Nathalia Buttface and the Embarrassing Camp Catastrophe

“Can pupils please stop shouting out,” demanded the Head. “I’ve got a coffee going cold in the staffroom and I’d like to get back to it.”

By now everyone was a bit bored and restless so the Head raced through the next part as quickly as possible.

“Anyway, thanks to clever little Darius, his whole class, 8H, has won a super week at a special ‘back to nature’ campsite thing next month.”

“Is HE coming?” shouted Julia Pryde, a girl from 8H, pointing to Darius and making a “yuk” face.

“Of course he is,” said the Head, who was looking forward to a Bagley-free week. “After all, you wouldn’t even be going if it wasn’t for him. Now get to class – our exam results have been so bad recently I’m surprised we haven’t been turned into a shopping centre.”

Nat wondered how a campsite could be super. Super uncomfortable, maybe. Super damp, super bug-ridden, super grotty, yes.

But she was too busy getting swept up in the sea of kids heading back to class to worry about it too much.

Anyway, a school trip, even if it was rubbish, meant no schoolwork so that was good news, woo!

“That is the worst news I’ve ever heard,” yelled Nat that night.

She was in the kitchen with Dad, who was preparing his favourite meal, pork pie and chips.

“You don’t mean that,” said Dad, smiling. “Now, do you want any veg? I’m thinking baked beans.”

“I’m thinking you can’t come with us to the campsite for the week,” said Nat. “I’m thinking it’ll be rubbish anyway, but it’ll be extra, super, luxury rubbish if you come too.”

“Don’t be daft. It’s almost as if you think I’ll embarrass you or something!”

“I do think that. I totally think that.”

“You make me laugh when you get cross,” said Dad, ruffling her hair. Which made Nat even crosser.

“When Dolores – Miss Hunny to you …” began Dad.

Nat groaned.

Her form teacher Miss Hunny and Dad were old mates and that often led to mega-embarrassing times, like when she’d come home to find her teacher IN HER HOUSE, drinking red wine in her kitchen. Fortunately Dad was such a rotten cook that Miss Hunny didn’t visit much. Nat started thinking about how terrible her life was …

“Pay attention,” said Dad. “When Miss Hunny rang and told me Darius had won you that camping trip, I said that’s great news because I need to get my Approved for Kids certificate.”

Dad put on his patient face. “You know I’ve applied for a job – I told you, remember?”

“Oh yeah, Mum told me. She said she was fed up with going out to work all hours while you sat around in your pants writing Christmas-cracker jokes and eating pork pies all day.”

“I don’t think she put it quite like that,” said Dad with a mouthful of pork pie.

“No, when Mum said it there were loads more rude words.”

“Anyway,” continued Dad, putting beans in the microwave, “I’ve got a job offer.”

“A job? Like normal people? You? Doing what?”

“Teaching comedy skills to young criminals who want to turn over a new leaf.”

“What comedy skills? Your jokes were voted the worst Christmas-cracker jokes of all time by that website last year. You even got a prize – look.”

On a shelf by the cookbooks stood a little plastic figure of a man holding his nose.

“You won a Stinker.”

“A prize is a prize,” said Dad proudly. “It makes me a prize-winning joke writer. At least that’s what I tell everyone.”

Nat stamped her foot. “But I still don’t understand why you want to come on our school camping trip.”

“Because the people who lock up the young criminals said that I need to have an Approved for Kids certificate to get the job.”

“Find some other kids,” said Nat. “There are loads of us – every town has them.”

“No time,” said Dad. “Plus the Head at your school knows me because I’ve done plenty of things there before. You know, until you banned me from doing them.”

“Can you blame me, Dad?” said Nat, as the beans pinged in the microwave.

Smoke poured out of the door.

“Everything you do ends in total disaster. You took my class to a boring cathedral and got us chucked out, and that was even before Darius went up on the roof and mooned the whole town. You put on a school quiz night that ended in a riot. You’ve sunk priceless sailing boats. You’ve got me arrested by real police. You’ve blown up houses—”

“Just one house,” corrected Dad. “One tiny house.”

“You’ve electrocuted the world’s most precious ducks, you’ve ruined weddings, you’ve made me a laughing stock all over the Internet, AND you projected massive naked baby pictures of me on a wall at the school disco.”

“I was hoping you might have forgotten that one.”

“How can I forget my bare baby bum, ten feet high on the gym wall at school? I can’t forget it, and neither can the five hundred other people who saw it.”

Dad made that noise which Nat recognised as his ‘trying not to laugh because my daughter will get even crosser’ noise. Which just made her crosser.

“AND you stuck me with the world’s most embarrassing surname,” she said.

“It’s pronounced Bew-mow-lay.”

“It’s spelled B-U-M-O-L-E though, isn’t it? I’m getting married at sixteen just to change it.”

Before Dad could reply, Mum came bustling through the kitchen door, still in her coat and, as ever, texting on her mobile.

“Mum, Dad’s trying to ruin my life again,” said Nat, “and he’s had loads of practice so he’s got ever so good at it.”

“I didn’t know you were home for dinner tonight,” said Dad, trying to hide his rubbish meal.

“Obviously,” Mum said, kissing him fondly on the cheek. She hugged Nat, still texting, and sniffed the beany smoke.

“Bin it. I’m taking you out for Chinese,” she said. “Tell me all about it over crispy duck. I think you’ll find it makes everything better. Even your daft dad.”