Charlie and the War Against the Grannies

BOOK: Charlie and the War Against the Grannies
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About
Charlie and the War Against the Grannies

I didn't want Mrs Cyclopolos to explode. I just wanted a paper round
.

My name is Charlie Ian Duncan. I will be 12 on 2 February. I have written this history of my war with the grannies because I need everyone to know that I didn't mean for Mrs Cyclopolos to blow up. I just wanted a paper round.

When I say ‘my war with the grannies', I really mean the war I waged alongside my best friend Hils, my second-best-friend Rashid, Peter the Iraqi who isn't afraid of anything (well apart from one thing), Warren and his magical bike TwelveSpeed and those crazy people we met underground.

The grannies started it when I asked them about a paper round and they sprayed me in the face with rooster brand chilli sauce and made me think that I was dead. Hils and I decided to go to war with them but then I discovered one of the grannies had a glass eye and I wasn't sure if it was okay to go to war against someone with a glass eye but then I discovered that the granny with the glass eye could pinch bricks in half, turn her snot-covered hankies into deadly throwing weapons and possessed a truly terrible device called the Gnashing Gnet.

It's all true.

Especially the bit about me not wanting anyone to blow up.

Contents

 

Cover

About
Charlie and the War Against the Grannies

Dedication

Front Matter

Chapter One: The Truth

Chapter Two: The Beginning

Chapter Three: The Duncans

Chapter Four: The Re-Beginning

Chapter Five: The Orphan

Chapter Six: The Phase

Chapter Seven: The Re-Re-Beginning

Chapter Eight: The Incident

Chapter Nine: The Plan

Chapter Ten: The Grannies

Chapter Eleven: The End

Chapter Twelve: The Chase

Chapter Thirteen: The Feast

Chapter Fourteen: The Team

Chapter Fifteen: The Man

Chapter Sixteen: The Tale

Chapter Seventeen: The Dilemma

Chapter Eighteen: The Decision

Chapter Nineteen: The Plan

Chapter Twenty: The Lurker

Chapter Twenty-one: The Training

Chapter Twenty-two: The Teeth

Chapter Twenty-three: The Handkerchief

Chapter Twenty-four: The Information

Chapter Twenty-five: The Map

Chapter Twenty-six: The House

Chapter Twenty-seven: The Tunnel

Chapter Twenty-eight: The Posters

Chapter Twenty-nine: The Dumbness

Chapter Thirty: The Office

Chapter Thirty-one: The Reception

Chapter Thirty-two: The Smash

Chapter Thirty-three: The Toilet

Chapter Thirty-four: The Us

Chapter Thirty-five: The Diva

Chapter Thirty-six: The Disappointment

Chapter Thirty-seven: The Door

Chapter Thirty-eight: The HQ

Chapter Thirty-nine: The Wardrobe

Chapter Forty: The Terror

Chapter Forty-one: The Embarrassment

Chapter Forty-two: The Eyeball

Chapter Forty-three: The Chamber

Chapter Forty-four: The Headlines

Chapter Forty-five: The Lists

Chapter Forty-six: The Proof

Chapter Forty-seven: The Wasn't-Nothing

Chapter Forty-eight: The Visit

Chapter Forty-nine: The Fight

Chapter Fifty: The Dream

Chapter Fifty-one: The Vision

Chapter Fifty-two: The Apology

Chapter Fifty-three: The Ambush

Chapter Fifty-four: The Anger

Chapter Fifty-five: The Shock

Chapter Fifty-six: The Informant

Chapter Fifty-seven: The Pursuit

Chapter Fifty-eight: The Slap

Chapter Fifty-nine: The Owwww!

Chapter Sixty: The Facts

Chapter Sixty-one: The Scotsman

Chapter Sixty-two: The Propaganda

Chapter Sixty-three: The Morning

Chapter Sixty-four: The Leaflet

Chapter Sixty-five: The Afternoon

Chapter Sixty-six: The Evening

Chapter Sixty-seven: The Quarry

Chapter Sixty-eight: The Duel

Chapter Sixty-nine: The Commentary

Chapter Seventy: The Victory

Chapter Seventy-one: The Noise

Chapter Seventy-two: The Army

Chapter Seventy-three: The Weapin

Chapter Seventy-four: The Explosion

Chapter Seventy-five: The Aftermath

Chapter Seventy-six: The Truth

About the author

Copyright page

As with everything,
this is for Helen

 

 

 

 

 

 

SEVENTEEN
GRANNIES WERE HURT
(
JUST A LITTLE BIT
)
DURING
THE MAKING
OF THIS BOOK.

 

1
THE
TRUTH

I didn't want Mrs Cyclopolos to explode.

I just wanted a paper round.

2
THE
BEGINNING

Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room. I needed to ask them something very important. Something I had wanted to ask them for ages.

