Grunt in the caravan, huddled in front of the television set. The television was one of those old box-shaped ones – not a flat screen – but the actual telly part had been taken out long ago and replaced with a fish tank that fitted inside it perfectly.Beautifully lit, the Grunts loved watching the handful of colourful fish dart around inside it, between plastic weeds. Mrs Grunt was always sure to stick her beloved Ginger Biscuit on the sofa between her and Mr Grunt, his glass eyes facing the little fishes.
The barn and surrounding field were used for everything from dances to amateur plays, fêtes to pig races, and dog shows to prize-vegetable competitions. All over the outer walls there were torn remains of posters announcing these various events, which had been pasted up, then pasted over with new ones, over the years.
As the summer evening light began to fade, Sunny found himself finishing off his roll and trying to make sense of the snatches of words: FOR ONE OR TWO NIGHTS ONLY … back by fairly popular demand … CHILDREN ALMOST FREE … You Won’t Believe Your Half-Closed Eyes … PAY AT DOOR OR SNEAK IN LATE … in its 3rd quite good year … Singing! Dancing! Falling Over! … Nearly All You Can Eat! There were also the names of various actors, singers and performers dotted among the shreds of poster, but one name seemed to leap out at him: THE REMARKABLE CHINN TWINS.
Where had he heard them mentioned before?
“Boo!” said a voice.
Sunny gave a little jump and turned to find himself face-to-face with a man with unnaturally curly hair and an enormous pair of bright-red lips. In the failing light, Sunny could see that his skin was a pale, chalky white.
Sunny suddenly felt nervous. Mr Grunt had told him that he’d know Mr Lippy was MrLippy when he saw him, and here was a man with enormous lips. This could, of course, mean that the man’s real name wasn’t Mr Lippy but that he called himself Mr Lippy on account of his lips …
… the only problem was that if the man with the humongous lips wasn’t Mr Lippy and Sunny asked him if he was Mr Lippy, he might not take too kindly to someone asking such an apparently rude question. And he might punch Sunny on the nose.
“Are you looking for a Mr L?” asked the man.
“Y-yes,” said Sunny. “A Mr Lippy.”
“Then you found him! I’m Lippy by name, Lippy by nature!” said the man in a sing-song tone that somehow suggested to Sunny that he’d said it a thousand times before.
Mr Lippy looked at Sunny closely, takingin the sticky-up hair, the wonky ears – the left much higher than the right – and, of course, the blue dress. “Have you got something for me?” he asked.
“Er, no,” said Sunny. “Am I supposed to have?”
“Are you sure you haven’t been given something to give to me?”
“All Dad gave me was a nettle-and-goat’ s-cheese roll and a bottle of home-made conker fizz,” said Sunny.
“Is that it?” asked Mr Lippy, pointing at an old Coke bottle filled with a rich, brown, gravy-thick liquid and stoppered with a small cork. It was propped up against the tree stump where Sunny had been sitting.
“Yup.” Sunny nodded.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” asked the big-lipped Mr Lippy.
“It’s not because I’m not thirsty that I’m not drinking it,” said Sunny, tying himself in “nots”.
“Then why not?”
“Because it tastes disgusting,” said Sunny.
“May I?” said Mr Lippy.
“Be my guest,” said Sunny.
Mr Lippy bent down, put the neck of the bottle between his super-ginormous lips, pulled out the cork with them, spitting it into the grass, and then glugged down the conker fizz in one go. When he’d finished, he smacked his lips – and that was one BIG smack – then wiped them on his sleeve – with one BIG wipe.
“Ah!” said Mr Lippy. “You’re absolutely right, son. That was truly horrible.”
For a fleeting millisecond, Sunny wondered whether Mr Lippy had called him son because he was his real
The barn and surrounding field were used for everything from dances to amateur plays, fêtes to pig races, and dog shows to prize-vegetable competitions. All over the outer walls there were torn remains of posters announcing these various events, which had been pasted up, then pasted over with new ones, over the years.
As the summer evening light began to fade, Sunny found himself finishing off his roll and trying to make sense of the snatches of words: FOR ONE OR TWO NIGHTS ONLY … back by fairly popular demand … CHILDREN ALMOST FREE … You Won’t Believe Your Half-Closed Eyes … PAY AT DOOR OR SNEAK IN LATE … in its 3rd quite good year … Singing! Dancing! Falling Over! … Nearly All You Can Eat! There were also the names of various actors, singers and performers dotted among the shreds of poster, but one name seemed to leap out at him: THE REMARKABLE CHINN TWINS.
Where had he heard them mentioned before?
“Boo!” said a voice.
Sunny gave a little jump and turned to find himself face-to-face with a man with unnaturally curly hair and an enormous pair of bright-red lips. In the failing light, Sunny could see that his skin was a pale, chalky white.
Sunny suddenly felt nervous. Mr Grunt had told him that he’d know Mr Lippy was MrLippy when he saw him, and here was a man with enormous lips. This could, of course, mean that the man’s real name wasn’t Mr Lippy but that he called himself Mr Lippy on account of his lips …
… the only problem was that if the man with the humongous lips wasn’t Mr Lippy and Sunny asked him if he was Mr Lippy, he might not take too kindly to someone asking such an apparently rude question. And he might punch Sunny on the nose.
“Are you looking for a Mr L?” asked the man.
“Y-yes,” said Sunny. “A Mr Lippy.”
“Then you found him! I’m Lippy by name, Lippy by nature!” said the man in a sing-song tone that somehow suggested to Sunny that he’d said it a thousand times before.
Mr Lippy looked at Sunny closely, takingin the sticky-up hair, the wonky ears – the left much higher than the right – and, of course, the blue dress. “Have you got something for me?” he asked.
“Er, no,” said Sunny. “Am I supposed to have?”
“Are you sure you haven’t been given something to give to me?”
“All Dad gave me was a nettle-and-goat’ s-cheese roll and a bottle of home-made conker fizz,” said Sunny.
“Is that it?” asked Mr Lippy, pointing at an old Coke bottle filled with a rich, brown, gravy-thick liquid and stoppered with a small cork. It was propped up against the tree stump where Sunny had been sitting.
“Yup.” Sunny nodded.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” asked the big-lipped Mr Lippy.
“It’s not because I’m not thirsty that I’m not drinking it,” said Sunny, tying himself in “nots”.
“Then why not?”
“Because it tastes disgusting,” said Sunny.
“May I?” said Mr Lippy.
“Be my guest,” said Sunny.
Mr Lippy bent down, put the neck of the bottle between his super-ginormous lips, pulled out the cork with them, spitting it into the grass, and then glugged down the conker fizz in one go. When he’d finished, he smacked his lips – and that was one BIG smack – then wiped them on his sleeve – with one BIG wipe.
“Ah!” said Mr Lippy. “You’re absolutely right, son. That was truly horrible.”
For a fleeting millisecond, Sunny wondered whether Mr Lippy had called him son because he was his real
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