Barry Loser: worst school trip ever!

First published in Great Britain 2018

by Egmont UK Ltd, The Yellow Building,

1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2018

The moral rights of Jim Smith have been asserted.

First e-book edition 2018

ISBN 978 1 4052 8399 1

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1751 9

barryloser.com www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Contents

Cover

Front series promotional page

Copyright

Title Page

How it started

After that

Bin Bazzy

Millions more seconds later

Michael J Socks

The blooming moustache

The poo poo plan

Hokum City

Hokum TV Studios

The History of Television Exhibition

Who Rock Blondsky was

The Curse of Ratboy

The hot dog plan

Best acting ever

Walking towards a door

Future Rat-Bazzy

On the set

Spider fingers

The grumpy alien

Monsieur Tummy

My way or the other way

Not Barry

Grannies everywhere

Egg cress sarnies

Counting blueberry marshmallows

Domino grannies

Big trouble for little Bazzy

Not running for it at all

Future Ratgirl

The great Blondsky reveal

The bus back to Mogden

Wat Boy and Not Birdy

About the author and drawer

Some of my good reviews:

Back series promotional page

My annoying little brother, Desmond Loser the Second, always gets everything his own way.

Like the other morning when me, him, my mum and dad were all sitting round the kitchen table before school.

I was happily flipping through my Future Ratboy Fan Club Magazine, imagining I was a superhero like him, when Des opened his mouth.

‘Me want Bazzy’s brekkie!’ he wailed, reaching for my bowl of cereal.

‘But we’re eating the same thing, Des,’ I said in my older brother voice. ‘I’ve got a bowl of Crazy Caterpillars and so have you!’

Crazy Caterpillars are the keelest cereal in the whole wide world amen.

They first popped up in an episode of Future Ratboy, my favourite TV show. Then one day Feeko’s Supermarket started selling them in real life, which made me wee my pants with excitement when I found out.

‘Just swap bowls with him, Barry,’ said my dad, pressing the button on his brand new coffee machine, which started to whir.

‘But you never used to give in to me like that when I was little,’ I said, switching my bowl with Desmond’s in super slow motion.

‘I had more energy when there was only one of you,’ chuckled my dad, taking a sip of his disgusting drink.

I leaned over and switched the radio on.

screeched a voice out of the speaker.

A song by my dad’s favourite band, Frankie Teacup and the Saucers, started to play and my dad got up and wiggled his bum to the music.

‘Me no want moosik!’ shouted Desmond.

‘Say PLEASE, Desmond,’ I said, because that’s what my mum and dad had taught me to say.

‘Just turn the music off would you, Barry?’ sighed my mum. ‘I was up with Des all blooming night and I can’t take any more of his whining.’

‘What?!’ I said, clicking off the radio. ‘But he didn’t even say blooming please!’

‘Don’t say blooming, Barry,’ said my mum.

‘But you did!’ I said.

‘I’m a grown-up,’ said my mum.

‘So am I!’ I cried.

‘It’s not fair,’ I whimpered. ‘Desmond always gets everything his way!’

My dad chuckled. ‘Aren’t you off to Hokum City with school this morning, Barry?’ he asked.

‘Ooh that’s right, your big brother’s going on a very exciting trip today, Des!’ said my mum. ‘His teacher, Miss Spivak, got a new boyfriend who works at a big flashy TV studio in Hokum City and he’s organised for Barry’s class to see an exhibition about the history of television!’

I looked at Des, a string of drool dangling out of his mouth with a half-chomped Crazy Caterpillar hanging off the end of it.

‘Urgh, an exhibition about the history of telly,’ I groaned. ‘Sounds comperleeterly boring to me.’

‘Don’t be a grump Barry,’ said my dad. ‘It’ll be smashing!’

I carried on flipping through my magazine, imagining myself as a giant Barry robot stomping through the streets of Hokum City, smashing up cars and buildings.

And that’s when it happened.

There, in the background of a photo on page twenty-one of my Future Ratboy Fan Club Magazine, was the answer to my dreamypoos.

‘Oops, late for work!’ said my dad, slurping the rest of his coffee. He kissed us all on the ends of our noses and headed off to his boring job.

I stood up and stuffed my magazine into my rucksack. ‘Mum, Des, I think I might have just had the most brilliant and amazekeel idea ever!’ I said, doing an excitement blowoff and zooming out the front door.

‘This is gonna be the keelest day ever!’ I said nine hundred and ninety-nine seconds later. I was walking to school with my best friends – Bunky, and Nancy Verkenwerken.

I was in a much better mood now, partly because I’d got away from Des, but also because I was back where I belonged: being the leader of the Keel Gang.

‘But I thought we said that the history of telly exhibition sounded comperleeterly boring?’ said Bunky, looking all upset that I’d changed my mind since our phonekeel last night.

‘I think it’ll be interesting,’ said Nancy, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘Plus I can’t wait to see all the skyscrapers in Hokum City!’

I smiled at Nancy, letting her have her turn to talk. That’s what it’s like being the leader of a gang – you’ve got to make sure everyone’s happy.

I twizzled round but carried on walking backwards so I was facing my two loserish best friends. ‘Do you two wanna hear something REALLY interestikeels?’ I said, and they both nodded.

