The Adventures of Nanny Piggins (4 page)

'Look at myself in a mirror,' Nanny Piggins said, considering this idea. 'Yes, I suppose that would work. The only problem would be that an image in a mirror is reversed, isn't it? So if I painted my reflection, everything would be all backwards. My left side would be on the right and the right side would be on the left.'

The children all looked at themselves in the mirror, poking first the left side of their faces, then the right side, and they realised she was correct.

'I know. We could cross our fingers and hope that none of the judges notice,' suggested Derrick.

'That just might do the trick. After all, they were stupid enough to like those paintings from last year, so it's not as if they are particularly clever people,' said Nanny Piggins.

* * *

And so, that night, after a hearty dinner of caramel brownies and sherbet lemons (Mr Green was away and Nanny Piggins was in charge of deciding the menu), Nanny Piggins set to work on her portrait. And the children stayed up to watch her, enthralled to see a masterpiece created before their very eyes.

As it turned out, Nanny Piggins was actually a very gifted painter. After all, you do not get to be the drawcard at a major travelling circus without having an artistic temperament. Just as Nanny Piggins had taken to being blasted out of a cannon the first time (she happened to be checking down the barrel of the cannon for cake at the exact moment they decided to test it), Nanny Piggins proved herself to be an accomplished painter on her first attempt.

It is hard to describe what any great masterpiece looks like. You really need to see it for yourself to appreciate the beauty of the brushwork, the composition and the artist's use of colour. But I will try and describe Nanny Piggins' self-portrait for you. If you can imagine Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, a mysterious, smiling woman dressed in black. Only instead of a human's face, imagine a pig's face. And instead of two folded human hands, imagine two folded pig trotters. Then you will have a perfect mental picture of Nanny Piggins' self-portrait. It was, in short, a breathtakingly brilliant artwork, the quality of which has not been seen since Leonardo da Vinci dropped dead in 1519.

Nanny Piggins proudly handed in her self-portrait, without a doubt in her mind that the $50,000 would soon be hers.

The judges had three days to decide the winner. And they were a lovely three days for Nanny Piggins and the children. Each day they played a marvellous game called 'What shall we spend the $50,000 on?' They all found this game endlessly entertaining because the more they thought about it, the more good ideas they came up with. Michael wanted to buy an elephant and ride it to school every day. Samantha wanted to buy a great big diamond, then shoot a laser through it to burn a hole in her maths teacher's car. And Derrick wanted to buy a speed boat so he could quit school and become a pirate.

And so, before they knew it, they were being invited down to the gallery for the announcement of the prize. This was deemed to be such an important event by Nanny Piggins that she actually washed her face (using soap), even behind her ears, which destroyed several good smears of chocolate she had been saving for later.

There was quite a crowd gathered ready to hear the announcement. 'You can tell which ones are the artists,' Nanny Piggins said loudly, for she could be instructive when she chose to be. 'They are the useless-looking ones wearing cardigans.' There were indeed several useless-looking, stroppy young men wearing cardigans among the crowd. And those that had heard Nanny Piggins' comment glared at her instead of glaring meaningfully into the middle distance like they normally did.

But there was no time to consider their appalling dress sense because the director of the gallery was soon tapping the microphone and clearing his throat. Which is, supposedly, the polite way to say 'shut-up' before beginning a speech. 'Thank you all for coming . . .' the director started.

Nanny Piggins just rolled her eyes. 'Get to the money!' she heckled.

Th e director of the gallery ignored her and warbled on. Nanny Piggins passed toffees out to each of the children to fortify them through the inevitable speechifying. Some time later, after thanking every one of his friends by name and making several simpering comments he mistook for jokes, the director did finally get to the point. 'And now to announce the winner . . .' he said.

Nanny Piggins swiftly pinched each of the children to make sure they were paying attention. 'But before I do . . .' he went on. Nanny Piggins and the children all groaned loudly. 'I have to announce that one of the entries, regrettably, had to be disqualified from the competition.'

