the classroom door behind me. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Jollop,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Any particular reason why you’re so late?’ Mr Jollop asked.

  ‘I couldn’t get out of the house,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, oh? Really? Why was that?’ Mr Jollop’s eyebrows were already heading for the knitting needles.

  ‘The front door was jammed,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, oh, I see, all right. So, why was it jammed?’

  ‘It was blocked by a rhinoceros,’ I muttered, and the class began to snigger.

  ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ went Mr Jollop. I think his eyebrows were starting on an entire jumper by now. ‘Blocked by a rhinoceros. Where had that come from?’

  ‘It fell off the roof.’ The class was giggling, hands over mouths.

  ‘Indeed? Oh, oh. Um, so did you try the back door?’

  ‘That was blocked too,’ I told him.

  ‘I see. Was that another rhinoceros falling off the roof?’ Mr Jollop smiled at his little joke.

  ‘No, Mr Jollop,’ I said. ‘It was the other half of the same rhinoceros – the back half.’

  ‘Oh, oh. Of course. The other half. And it blocked the back door?’

  ‘No, Mr Jollop. The door was jammed shut by too much rice pudding.’

  That was it. The entire class was now rolling about the floor, clutching their sides. Meanwhile Mr Jollop’s eyebrows had knitted both sleeves of the jumper.

  ‘Oh, oh, rice pudding? Goodness, there must have been an awful lot of it.’

  ‘Thirty cans,’ I said heavily. ‘Catering size.’

  ‘So the rice pudding was in the cans and jamming the door?’ Mr Jollop suggested.

  ‘No, the rice pudding was in the garden pond.’ Howls of laughter all round. Mr Jollop was waving his arms about agitatedly, trying to understand.

  ‘But how had the rice pudding blocked the door when it was in the pond?’ asked Mr Jollop.

  ‘The other half of the rhinoceros had fallen into the pond full of rice pudding and squirted it out against the back door.’

  ‘Oh, oh,’ sighed Mr Jollop, while his eyebrows started on the front and back of the jumper. It was going to be a very big jumper too. ‘I think I need to sit down, Heathrow. Oh, I am sitting down.’ My teacher rubbed his forehead hard. ‘Do you always keep rice pudding in your pond? I try to stick to frogspawn in mine. Why was your pond full of rice pudding?’

  ‘It was my dad’s idea,’ I explained.

  Light dawned on Mr Jollop’s face and all his knitting unravelled. ‘Ah! Ah! Your father’s idea! Your father – the one with the axe in his head?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Jollop.’

  ‘Oh, ah, yes, now it’s beginning to make sense.’

  Mr Jollop looked so relieved I felt quite sorry for him. But I was relieved too. At least he understood. Yes, indeed, as soon as he knew my parents were involved, it all made crazy sense.

  The class got back on their chairs, but they spent the rest of the day trying to get me to retell the rhinoceros story again and again because they thought it was so funny.

  When I got home that afternoon, Mum and Dad had cleared up the mess in the front garden. They had picked up what was left of the rhino’s head and put it out at the back with the rest of the beast. The back garden was still a bit sloppy with rice pudding and there were blobs of it halfway up the house wall where Mum and Dad couldn’t reach.

  ‘It’s taken us all day to clean up,’ Mum told me.

  ‘It has,’ said Dad. ‘I must say I don’t think that rhinoceros was very well made, Ma. You don’t expect a rhinoceros to snap in half like that.’

  ‘You don’t, Pa,’ agreed Mum.

  ‘Still, never mind. I’ve had a new idea.’

  My heart sank yet again. Was there no end to this?

  ‘Have you, Pa?’ asked Mum with a smile.

  ‘I have. We are going to wear as many clothes as possible. We’ll start with our underwear and socks, as many pairs as possible. Then we’ll put on T-shirts and shirts and trousers, and you can wear lots of skirts and dresses and then jumpers and jackets and as many coats as we’ve got. How about that?’

  ‘It’s a good idea, Pa,’ said Mum. ‘We’re certain to get on the telly. And you can join in too, Heathrow. That would be fun.’

  ‘I think I’ll just watch, thank you,’ I murmured. ‘I’ve had enough excitement for one day.’

  Dad gave a jolly laugh. ‘It has been an exciting day, hasn’t it? But tomorrow is going to be even better. Let the cameras roll!’

  6

  Spot the Cake

  Breakfast was rather strange the next morning. Mum was in her pyjamas and dressing gown, but Dad had already got himself dressed. He had to eat standing up because he couldn’t bend easily. He was wearing so many clothes, you see.

  ‘I’ve got seven pairs of socks on my feet, fifteen pairs of underpants, twelve vests, eight shirts, six pairs of trousers, five jackets, four coats, six scarves and three hats,’ he announced.

  ‘You look very red, Pa,’ said Mum.

  ‘Bit hot,’ Dad admitted. ‘I’ll be better when I’m outside.’

  ‘Sunny day,’ I pointed out helpfully.

  Dad pulled at one of his many collars and looked even more uncomfortable. Mum watched him carefully.

  ‘The thing is, Pa, I’m not sure that wearing all these clothes is a good idea. We’re going to be awfully hot. You’re sweating already and you’ve only been up ten minutes.’

  Dad wiped his brow. ‘Have you got a better idea, then, Ma? I thought you wanted to be on the telly?’

  ‘I do,’ agreed Mum. ‘But you look so uncomfortable with all those clothes on.’

  ‘You were uncomfortable when your bikini filled up with rice pudding,’ Dad reminded her.

  ‘I know, Pa, but that was only a bit – clammy. And lumpy. And itchy. You’ve turned as red as a stick of dynamite and I think you might e
xplode if you keep all those clothes on for much longer.’

  ‘It is,’ panted Dad, ‘VERY hot in here.’

  ‘Then take them off and we’ll think of something else. I had an idea of my own in the night.’

  So Dad began to remove most of his clothes, feeling better with each layer he peeled off. Eventually he was able to sit down at the table to finish his breakfast. ‘That’s better!’ he sighed. ‘Now, what’s this idea of yours, Ma?’

  ‘Well, you know how sometimes when we watch the news on telly, they show someone making the biggest pizza in the world, or the longest sausage – that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dad, shaking his head sadly. ‘And I think I know what you’re thinking, Ma, but our kitchen isn’t big enough to make the biggest ANYTHING.’

  ‘But you’re NOT thinking what I’m thinking,’ said Ma, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘I was thinking I could make the SMALLEST something in the world.’

  Dad looked at her. ‘What an astonishing idea. No wonder I wasn’t thinking what you were thinking. You were thinking quite the opposite of what I was thinking!’

  ‘I was, Pa, I was!’

  Dad was getting excited. ‘You could make the smallest fried egg!’ he suggested, gobbling up the last bits of his own breakfast. Mum wasn’t so enthusiastic.

  ‘I’d need to get the smallest egg first, Pa,’ she pointed out. ‘And that would mean finding the smallest chicken AND getting it to lay one. It’s too complicated.’

  Dad’s face fell. He couldn’t think of anything else. ‘I suppose you’ve got a better idea,’ he muttered.

  ‘I have, Pa. I am going to make the smallest wedding cake in the world.’

  ‘But how small would your wedding cake be?’ asked Dad.

  ‘As small as small as small as I can make it. It will have icing on the top, but it will be totally teeny tiny.’

  Dad nodded. I could tell he wasn’t at all sure about this, but I think that was because it wasn’t his idea and he couldn’t help either. He felt left out.

  ‘I have to go to school,’ I told them.