We turned the corner and I tripped, tap-dancing backwards and landing bum-first inside a rubbish bin. Which sounds loserish, but is actukeely pretty keel.

‘Who do you think you are – Future Ratboy?’ sniggled Bunky, and I gave him a mini-salute, because in the Future Ratboy TV show, Ratboy gets zapped to the future inside his family’s bin.

‘Barry babes, that is NOT a good look for you!’ snortled a familikeelsly annoying voice, and I looked over to see Sharonella from my class at school.

I plopped my bum out of the bin like a cork and gave it a little pat, just to let it know everything was okay.

‘That reminds me Shazza,’ I said, which is what I say when I want to change the subject. ‘I was just about to tell Bunky and Nancy something comperleeterly amazekeels.’

‘’Ello ’ello ’ello, who have we got ’ere then?’ said ANOTHER annoying familikeels voice. This time I didn’t have to look to know whose it was.

‘Mornkeels Dazza,’ said Sharonella, as Darren Darrenofski – the crocodile-faced little Fronkle monster from our class – wobbled up, carrying a can of Fronkle. ‘We were just talking about the big day trip!’

Darren did a Fronkle burp and blew it in my face. ‘Hokum City here we come!’ he snuffled. ‘Wish we were going to Fronkle World instead of this rubbish history of telly exhibition though.’

‘Can everyone please stop talking and listen to me?’ I said, stomping my foot on the pavement, and they all looked at me, which was a start at least.

‘Oh my days, you make me LARF Barry Loser!’ cackled Shazza. ‘Who do you think you are, the king of Mogden or something?’

‘No,’ I said, even though I do sort of think if there was ever going to be a king of Mogden it probably should be me.

‘Go on then Barry, let’s hear your idea,’ said Nancy, and I was just about to open my mouth to tell them it when Bunky’s opened first.

‘Hey look!’ he cried, pointing up the road, and I spotted a big fat bus sitting outside our school, waiting to take us to Hokum City.

‘Can I PER-LEASE tell you my amazekeel news now?’ I said, once we’d all run up the street and got on the scratched-up old bus.

‘If you have to,’ said Shazza, as the bus’s exhaust pipe did a blowoff and we finally started our journey to Hokum City.

All five of us – me, Bunky, Nancy, Darren and Sharonella – were sitting on the back seat, which everyone knows is where the keel people sit.

‘Well,’ I said, and they all leaned in. ‘It just so happens I know a little fact about the TV studio we’re going to!’

‘What is it, Barry?’ burped Darren. ‘Not that I care.’

I stared out of the window, letting my loserish friends wait for their leader to speak.

Even in the bright morning sun the shops on Mogden High Street looked comperleeterly loserish and grey compared to the glistening skyscrapers we were about to see in Hokum City.

‘Are any of you lot members of the Future Ratboy Fan Club?’ I asked.

Darren and Sharon shook their heads. ‘I’m Chairman of the Fronkle Appreciation Society though,’ grinned Darren.

‘How many members has it got?’ asked Nancy.

‘Just the one,’ said Darren, pulling a shiny new can out of his bag and cracking it open.

‘Bunky?’ I said, raising my eyebrows.

‘Errr, I forgot to renew my membership,’ said Bunky, looking all guilty.

‘Shame on you, Nigel Zuckerberg,’ I said, which is Bunky’s real name. He comperleeterly hates it and I only use it when he’s been an extremely naughty doggy. ‘Give me a quadruple-reverse, upside-down salute – on the double!’

‘You two are weird,’ burped Darren, watching Bunky do his salute.

‘Nancy,’ I said. ‘How about you?’

‘I LIKE Future Ratboy,’ she said. ‘But not THAT much.’

‘Fair enoughkeels,’ I said, pulling the Future Ratboy Fan Club Magazine out of my rucksack. ‘Now, are you ready to hear something that’ll blow your tiny little minds?

‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this, seeing as you’re not members of the fan club,’ I said.

‘Just get on with it, Bazza,’ snored Sharonella, and I flipped my magazine to page twenty-one, which had a photo of Michael J Socks on it.

Michael J Socks is the amazekeel actor who plays Future Ratboy on TV. He’s a bit older than me and is comperleeterly rich and famous.

I held my magazine open to the photo of him relaxing on the set of Future Ratboy. He was wearing sunglasses and holding a can of passion fruit flavour Fronkle.

‘Passion Fruit Fronkle?’ cried Darren, splurting regular flavour Fronkle all over the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?’

‘Ooh, isn’t he dishy!’ cooed Shazza all grannyishly, leaning over and giving the photo of Michael J Socks a great big sloppy smooch. ‘Love ya, Mikey!’

‘Eww,’ said Nancy, as I wiped my magazine dry with a bit of Bunky’s T-shirt. ‘That’s gross, Shazza!’

‘Not your type, eh Nance?’ said Shazza. ‘Prefer a bit of a bad boy, do ya?’

A pointy-nosed face popped up over the top of the seat in front of Darren. ‘Somebody mention me?’ smiled Gordon Smugly, the smug, ugly Gordon from our class at school.

‘I said BAD, Smugly, not SAD,’ said Shazza. I stomped my foot on the ground, except my foot wasn’t long enough to reach the floor from my seat, so it just sort of swung a bit.

‘For crying out keel, would you please let me talk!’ I boomed.

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