We're all stuck indoors!
Hopefully you've found plenty of ideas to keep busy.
Here's a couple of my tales from the Creative Kid Tales Story Collection 2 to keep you entertained on those rainy days. Send me a drawing from the story and see it here!
Bangers and Smash
It’s Friday, and there’s a giant sausage where my house should be.
Mum is freaking out, flapping around like a chicken. Dug looks like he wishes a hole would swallow him up.
Bonzo is hiding. Dad’s inside. With it.
It’s all Dug’s fault. Well, strictly speaking, it’s Dad’s, but I’ll blame Dug anyway. Clearly, this isn’t Dug’s finest moment. He’s standing on the street, mouth gaping wide enough to shove several sausages in.
Believe me, it would be my pleasure.
It all started on Monday, when Dad came home with a sausage machine he’d bought online from E-Tree Market. ‘Bit of a winner, lads. Seemed keen to get rid of it. Best bargain I’ve picked up since the blunt bladed butter cutter. We’ll show Mum how dinners should be cooked.’
Mum’s charcoal chicken is legendary. And her charcoal carrots, charcoal eggs, charcoal baked beans. You get the picture.
Dad pulls instructions out of the box and puts them straight down without looking. He plugs it in and starts pressing buttons. After a minute of changing his glasses from his forehead to his nose and back again, there’s a clunk-whir. noise. He smiles, looking slightly deranged. ‘Right boys. Family Sausage Competition.’
Dug rolls his eyes. He ruffles my curly red hair a little too firmly. ‘Carrot and Ginger Tommo?’ He thinks he’s hilarious and starts on one of his laugh-coughs.
‘Gerbil flavour for you?’ I say. That shuts him up.
Dug, (real name Derek), buried my gerbil Basil, on my sixth birthday. Luckily, Basil escaped, Derek got grounded, and ‘Dug’ sort of stuck after that.
We make sausages. Teriyaki baked bean flavour for dinner and Oaty-O chipolata’s for breakfast. Dad’s making a shopping list. Serious stuff.
Someone’s been practising while I was at school. There’s a soggy salad sausage on the bench. Mum laughs. ‘Maybe it heard me say that salad in a sausage is more appealing.’
I catch Dug in the kitchen with a screwdriver, after lights out. He’s looking slightly alarmed. His pyjama pants are missing. I ask him why. He calls me a nerd, farts, and goes back to bed. The sausage machine is definitely unplugged but I swear I can hear a clunk-whir.’. Bonzo whimpers in his sleep.
When I get home. Mum is buzzing around the street, lapping up praise. ‘Your father’s been busy. He’s made sausage for all the neighbours.’
Dad denies it and goes back to his recipes. ‘Nacho and jelly?’ he mutters.
Dinner is bangers and mash, all in one. I’m a bit over sausage now, so I scrape my leftovers into the bin and spot what looks like Dug’s pyjama bottoms wrapped in sausage skin.
Mum cleans the machine.It makes a noise like a growl. ‘It zapped me,’ she yelps, ‘Brian, this thing’s dangerous!’
Dad winks at me. ‘Don’t do your peanut, Marge. It’s fine.’
Mum huffs. She hates Marge. She’s a Margaret.
I’m up stupid early to find my soccer socks. Dad’s munching a large peanut sausage. ‘Nice one Tommo. Delicious.’
‘Not me.’ I say. ‘Careful, Dad. You’ll turn into a sausage yourself at this rate.’
I find my soccer sock behind the machine in a sausage skin. Dad opens the fridge to get the milk out. It’s also in a skin. Ha, ha, funny, Dug. I’m determined to win the competition.
I still haven’t chosen a flavour. There are huge sausages everywhere. Mum’s found her handbag in a skin on the table and is yelling at Dad. No-one is owning up. I wonder if I can use it as an excuse. ‘Sorry Sir, the sausage machine ate my homework.’
Bonzo howls miserably from the kitchen. He’s encased head to tail in sausage skin. Dug is crying with laughter. ‘Bonzo’s a sausage dog!’
I free Bonzo and give Dug the stink-eye. Is this Gerbil Part Two?
There’s a giant sausage where my house should be.
‘What happened?’ I ask Dug.
Dug whimpers. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to win.’
I recall the screwdriver on no-pants night. ‘You sabotaged it?’
He shakes his head vigorously. ‘It wouldn’t let me. I was too scared to say.’
We stand there gaping with the entire neighbourhood. We have to get Dad out. I stare and think. Dug just stares.
‘Dug, get everyone to bring their BBQ’s. Mum’s going to cook.’
He looks at me, horrified.
‘Just do it,’ I shout.
Mum shrieks hysterically. ‘Derek, tell them to bring anything except sausages.’
Ten minutes later, there’s a ring of BBQ’s surrounding my sausage house. Mum’s overseeing it all. Smoke rises from the sizzling plates. The air gets hotter and blacker. Bonzo is hiding. I’m circling. Finally, I spot a split in the sausage house skin.
‘Keep cooking Mum,’ I yell. ‘Smash it open!’
A frantic voice peels out of the split. ‘Flamin’ hurry up Marge.’
Mum shudders. ‘It’s Margaret! Turn up the gas!’
We hold our breath.
It’s raining sausage. Fleshy lumps falling from the sky. Dad’s stumbling out through the smoke, smudged and disheveled, carrying the crazed piece of machinery. Dug plucks sausage from his hair and munches contentedly. Bonzo crawls into his scorched kennel and buries his head in his bottom. When the smoke clears, Mum orders vegetarian pizza.
We’ve collected forty-five bin bags of skin. Mum’s giving Dad death stares. Dad hands Dug a spade. ‘Dig Dug. Dig deep.’
Dug nods solemnly. He takes the gaffa-taped machine away in its box.
Normality again. Dug’s calling me a nerd, but in a slightly more affectionate manner. Mum serves charcoal chicken and peas. We make seriously appreciative Mmmm noises.
Bonzo goes off like a mad dog in the garden. I go to shut him up. By the time I get out there, he’s chewing happily on a writhing sausage full of soil and worms.
Beneath the ground, I hear a faint clunk-whir.
Written by Fiona C Lloyd Illustrated by Allison Howard
Taken from the Creative Kids Tales Story Collection 2 compiled by Georgie Donaghey.