Seriously Weird: St. Meular's

This is your big chance?" I said, "All you have to do is make a complete botch up of the dinner, and you'll be out of St. Meular's!"

"Oh, I get it!" said Spotty, "Hey! good idea!"

For a moment. Spotty looked hopeful, but then his face dropped.

"I can't do it" he said, "It'd mean letting my Mum and Dad down."

"I can see your halo ... its rising out of your head!" said Stick, pretending to shield his eyes, "Oh no! Its too bright!"

"Don't worry about it," I said, "Stick and I will do all the work for you. Just tell us when the big-wigs are coming and leave die rest to us."

"Six o'clock."

"Right," I said, nibbing my hands together, "One ruined dinner evening coming up!"

"Yeah!" said Stick, grinning.

We had about four hours to get ready. I told Spotty to go and do something, so he wouldn't hear what we were planning. He wandered off, then I discussed some ideas with Stick. It was a really good bit of brain-storming.

And we rang Darrel, the actor.

At five thirty, we ran round to Spotty's place and rang the bell

Spotty's Dad opened the door.

"Yes?" he said, looking mildly annoyed. He was dressed to the hilt. Black suit, white shirt, bow tie like a squashed moth, hair slicked back, shiny black shoes. His hands were scrubbed pink; his fingernails were immaculately manicured.

"Can Spotty, I mean Samuel, come for a game of touch rugby?" I asked.

"Not tonight."

"Well, can we talk to him for a moment?"

"He's not available."

"Its really important?"

Spotty's Dad looked even crosser now.