The World of David Walliams: 7 Book Collection

His old-world gallantry was so charming it made Chloe smile, and they changed places. They strolled side by side, passing high-street shop after high-street shop, all trying to herald the approach of Christmas louder than the next. After a few moments Chloe saw Rosamund walking towards them with a small flotilla of shopping bags.

“Can we cross the road, please? Quickly,” whispered Chloe anxiously.

“Why, child? Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s that girl from school I just told you about, Rosamund.”

“The one who stuck that sign to your back?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“You need to stand up to her,” pronounced Mr Stink. “Let her be the one to cross the road!”

“No…please don’t say anything,” pleaded Chloe.

“Who is this? Your new boyfriend?” laughed Rosamund. It wasn’t a real laugh, like people do when they find something funny. That’s a lovely sound. This was a cruel laugh. An ugly sound.

Chloe didn’t say anything, just looked down.

“My daddy just gave me £500 to buy myself whatever I wanted for Christmas,” said Rosamund. “I blew the lot at Topshop. Shame you’re too fat to get into any of their clothes.”

Chloe merely sighed. She was used to being hounded by Rosamund.

“Why are you letting her talk to you like that, Chloe?” said Mr Stink.

“What’s it to you, Grandad?” said Rosamund mockingly. “Hanging around with smelly old tramps now, are you Chloe? You are tragic! How long did it take you to find that sign on your back then?”

“She didn’t find it,” said Mr Stink, slowly and deliberately. “I did. And I didn’t find it amusing.”

“Didn’t you?” said Rosamund. “All the other girls found it really funny!”

“Well, then they are as vile as you,” said Mr Stink.

“What?” said Rosamund. She wasn’t used to being talked to like that.

“I said ‘then they are as vile as you’,” he repeated, even louder this time. “You are a nasty little bully.” Chloe looked on anxiously. She hated confrontation.

To make matters worse, Rosamund took a pace forward and stood eye to eye with Mr Stink. “Say that to my face, you old stinker!”

For a moment Mr Stink fell silent. Then he opened his mouth and let out the deepest darkest dirtiest burp.

“BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB BBBBBBUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Rosamund’s face turned green. It was as if a putrid tornado had engulfed her. It was the smell of coffee and sausages and rotten vegetables recovered from bins all rolled into one. Rosamund turned and ran, hurtling down the high street in such a panic that she dropped her TopShop bags on the way.

“That was so funny!” laughed Chloe.

“I didn’t mean to belch. Most impolite. It was just that coffee repeating on me. Dear me! Now next time I want to see you stand up for yourself, Miss Chloe. A bully can only make you feel bad about yourself if you let them.”

“OK…I’ll try,” said Chloe. “So…see you tomorrow?”

“If you really want to,” he replied.

“I would love to.”

“And I would love to too!” he said, his eyes twinkling and twinkling as the last golden glow of the sunlight splintered through the sky.

At that moment a 4×4 thundered past. Its giant tyres sloshed through a huge puddle by the bus stop, sending up a wave that soaked Mr Stink from dirty head to dirty foot.

Water dripping from his glasses, he gave Chloe a little bow. “And that,” he said, “is why a gentleman always walks on the outside.”

“At least it wasn’t a chamber pot!” chuckled Chloe.

6 Soap-Dodgers (#ulink_1ec472e9-dc78-56a3-8e7b-77f747d2c6cf)

The next morning Chloe pulled open her curtains. Why was there a giant ‘O’ and a giant ‘V’ stuck to her window? She went outside in her dressing gown to investigate.

‘VOTE CRUMB!’ was spelled out in giant letters across the windows of the house. Elizabeth the cat pattered out with a rosette emblazoned with the words ‘Crumb for MP’ attached to her jewel-encrusted collar.

Then Annabelle came skipping out of the house with an air of self-congratulatory joy that was instantly annoying.

“Where are you going?” asked Chloe.

“As her favourite daughter, Mother has entrusted me with the responsibility of putting these leaflets through every door in the street. She’s standing to be a Member of Parliament, remember?”

“Let me see that,” said Chloe, reaching out to grab one of the leaflets. The two warring sisters had long since dispensed with ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.

Annabelle snatched it back. “I am not wasting one on you!” she snarled.

“Let me see!” Chloe pulled the leaflet out of Annabelle’s hand. There were some advantages to being the older sister; sometimes you could use brute force. Annabelle huffed off with the rest of the leaflets. Chloe walked back into the house studying it, her slippers moistening with the dew. Mother was always going on and on about how she should run the country, but Chloe found the whole subject so dreary and dull that her imagination would float away into la-la land whenever the subject came up.

On the front of the leaflet was a photograph of Mother looking incredibly serious, with her finest pearls around her neck, her hair so waxy with spray that it would become a fireball if you put a lit match to it. Inside was a long list of her policies.

1) A curfew to be introduced to ensure all children under 30 are not allowed out after 8pm and are preferably in bed with lights out by 9pm.

2) The police to be given new powers to arrest people for talking too loudly in public.

3) Litterbugs to be deported.

4) The wearing of leggings to be outlawed in public areas, as they are ‘extremely common’.

5) The national anthem to be played in the town square every hour on the hour. Everyone must be upstanding for this. Being in a wheelchair is no excuse for not paying your respects to Her Majesty.

6) All dogs to be kept on leads at all times. Even indoors.

7) Verruca socks to be worn by everyone attending the local swimming pool whether they have a verruca or not. This should cut down the chance of verruca infection to less than zero.

8) The Christmas pantomime to be discontinued due to the consistent lewdness of the humour (jokes about bottoms, for example. There is nothing funny about a bottom. We all have a bottom and we all know full well what comes out of a bottom and what sound a bottom can make of its own accord).