Barry Loser: worst school trip ever!. Jim Smith

me and is comperleeterly rich and famous.

      I held my magazine open to the photo of him relaxing on the set of Future Ratboy. He was wearing sunglasses and holding a can of passion fruit flavour Fronkle.

      ‘Passion Fruit Fronkle?’ cried Darren, splurting regular flavour Fronkle all over the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?’

      ‘Ooh, isn’t he dishy!’ cooed Shazza all grannyishly, leaning over and giving the photo of Michael J Socks a great big sloppy smooch. ‘Love ya, Mikey!’

      ‘Eww,’ said Nancy, as I wiped my magazine dry with a bit of Bunky’s T-shirt. ‘That’s gross, Shazza!’

      ‘Not your type, eh Nance?’ said Shazza. ‘Prefer a bit of a bad boy, do ya?’

      A pointy-nosed face popped up over the top of the seat in front of Darren. ‘Somebody mention me?’ smiled Gordon Smugly, the smug, ugly Gordon from our class at school.

      ‘I said BAD, Smugly, not SAD,’ said Shazza. I stomped my foot on the ground, except my foot wasn’t long enough to reach the floor from my seat, so it just sort of swung a bit.

      ‘For crying out keel, would you please let me talk!’ I boomed.

      ‘Silence, for King Loser is about to speak!’ sniggled Sharonella.

      ‘Thank you Shazzoid,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure why she was sniggling. I held the photo of Michael J Socks up again. ‘Now, can anyone see anything interestikeels in this photo?’

      They all peered at the picture. ‘Ooh, I know!’ blurted Bunky, looking like he was holding in an excitement blowoff. ‘Michael J Socks is growing a moustache!’

      ‘Eh?’ I said, zooming my eyes in on Michael J Socks’s upper lip.

      Bunky was right. Just under his nose was a row of tiny dots, just like the ones my dad gets half an hour after he’s shaved.

      Sharonella looked at me and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Reckon you’d look good with a moustache, Bazzy,’ she smiled.

      ‘Forget about the blooming moustache!’ I cried, waggling my fingers at the top bit of the photo. ‘What about BEHIND Michael J Socks?’

      All eight of their eyeballs zoomed in on the background of the photo, which was the set of Future Ratboy. Wooden cut-outs of futuristikeel skyscrapers zigzagged up into the sky. Just behind them, ever-so- slighterly blurry, was a sign.

      ‘Hokum TV Studios,’ said Sharonella, reading what it said. ‘Hey, isn’t that the place we’re off to today?’