'Some twit didn't follow the rules,' guessed Nanny Piggins.

'Unfortunately we had to disqualify "Self-Portrait of a Flying Pig" by Sarah Piggins.'

'Why?' shrieked Nanny Piggins, hardly believing her ears.

'Because portraits of pigs are not allowed in the competition,' explained the director.

'But that's pigism,' bellowed Nanny Piggins. She was really cross now. 'How dare you stand up there and be piggist. In front of children too. You should be ashamed of yourself.'

The director the gallery was very taken aback. He had never been yelled at by a pig before. 'I'm afraid there is nothing I can do. Samuel H. Wiseman, the founder of the Wiseman Portrait Prize, was very specific when he set down the rules.'

The director took out a copy of the rule booklet and read from the first page: 'Rule number 1 – the painting must be a portrait. Rule number 2 – the portrait must, under no circumstances whatsoever, be of a pig.'

The whole crowd gasped.

'Why on earth would he write such a mean, beastly, prejudiced rule?' demanded Nanny Piggins.

'Well, I have done some research,' the director admitted, 'and according to his family records, he was attacked by a crazed pig when he was a small child. He obviously held a grudge for the rest of his life.'

'A man like that shouldn't be allowed to set up art prizes,' Nanny Piggins said in disgust.

'I'm dreadfully sorry,' said the director, before continuing with the rest of the prize-giving ceremony.

The portrait prize did indeed go to a horrible painting that looked nothing like anybody, let alone the person it was supposed to be. Unless it was meant to be a picture of a person whose head was caught in a vice and covered in orange paint. But Nanny Piggins had stopped listening. She had lost all interest in portrait prizes now that she was not going to be given one. It was such a shame when they were all so terribly good at playing 'What Shall We Do With $50,000'.

The director droned on and on about 'honour' and 'the importance of art' and 'prestige to the gallery', making Nanny Piggins wish she had brought some sponge cake to shove in her ears, but then what he was saying became interesting. 'Each year, as you know,' said the director, 'aside from the Wiseman Portrait Prize which is, of course, judged by the finest art critics in the country, there is another prize.'

Nanny Piggins' ears immediately pricked up.

'The security guards who stand in the gallery and look at the paintings all day long pick their own favourite. So now I'd like to introduce Guard Smith to announce the Guards' Prize.'

Guard Smith approached the microphone. He was the same guard Nanny Piggins had spoken to a week earlier. And, thankfully, he had a much more direct style of speech-making than his employer. He cleared his throat and got right to it. 'This year's Guards' Prize goes to Sarah Piggins, on the grounds that her painting actually looks like what it is meant to. And I know because I've met her and it's the spitting image.'

Tears streamed down Nanny Piggins' face as she climbed up on stage to accept the award.

'Thank you, thank you so much,' Nanny Piggins gushed. 'It is good to know that there are still some people who truly appreciate real art.'

'You're welcome,' said the guard. 'You certainly deserve it.' And with that, he handed her the Guards' Prize – a large packet of chocolate biscuits.

Nanny Piggins clutched the biscuits to her chest. 'What a wonderful, wonderful prize,' she exclaimed. 'I'm glad I didn't win the Portrait Prize now. I'd much rather have some chocolate biscuits.'

And they were really good biscuits. The type that have to be stored in the refrigerator because there's so much chocolate in them. Not that Nanny Piggins' packet ever made it that far. She and the children sat down and ate them all on the spot. They then returned home, completely satisfied that they'd had the better of the art establishment.

Nanny Piggins and the
Sherbet Lemon that Saved the Day

Nanny Piggins and the three children were crouched on the kitchen floor, holding a cockroach race, when Mr Green entered. Now, one of the first things Nanny Piggins had taught the children was what to do if someone walks in on you when you are doing something bad. So when Mr Green burst in, the children did exactly as they had been trained – they stayed absolutely still and did not say a word, completely ignoring the four cockroaches as the creatures scattered across the floor in front of them. Nanny Piggins made a mental note to re-catch hers later because it was a big one with long legs and it would be a shame to let it run wild. Apart from making excellent racers, cockroaches can be tremendously handy for shocking hygienic people and clearing long queues at the deli.

