Charlie and the War Against the Grannies
Read Charlie and the War Against the Grannies Online
Authors: Alan Brough
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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 âmy 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.
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About
Charlie and the War Against the Grannies
Chapter Four: The Re-Beginning
Chapter Seven: The Re-Re-Beginning
Chapter Seventeen: The Dilemma
Chapter Eighteen: The Decision
Chapter Twenty-one: The Training
Chapter Twenty-three: The Handkerchief
Chapter Twenty-four: The Information
Chapter Twenty-seven: The Tunnel
Chapter Twenty-eight: The Posters
Chapter Twenty-nine: The Dumbness
Chapter Thirty-one: The Reception
Chapter Thirty-three: The Toilet
Chapter Thirty-six: The Disappointment
Chapter Thirty-seven: The Door
Chapter Thirty-nine: The Wardrobe
Chapter Forty-one: The Embarrassment
Chapter Forty-two: The Eyeball
Chapter Forty-three: The Chamber
Chapter Forty-four: The Headlines
Chapter Forty-seven: The Wasn't-Nothing
Chapter Forty-eight: The Visit
Chapter Fifty-two: The Apology
Chapter Fifty-three: The Ambush
Chapter Fifty-six: The Informant
Chapter Fifty-seven: The Pursuit
Chapter Fifty-nine: The Owwww!
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-nine: The Commentary
Chapter Seventy-one: The Noise
Chapter Seventy-three: The Weapin
Chapter Seventy-four: The Explosion
Chapter Seventy-five: The Aftermath
Chapter Seventy-six: The Truth
As with everything,
this is for Helen
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SEVENTEEN
GRANNIES WERE HURT
(
JUST A LITTLE BIT
)
DURING
THE MAKING
OF THIS BOOK.
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THE
TRUTH
I didn't want Mrs Cyclopolos to explode.
I just wanted a paper round.
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 âessential operational intelligence'.
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, âWow! Your house has a clock tower.'
The first time my best friend Hils saw my house she said, âWow! Your house has a clock tower.' The first time my friend Rashid saw my house he said, âWow! Your house has a clock tower.' The first time my friend Stevenson saw my house he said, âIf 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?
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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, âAunty 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, âI'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.
âAunty Grubana? It's Marko. How's Uncle Bojan?'
âMarko,' my mum would say. âIt'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.'
âMyung-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.'
âPolly. 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 âaunty'.
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.
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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 âfart' in about a million different languages. He would walk right up to someone he'd never met before and say, âExcuse me, are you from another country? Can you tell me how to say “fart” in your language?'
They would always tell him.
âfart'
in ten different languages
Â
- Arabic â Durta
- Czech â Prt
- Dutch â Scheet
- Hebrew â Nod
- Norwegian â Prump
- Italian â Flatulenza
- Korean â Bang-gwi
- Filipino â Umut-ot
- Polish â Gazy jelitowe
- Swahili â Jamba
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.
THE
ORPHAN
You are probably thinking, âCharlie 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.
