Barry Loser: worst school trip ever!. Jim Smith

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      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.

      ISBN 978 1 4052 8399 1

      eISBN 978 1 7803 1871 4

      barryloser.com www.egmont.co.uk

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

      Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

      63822/1

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      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.

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