Mr Green saw nothing wrong with the disarray of furniture, or the fact that his children were sitting on the floor among an infestation of insects. Because, in truth, he was not looking at them. Whenever his children came into his eye-line, he looked through them. He found parenthood less disturbing that way. He had come into the room to impart the minimum possible information to the nanny and then retreat.

Nanny Piggins could sense this, so she did not speak. She did not want to encourage him to hang around any longer than he had to.

'I shall be going away for a few days,' said Mr Green.

The children's first instinct was to squeal with joy. It was always nice when their father was out of the house. But it was extra, especially nice if they knew, for sure, he would not be coming back for days and days.

'I trust you will be all right with the children,' continued Mr Green.

'Yes,' agreed Nanny Piggins.

There was an awkward pause.

'I suppose you'll need the contact details of where I'm staying,' said Mr Green glumly.

'No, that's all right. If something terrible happens we can wait and tell you all about it when you get back,' said Nanny Piggins.

Mr Green much preferred it this way. He was very pleased that the nanny suggested it. Unfortunately for Mr Green, in looking forward to five days without any contact with his three children, he had a temporary brain spasm and said the following: 'Then I will leave the key to the car for you. In case you need to drive somewhere. You know, rushing the children to the hospital in the middle of the night, that sort of thing.' With that, he took his car key off his keyring and laid it down on the kitchen bench.

'Thank you,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I don't imagine I will use it. But it's good to know I can, in case of a really, really extreme emergency. Like someone's hand being accidentally chopped off.'

'All right then,' said Mr Green. He often said meaningless things in place of making actual conversation. 'I'll be off. So, goodbye, I suppose.'

'Goodbye,' said Nanny Piggins and the children.

The door had barely swung back to the doorpost before Nanny Piggins leaped up from the floor and, in an act of unexpected athleticism, hurled herself at the kitchen counter, snatching up the key as quickly as humanly – or rather pigly – possible.

'The key to the car!' said Nanny Piggins in awestruck tones. 'This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.'

'He didn't actually give it to you,' Derrick pointed out. He wanted Nanny Piggins to have the key to the car as much as anyone but he still thought it was important to be accurate. 'He just lent it to you.'

'Yes, he lent me this key. But when I take it to the key cutter and get a copy made, that one will be mine to keep!' explained Nanny Piggins and, indeed, Derrick could not argue with that.

'Just think, with this key we could go anywhere,' said Nanny Piggins.

'Anywhere until you get to the sea and have to swap into a boat,' reasoned Samantha.

'I'm sure I could get a nice boat in exchange for your father's car. It's brand new and he has it washed all the time,' said Nanny Piggins.

This frightened Samantha. 'I wasn't suggesting you swap father's car.'

'No, of course not,' agreed Nanny Piggins. 'But it's nice to know I can if I absolutely need to. You know, to ensure world peace or something.'

Samantha was only slightly reassured.

'Let's go and look at it,' suggested Nanny Piggins.

Moments later, Nanny Piggins and the children stood looking at Mr Green's car. It was a Rolls Royce and they are usually very expensive. But Mr Green had got it cheap because something had gone wrong at the paint-mixing factory. The car had been painted in exactly the same shade of yellow as cat-sick. This did not deter Nanny Piggins and the children. The car looked impressive and exotic now that they had control over it. The paintwork shone brighter, the upholstery smelled stronger and the whole thing looked bigger.

'Let's sit in it to see how it feels,' suggested Nanny Piggins.

'But you're only meant to drive it in extreme emergencies,' Samantha reminded her.

