Just Annoying! by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton Page B

them I’m innocent, Danny! Tell them!’ I plead.
    But Danny’s seat is empty. So is Dad’s.
    They’ve abandoned me. I can’t say I blame them. This is one ugly mob.
    â€˜Hey, look, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’d love to stay and chat but I have to be going . . .’
    â€˜Stay right there,’ says the usher. ‘You’re in big trouble!’
    He pushes me back down into my seat.
    â€˜Let’s speargun him!’ says the handbag lady.
    People cheer.
    â€˜Feed him to the sharks!’ cries the dress lady.
    Even more cheering.

    â€˜Wait a minute,’ says a voice. ‘Does anybody have a speargun or a shark?’
    People go quiet. They shake their heads.
    On the screen James Bond has just set a man on fire with a cigarette lighter.
    â€˜Let’s set him on fire!’ cries someone else. ‘I’ve got a lighter.’
    â€˜Not in my theatre you don’t,’ says the usher. ‘I’m the one who has to clean up after this.’
    These people are obviously mad. Too much James Bond. I have to get out of here.
    â€˜Look up there!’ I yell, pointing at the roof. ‘Ninjas!’
    Everybody looks. They’re so James Bonded out that they’ll believe anything.
    It’s the chance I need to heave myself out of my seat. But this time I’m not going under—I’m going over. Over the head of the big-hair woman. I use her shoulders as a springboard to leap across two rows into an empty seat. I use the seat as a trampoline to propel me across another three rows.

    An old man tries to hook me around the ankle with the handle of his walking stick. But I grab the walking stick and use it to polevault across the last two rows of seats and up onto the narrow platform in front of the screen.
    I look around. Nowhere to go. Both of the front exits are blocked by ushers. And the mob is closing in.
    What now? What would James Bond do? He would use every means at his disposal to achieve his objective, of course. If I can’t go forwards and I can’t go sideways, that only leaves one direction. Backwards. Into the screen!
    The hands of the mob are clutching at my feet.

    No time to lose.
    I jump backwards.
    There is an incredible ripping and tearing noise and then everything goes quiet.
    Next thing I know I’m lying on a wooden floor.
    I can hear cheering and whistling. It’s coming from the other side of the screen.
    And then I see it. My Jaffa.
    And not just my Jaffa. There’s hundreds and thousands of Jaffas and old lollies! All the lollies that have ever been hurled at the screen or lost in the history of this cinema have ended up here.

    And they’re mine.
    All mine.
    I pick my Jaffa up off the floor. I wipe the dust off it and put it into my mouth. No minty taste this time. Just pure Jaffa.
    I reach for another. And another. And another.
    My only problem now is how I’m going to eat all these lollies without being sick.

    It’s going to be tough.
    But I can handle it.
    A field operative must use every means at his disposal to achieve his objective.
    I’ll think of something.

f you’ve never tried swinging on the clothesline at night then you should. I recommend it.

    I’ve been out here every night for the past three weeks. From midnight to 4 a.m.
    But not for fun. I’m in training. I’m going to set a new world record for the fastest ever clothesline swinging. It’s my dream.
    Unfortunately, my parents don’t share my dream. That’s why I have to do my training at night while they’re asleep. Whenever they catch me swinging on the clothesline they go berko. I’ve tried to explain to them that I’m not just mucking around, that I’m trying to achieve something special, but it’s no use.
    â€˜Why can’t you play a normal sport like football?’ says Dad. ‘Something that takes real skill.’
    Real skill?
    Now don’t get me