Barry Loser and the Holiday of Doom. Jim Smith

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      First published in Great Britain 2014 by Jelly Pie, an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2014 The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.

      ISBN 978 1 7803 1373 3

      1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

      barryloser.com www.jellypiecentral.co.uk 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

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      Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street.

      He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

      The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

      EGMONT LUCKY COIN

      My best friend Bunky is sort of like my pet dog, so it was weird when he suddenly started fancying a cat one day.

      It was about eight million weeks ago and me and Bunky were walking home from school past a Feeko’s Supermarket.

      Summer was coming up, and the whole window was filled with swimming trunks and other holidayish things like that.

      ‘You should buy those for Sharonella!’ giggled Bunky, pointing at a bunch of fake plastic sunflowers.

      Bunky’s been saying Sharonella from our class fancies me ever since she said I had a nice nose once.

      ‘Shut up, Bunky!’ I said, looking down at my nose and trying to work out what was so good about it. ‘How can someone like someone else’s nose?’ I mumbled, twitching it to see if that made it any better. ‘It’s just a nose for smelling stuff with.’

      I tried to think of someone who fancied Bunky’s nose, but all I could come up with was my other best friend Nancy Verkenwerken, who’s sort of like my pet cat.

      ‘YOU SHOULD BUY THAT FOR NANCY!’

      I shouted, pointing at a pink frilly bikini.

      I was shouting because a plane had started flying over, by the way.

      Bunky’s whole face turned the same colour as the bikini, but less frilly. ‘I DON’T FANCY NANCY!’ he shouted, fiddling with a bit of old bubblegum someone had stuck on the wall.

      I looked at Bunky. Something about the way he’d said it made me wonder if he actually DID fancy her. He’d definitely been smiling a lot at Nancy recently, but then Bunky smiles at everyone. That’s what sort-of pet dogs do.

      And that’s when I noticed something. The whole time we’d been standing there, Bunky had been busy squidging the bubblegum into the shape of a heart.

      ‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF UNKEELNESS?!’ I gasped, which is what my favourite TV star Future Ratboy says when he can’t believe his eyes.

      ‘Huh?’ said Bunky, gazing through the window at a pair of sunglasses the same shape as Nancy’s specs.

      I looked at my half-dog, half-best- friend and imagined him bounding through a field of fake plastic sunflowers, his dog lead being held by Nancy Verkenwerken instead of me. All of a sudden I felt a bit queasy.

      ‘I’M GOING TO BE SICK,’ I shouted, even though the plane had completely flown off.

      When I got home my mum and dad were standing in the kitchen, smiling like it was Christmas morning.

      ‘What is it?’ I said, hoping they’d finally bought me a puppy. I’d been asking for a real-life pet dog for nine trillion years now, and I STILL didn’t have one.

      ‘Barry, you know how we’re going on our caravan holiday to Plonkton this weekend?’ said my mum.

      She had a tea towel on her shoulder, and my dad was standing right behind her, leaning his head on it like a cabbage.

      ‘Ye-ah?’ I said, splitting my yeah into two bits because of how keel Plonkton is.

      ‘Well your mum and me were thinking maybe you’d like to invite a couple of your little pals along?’ said my dad’s cabbage head.

      The words swam down my earholes and into my legs, making them go wobbly.

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