'We're only sitting in it. What harm can that do?' reasoned Nanny Piggins. Samantha could not argue with that. What harm could it do? Besides, she wanted to sit in the back seat and pretend she was the Queen waving to the crowds of loyal subjects. So all four of them happily climbed in.

Samantha pretended she was the Queen, Michael pretended he was a fire-engine driver, Derrick pretended he was a detective staking out a criminal's lair and Nanny Piggins pretended she was the nanny of a very silly man who gave her the key to a luxury car. It was a lot of fun. Having a car was even more fun than cockroach races.

'Why don't you turn the radio on?' suggested Derrick.

'How do I do that?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Just put the key in the ignition and turn it one notch,' Derrick explained.

Nanny Piggins did as he suggested and, suddenly, the car was filled with noise. The loud, boring noise of two men talking about politics.

'Yuck, change the channel,' said Michael.

Derrick reached over and pressed a few buttons. Suddenly they were listening to music.

'You mean we can choose what we listen to?' said Nanny Piggins in amazement.

'Oh yes, there are dozens of stations to choose from,' Derrick explained.

'I assumed your father's radio was permanently set to the most boring station in the world. I didn't realise he could choose to change it,' said Nanny Piggins.

'Oh yes,' said Derrick. 'You just press the buttons up or down until you find a station you like.'

Nanny Piggins was astounded. 'Just think of all the times we've been in the car with him and we've either had to listen to him talk, or the radio talk. When we could have been listening to music instead. I would have done something about it had I known.'

The children could see that Nanny Piggins had a point. The car was so much more exciting now that their father was not in it.

'What does this button do?' asked Nanny Piggins, reaching towards a small black box sitting in the central tray.

'That opens the garage door,' explained Sam antha.

'Really,' said Nanny Piggins as she reached over and pressed the button.

'What are you doing?' asked Samantha, immediately suspicious.

'I thought we might take the car out for a little drive,' said Nanny Piggins.

'But you're only meant to drive it in an emergency,' said Samantha.

Now you must understand, Samantha was not a spoilsport. She loved her nanny. And she enjoyed fun. She just took a while longer to warm up to fun than most children. But once she finally stopped worrying and started to enjoy herself, she could be just as much fun as the next irresponsible youth.

'Yes, I know. But the problem is, I don't know how to drive. So I had better learn now. Th at way I'll know what I'm doing when an emergency does happen,' explained Nanny Piggins, using a logic that only made full sense to herself.

'Didn't you learn how to drive at the circus?' asked Michael with surprise. It seemed to him that Nanny Piggins had learned everything else at the circus.

'No,' said Nanny Piggins absent-mindedly, as she poked buttons, hoping it would make the car go. 'If I wanted to get somewhere I'd just have them fire me out of the cannon in that direction. So how do I make this go?'

'You turn the key another notch,' said Derrick, not really thinking about the consequences of his suggestion. Because his mind was too busy picturing Nanny Piggins shooting through the air carrying a letter on the way to the post office. Before he knew it, the engine had roared to life. 'Oh my goodness!' he exclaimed.

'Now we're cooking with gas,' said Nanny Piggins delightedly. This was one of her favourite expressions. She did not know what it meant precisely. But she imagined it had something to do with the delight cavemen felt when gas was invented and they could stop lighting fires by rubbing two sticks together.

'Where shall we go?' she asked the children.

'How about the shop?' suggested Derrick conservatively.

'How about you just back it out of the drive carefully?' suggested Samantha even more conservatively.

'How about Iceland?' suggested Michael, feeling not-at-all conservative because he knew the car had seven air bags so not only was he likely to survive a crash, it would probably also be exciting and fun.

'I know,' declared Nanny Piggins, 'let's do all three!' And with that she threw the car into reverse and went precisely nowhere.

'What's happened?' she asked Derrick.