Now seemed like a good time.

Wait a minute.

Sorry.

I need to give you what my best friend Hils would call some ‘essential operational intelligence'.

3
THE
DUNCANS

My name is Charlie Ian Duncan. I will be twelve on 2 February at 12.14 pm. I live in Parkville in a big old brick house on the corner of two really busy roads. My house is a bit strange because it has a clock tower attached to it. I don't think the clock has ever worked. It has been seven minutes past three for as long as I can remember.

The first time anyone sees my house they always say, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.'

The first time my best friend Hils saw my house she said, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.' The first time my friend Rashid saw my house he said, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.' The first time my friend Stevenson saw my house he said, ‘If you give me twenty bucks I'll eat dog poo.'

Stevenson doesn't go to our school any more.

On the inside of the front door of my house is a sign.

STOP!
ARE YOU WEARING
PANTS?

 

One day Dad left the house without pants on. Afterwards my mum made that sign.

My mum's name is Ruth Ann Tankard.

My dad's name is Ben Chatham Duncan.

The three of us live in the house with the clock tower.

My mum is really, very, super short. She used to teach ballroom dancing to prisoners (murderers, burglars and people like that) and she suffers from an extremely rare condition called EAS: Everyone's Aunty Syndrome.

Everyone thinks my mum is their aunty.

Mum and I might be walking to the pool and a complete stranger will come up to her and say, ‘Aunty Joan? I can't believe it. I haven't seen you in years. It's Phillip. Phillip D'Adano. Sebastian and Francesca's son. How's Uncle Dino?'

Mum used to say, ‘I'm sorry, I'm not your Aunty Joan. My name's Ruth.'

But they wouldn't listen. No matter what she'd say they'd just keep on thinking she was their Aunty Joan. Or Aunty Adolfina. Or Aunty Ngaire. Or Aunty Hedvig. Or Aunty Marama. Or Aunty Ziphozonke. Or Aunty Indira. Or Aunty Fung.

Eventually Mum just started playing along.

‘Aunty Grubana? It's Marko. How's Uncle Bojan?'

‘Marko,' my mum would say. ‘It's lovely to see you. I'm well. Uncle Bojan had a few troubles though. His finger was bitten off by a horse but he got a robot finger and now he can poke holes in concrete.'

‘Myung-sook. It's lovely to see you. I'm well. Uncle Jin-ho has had a few troubles though. His leg was bitten off by a crocodile but he got a robot leg and now he can hop twenty feet in the air.'

‘Polly. It's lovely to see you. I'm well. Uncle Serge has had a few troubles though. His hair was eaten by piranhas but he got a robot wig and now he can header a soccer ball into space.'

I don't know if anyone believes her stories but they always seem very happy to have seen their ‘aunty'.

My dad is really, very, super tall. He used to have a business helping people put their IKEA furniture together and he loved farting.

He liked
doing
farts.

He also liked making up songs about farting.

Dad and I would be walking through the Barkly Square shopping centre on a really busy Sunday afternoon and Dad would just start singing a song about farting. Really loudly.

‘
There was a farmer had a dog
,

Fart-o was his name-o
.

F.A.R.T.O
.

F.A.R.T.O
.

F.A.R.T.O
.

And Fart-o was his name-o
.'

People would stare at us. We wouldn't care though. We'd be too busy laughing.

Dad loved farting so much he knew how to say the word ‘fart' in about a million different languages. He would walk right up to someone he'd never met before and say, ‘Excuse me, are you from another country? Can you tell me how to say “fart” in your language?'

They would always tell him.

How to say
‘fart'
in ten different languages

 

  1. Arabic – Durta
  2. Czech – Prt
  3. Dutch – Scheet
  4. Hebrew – Nod
  5. Norwegian – Prump
  6. Italian – Flatulenza
  7. Korean – Bang-gwi
  8. Filipino – Umut-ot
  9. Polish – Gazy jelitowe
  10. Swahili – Jamba
4
THE
RE-BEGINNING

So.

Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room. I needed to ask them something very important. Something I had wanted to ask them for ages.

Sorry.

Wait another minute.

I need to tell you something
else
really important.

I am an orphan.

5
THE
ORPHAN

You are probably thinking, ‘Charlie Duncan can't be an orphan. He has parents. He was just about to ask them a really important question he'd wanted to ask them for ages. If he's really an orphan he won't be able to ask his parents anything because he won't have any parents because orphans don't have parents. The main thing orphans
do not have
is parents. Is Charlie Duncan a liar? Is he crazy? Is he a crazy liar?'

I am not a liar.

I am not crazy.

I am not a crazy liar.

I really am an orphan.

I am a special kind of orphan. The kind of orphan that
does have parents
.

I am a digital orphan.

BOOK: Charlie and the War Against the Grannies
3.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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