The World's Awesomest Air-Barf (11 page)

They have ants as thick as your thumb, centipedes as long as your leg and slugs as fat as your fist. They have a Spider City, a Beetle
Boulevard and a Cockroach Corner. They also have Gastropod Grove, which contains the largest collection of slugs and snails in the world, all slithering and sliming around in a massive compound.
This is officially the Slimiest Place in the World, and
has
to be worth a visit!

Best wishes

Eric Bibby

Keeper of the Records

PS The little boy with knobbly knees standing next to my father is me! Believe it or not, I do not have the Knobbliest Knees in the world.
That record is held by Alfie Smee, of Beaumont-cum-Moze, whose horrible, ugly knees could make grown women faint and small children cry. They were
so
bad that on 13 May 1932 a Special Law
was passed banning Alfie Smee’s knees from ever being shown in public.

It was the morning of the Puddlethorpe Annual Country Fair. Danny and Matthew sat at the kitchen table, flicking through a book called
What’s That Bug?.
Nine
enormous pickle jars, their lids punched with air holes, were lined up in front of them, each one containing a huge crawling insect.

Grandma studied the specimens with interest.

‘My,’ she said, ‘you two
have
been busy. What are you going to do with these beasties?’

‘We’re trying to find out what they’re called,’ answered Danny. ‘Matt’s going to measure them all and I’m going to write to Mr Bibby at
The Great Big
Book of World Records
to see if any of them are world-beaters.’

Matthew grinned at Danny. ‘Imagine if your sister Natalie found a couple of these under her duvet . . . !’

Grandad put his head round the kitchen door.

‘Hurry up, you two,’ he said. ‘I’m going to need some help with my vegetables. The sooner they’re picked, the sooner we can get to the Fair.’

‘OK, Grandad. We’ll finish doing this later.’ The boys pulled on their wellies and went outside.

The flower-bud on the Rotting Chowhabunga was bigger and darker.

‘I think today’s the day,’ said Grandad excitedly.

‘Will the flower
really
stink?’ asked Matthew, eyeing the plant warily.

‘So I’ve been told, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never smelt one.’

Grandad led the way along the narrow path they had cleared through the jungle the day before, towards the gate. The grass, buttercups and dandelions waved high above them in the breeze. As he
stepped out, the boys heard him cry out in dismay.

‘Oh no! My prize-winners!’

Danny and Matthew ran to his side and looked over the wall. What they saw made their jaws drop.

The vegetable patch was a seething, writhing mass of gigantic pink worms each at least four metres long and as thick as a goalpost. They looked more like pythons than worms, as they crawled,
slithered and slid over the huge plants, sucking and slurping great holes out of them.

‘Gross!’ said Danny.

‘Double-gross!’ added Matthew.

‘Quick!’ shouted Grandad, grabbing a wheelbarrow. ‘We’ve got to get the good vegetables out before those beasts eat them all!’

He trundled his barrow through the gate towards the one remaining untouched marrow. The boys helped him lift it into the barrow, then Danny raced towards the runner beans, while Matthew grabbed
a spade and headed for the onions.

‘Only pick the good ones!’ called Grandad, thwacking a monster worm with his flat cap.

Danny had collected an armful of enormous runner beans when he felt the earth shudder and shift under his feet. The head of a giant earthworm burst out of the soil, stretching and quivering
towards the beans.

Three worms emerged from the ground nearby and headed for the sprouts. Two more appeared by the peas, while others popped up at various places around the patch and began to creep towards the
middle, all heading for Grandad’s marrow.

Grandma Florrie ran up to the gate.

‘Lawks-a-lordy!’ she howled. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Call Creepy-crawly Creek in Bugsby Tyke!’

Danny shouted.‘Tell them we’re surrounded. They’ll know what to do!’

Danny scanned the vegetable patch. In a far corner by the gate he spied a large stack of sun-dried cowpats that were piled up ready to be taken to the Fair for the
cowpat-hurling contest.

‘Come on, Matt, let’s get ’em!’

Danny and Matthew began to skim the hard, flat pooh-projectiles at the wiggling monster worms as they burst from their burrows and lunged at the vegetables. Grandad stood guard by his precious
marrow, fending off incoming attackers with his spade and cap.

Despite their efforts, the huge worms kept coming. Just when the boys’ cowpat ammunition supply was starting to run low, a bright red truck skidded to a halt on the other side of the wall,
six yellow lights on top of the cab flashing urgently. Emblazoned along the side of the vehicle were the words:

A woman and two men jumped down from the truck. They wore lime-green, wipe-clean, slime-proof zip-tight boiler suits, and carried large yellow buckets in their red-rubber-gloved
hands. Hammers, pincers and lassos dangled from their shiny black belts.

‘I’m Babs, Chief Worm Wrangler,’ announced the woman as she rushed through the gate. ‘And this is my team, Bernie and Butch.’ She saw the giant worms slithering all
over the vegetable patch. ‘Whoa! This is
serious
!’ ‘We’re going to need bigger buckets!’ yelled Bernie. ‘We’re going to need wheelie bins!’
barked Butch.

Babs surveyed the scene. ‘Right! Here’s the plan!’ She pointed at Danny and Matthew. ‘You lads keep pelting these monsters with cowpats.’ She pointed at Grandma.
‘Mrs Baker, take Butch to the wheelie bins.’

She turned to the third Worm Wrangler.

‘Bernie, call Base Control. Tell them to get High Containment Unit X1-2000 ready. These are Super Worms we’re dealing with!’

When Butch returned with the wheelie bins, Babs slapped Danny and Matthew on the back. ‘Well done, lads,’ she said. ‘You’ve done a great job. Now it’s time to let
the professionals take over.’

Babs and Bernie unhooked their lassos and took up position by the marrow in the barrow, snagging each mammoth worm that appeared above ground. As the ropes tightened, the struggling creatures
were dragged out of their burrows, and flung wriggling and writhing into the bins. Butch slammed the lids shut as the worms battered against them, trying to escape.

At last the vegetable patch was clear. Babs turned to Grandad. ‘The situation’s under control now, Mr Baker. You can pick your vegetables and get off to the Fair.’

She strode over to the boys. ‘Thanks for all your help, lads. I’ve never seen worms this big in Yorkshire! The wheelie bins won’t hold them for long – we need to get them
into the High Containment Unit X1-2000 asap.’

Babs reached into a pocket of her lime-green, wipe-clean, slime-proof zip-tight boiler suit. ‘Here’s four free tickets for Creepy-crawly Creek,’ she said, handing them to
Danny. ‘You can come and see your worms any time.’