Derrick opened his eyes. He had closed them to brace for impact just in case Nanny Piggins managed to back into a truck as she came out of the driveway. He looked over to see what Nanny Piggins was doing and immediately recognised the problem. 'Your legs don't reach the pedals.'

'What pedals?' asked Nanny Piggins, although she soon saw the answer for herself when she looked down and saw two of them.

'One is to make the car go and the other is to make the car stop,' explained Derrick.

'How ingenious,' said Nanny Piggins. Humans could be annoying but they did come up with some clever things. 'Well there's nothing for it . . .'

Samantha hoped Nanny Piggins was about to say they would all have to go back in the house. But, of course, she did not. She said, 'Michael will have to crawl down there and press them for me when I call out.'

Michael was only too willing to do just that. So they were soon lurching backwards down the driveway with terrifying bursts of speed, followed by jolting stops. Derrick was reluctantly impressed when Nanny Piggins managed to get the car onto the road having only driven over one rubbish bin and a rose bush.

'We've got it out of the driveway. Now let's go to the shop,' yelled Nanny Piggins. She was excited and giddy with her new-found source of power. 'Just think, we can buy lollies without having to be exhausted from the walk there.'

'Oh my goodness!' exclaimed Derrick. For he had opened the glove box and was overwhelmed by what he saw.

'What is it?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Look at all that money,' said Derrick pointing into the glove box. Because there in front of him was an entire $10 worth of small coins. It was the change Mr Green used for paying the toll on the way to work.

'It's like a pirate's treasure chest,' said Nanny Piggins, making a mental note to search Mr Green's things for money more often. 'Look at all that money. It's a fortune. Think how much chocolate we're going to be able to buy.'

Even Samantha was beginning to stop worrying at the thought of all that chocolate.

'Press harder on the "go" pedal, Michael, we've got lollies to buy,' ordered Nanny Piggins. And Michael, being a good boy, did exactly as he was told. The car shot forward and Nanny Piggins, using all her dexterity and skill from years of being a circus performer, was able to drive the car all the way to the shop without once asking Michael to press the stop pedal. At least not until they got to the shop, when Michael hit the brake so hard the car left two great long tracks of rubber burnt onto the road behind it.

Nanny Piggins and the children hopped out of the car and raced into the shop as fast as they could, not realising that they had left the engine on. It did not occur to Nanny Piggins that you needed to turn a car off, because she had never bought petrol before. She had no idea that petrol was expensive and that you should try to use as little as possible.

While it was always difficult for Nanny Piggins and the children to decide exactly what sort of sweets to buy, and coming to this decision usually involved them yelling and screaming at each other, the shrieking match was usually brief. Because no matter whether they preferred peppermints to chocolate, or chocolate to sherbet, they were all united in the common goal to get as much of it in their mouths as quickly as possible. So three minutes after entering, they left the shop carrying a large shopping bag full to the brim with their negotiated combination of treats.

They hurried back to the car so they could enjoy their haul privately, without being criticised by passers-by, because it seemed that everyone was an expert on childhood obesity these days. And whenever Nanny Piggins let the children eat their own body weight in chocolate in the street, there was always some nosey stranger who would stop to give her a piece of their mind.

Once in the car, however, they had only got a handful of lollies in their mouths when they noticed that there was a fully grown man sitting in the middle of the back seat, screaming at Nanny Piggins to 'Drive! Hurry up and drive!' The man was waving what looked like an incredibly realistic water pistol so Nanny Piggins decided to do exactly what he said. She put the car in drive and asked Michael to press the 'go' pedal.

As they raced away from the strip of shops the man seemed to relax, although he still kept his realistic-looking water pistol trained on Nanny Piggins. 'What happened to Paul?' asked the man.

'Whatever do you mean?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Where did he go? Paul was behind the wheel when I went into the jewellery shop. Are you his missus or something?' asked the man.

Nanny Piggins was about to get on her feminist high horse and explain that she was no man's 'missus', when she thought better of it. She had just had her hair set and did not want to be doused in water.