My Brother's Famous Bottom Goes Camping (4 page)

‘Yes, Ron, we all know it’s a carrot. But for Tomato it is actually her favourite doll. Think of it as a free-thinking carrot – a carrot that has gone beyond the boundary of just being an
ordinary carrot, a carrot that has become almost a person. Tomato was giving her breakfast before you came down.’

Dad’s eyes almost fell out of his face. ‘She was giving a carrot breakfast? The whole family’s bonkers. I think I’m the only sensible person here.’

Mum burst out laughing. ‘That really takes the biscuit. Now, are you going to tell us your good idea or not?’

But we still didn’t hear what it was because Tomato appeared in the kitchen pushing her toy wheelbarrow. ‘Giving Cecily a ride,’ she said, lifting the carrot-doll from the table and sitting her up in the wheelbarrow. ‘We’re going to the shops to get some lunch for Cecily.’

‘I thought she’d only just had breakfast,’ Dad muttered darkly.

‘What does Cecily Sprout eat?’ I asked, just out of curiosity.

‘Fish and chips and chocolate scream,’ Tomato
declared. She always says ‘scream’ instead of ‘ice cream’. My sister began to wheel the carrot outside. She turned at the door and looked back at Dad.

‘You brokened our tent,’ she said accusingly. ‘Bad Daddy.’

‘Sorry,’ muttered Dad. ‘And you say “broke”, not “brokened”.’

‘Yes, and you brokened a lettuce.’

‘
Broke
,’ repeated Dad. ‘It got squashed a bit, that’s all.’

‘Yes, and you put mud on your clothes.’

‘All right, I know,’ growled Dad, looking more and more like the world’s worst criminal.

‘Yes, and Cheese says he can touch the moon from the top of the hen house.’

‘Is that so?’ Dad shook his head in disbelief. ‘Hang on, what do you mean, from the top of the hen house? Cheese isn’t on top of the hen house, is he?’

Tomato peered out through the open door and nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, and he’s standing up too. No, he isn’t, he’s just slidded off.’

There was a loud yelp from outside, a moment of silence and then an even louder wail went up. We all rushed to the rescue. Cheese was more surprised and cross than hurt, but Mum calmed him down with a biscuit.

‘Who didn’t shut the gate properly?’ demanded Mum, looking accusingly at Dad.

Dad’s face puckered. ‘I want a biscuit too,’ he moaned, trying to change the subject. ‘Look at my bruise. Boo hoo. Want a biscuit.’

‘Big baby,’ laughed Tomato.

‘Yes,’ agreed Mum. ‘Your dad is the biggest baby of all. And what we still don’t know is what Big Baby’s Big Idea is. Come on, we’re bursting to hear what it is, aren’t we, Nicholas?’

‘Bursting,’ I grinned, wondering what crazy scheme Dad had in mind now.

‘Well, I think we all need a holiday.’

‘Great!’ I yelled.

‘Heavens above, you’ve actually come up with a good idea for once,’ Mum chuckled.

‘I know. And I think we should all go camping,’ Dad went on.

Mum’s smile vanished. ‘You don’t want us to wear little tents like you did, do you?’

‘No! I am thinking of proper camping, with proper camping equipment. What do you reckon?’ Dad beamed at us.

‘OK,’ nodded Mum.

‘It’ll be brilliant!’ I said.

You should see what my dad’s brought home! You’ll never guess, so I’ll give you some clues. It’s blue and yellow and the roof goes up and down. You can sleep inside it. You can even go to the loo inside it. And it’s not a tent, it’s a tent on wheels! Yep – it’s a camper van!

‘It’s got four beds,’ Dad boasted.

‘There are five of us,’ I said.

‘Cheese and Tomato can share,’ Dad explained, and he lifted the twins up into one of the beds. ‘They’ll be like sardines in a tin.’

‘You mean a cheese and tomato sandwich, Dad,’ I grinned.

Mum raised one eyebrow. ‘You two are like peas in a pod,’ she said. ‘It’s very worrying. I’m already living with a crazy loon and now my oldest child is getting just like him. Oh dear.’

Dad gave Mum a hug. ‘You love it really,’ he suggested.

‘Geroff, you big lump,’ she giggled. ‘What’s this cupboard for?’ She pointed to a double-door wardrobe and opened it up. Magic! It wasn’t a wardrobe at all – it was a proper cooker unit with a stove, an oven and grill and everything.

‘Oh my!’ said Mum, impressed. ‘That
is
clever.’

‘There’s a fridge,’ I added. ‘And look here, a toilet.’

Mum gazed into the tiniest little room. ‘Oh, dinky!’

‘You can take a shower in there,’ Dad said.

‘You are ridiculous, Ron,’ laughed Mum. ‘There’s no room for a shower. What am I supposed to do – stand upside down in the toilet bowl and flush it?’

Dad rolled his eyes. ‘Now who’s being ridiculous? You sit
on
the toilet. See that shower head above you? The water goes everywhere but eventually it drains away through the plughole down there.’

Mum wasn’t convinced. ‘Suppose I put the shower on by mistake, when what I really want to do is flush the loo?’

‘Suppose we give you a brain transplant?’ suggested Dad. ‘Honestly, how can you muddle up the shower with the toilet flush?’

‘I suppose I am being a bit fussy,’ agreed Mum. She glanced round the inside of the van again and a smile crept on to her face. I knew she was impressed. This was the best thing that Dad had ever done. We went back indoors and talked over holiday plans for ages.

‘Going camping!’ shouted Cheese, while Tomato went racing round the room making big jumps and getting wilder and wilder until Mum caught her up in her arms and swept her off her feet.

‘Camping!’ she yelled, waving her carrot in Mum’s face. ‘Cecily Sprout says she likes camping.’ Tomato squinted up at Mum. ‘What is camping?’ she asked.

‘You’ll soon see,’ laughed Mum. ‘It’s going to be fun, and Cecily can come with us.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Dad. ‘Good idea, because if we run out of food we can always–’

‘NO, RON!’ shouted Mum. ‘That is not funny. Not when you’re only three.’

‘I’m not three,’ protested Dad.

‘You know exactly what I mean. Anyhow, sometimes I think you’re more like a three-year-old than the twins.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ muttered Dad.

‘And Poop can come too,’ Cheese announced, with a bright smile, but Mum shook her head.

‘No, I’m afraid not, darling. We can’t take Poop as well.’

Cheese’s face began to crumple. ‘Poop come too. It’s not fair. You said Tomato can take Cecily.’

‘Yes, I know I said that, but Cecily Sprout is a carrot and it’s all right to take carrots camping, but you can’t take hens camping.’

Dad looked at Mum with astonishment.

‘Excuse me?
It’s all right to take carrots camping
?’ he echoed. ‘Are you mad?’

Tomato joined forces with her brother and waved Cecily at Mum. ‘Poop is Cecily’s friend and they’ll both be sad. Look, Cecily Sprout is crying.’ She began to make whimpering noises on behalf of the carrot.

‘I’m sorry, we can’t take a hen camping,’ repeated Mum.

‘Why not?’ Tomato sniffed.

‘Because they don’t make tents for hens,’ snapped Dad.

‘Poop can sleep in my bed,’ my brother said.

‘All the hens have to stay here,’ insisted Mum.

Tomato put the carrot to her ear. ‘What’s that? Sssh, Cecily is telling
me something. Cecily Sprout says you and Daddy are horrible and all the hens should go camping and people should make tents for them.’

Dad’s eyebrows were climbing up his head.

‘I can’t believe I’m being told off by a carrot. I think I’ll go and do something sensible in the garden.’