Barry and Elliott and Mama Cool went inside the tent, where it was much nicer than Barry was expecting. There were lots of candles in glass lamps and loads of cushions, and a really wide bed made out of furry blankets, and a big shaggy dog who jumped up and licked Barry’s face as soon as he came in.
“This is, like, Neil,” said Elliott.
“Oh!” said Barry. “That’s why it says Neil on the outside of the tent.”
“No, that’s the name of the shop we got it from. Neil’s Tents.”
“Oh,” said Barry.
“So, Barry,” said Elliott. “Welcome, man. To our, like, world?”
“Yes!” said Mama Cool. “And, in our world, anything you want to say or do: just say it or do it!”
“Yeah, that’s how we, like, roll?”
“OK…” said Barry. There was a short pause when no one quite seemed to know how to react to this statement. Barry smiled awkwardly at his potential parents; they smiled back. Then he said: “Bum.”
Elliott Cool frowned. “Sorry?”
“Bum.” Barry said it a bit louder the second time.
“Like, where?”
“No. You said I could say anything… so… BUM!!!”
“Oh, I get it!” said Mama Cool. “Yes! Bum!!”
“Right… right…” said Elliott. “Bum, yeah. Poo. Like, smell? Cool…”
“Bum!” said Barry, again. “Bum bum bum bum bum bum! Poo wee fart bum willie poo bum. Sick and bogey and diarrhoea!”
Elliott and Mama Cool clapped and laughed.
“Awesome, Barry…” said Elliott Cool. “What about, like, plop?”
“Or bloody?” said Mama Cool.
“Really?” said Barry. “I can say bloody?”
Elliott Cool smiled at his wife. She smiled back.
“As we said, Barry,” said Mama Cool, “you can say or do whatever you like…”
Barry took a deep breath. “Bloody plop-plop!” he said.
Elliott and Mama Cool laughed and clapped again. Barry laughed and clapped too, even though the idea of bloody plop-plop made him feel a bit sick.
“Would you like something to eat, my lover?” said Mama Cool after Barry had finally run out of all the swear words he knew.
“Yes, please,” he said. The swearing had become quite tiring by the end and he needed something to get his energy back.
They went outside again and round the back of the tent where a fire was burning, with an enormous stainless-steel pot on it. Mama Cool took the top off the pot and looked in.
“Mmmm. Mung Bean Muck-Muck…” she said. She produced a wooden bowl and a ladle and dug into the pan. Two seconds later, Barry was staring at a meal of what looked like grimy yellow porridge.
Elliott and Mama Cool sat cross-legged on the floor with their bowls of Mung Bean Muck-Muck. They tucked in.
“Hmm, Mama,” said Elliott, “this is, like, the best Muck-Muck ever?”
“Thanking you, husband-o’-mine. Hey, Barry, you’re not eating…”
“Yes… I…” Barry dug his spoon in. He raised the Muck-Muck to his lips. He put it in his mouth. It tasted like a melted brick.
He felt he should do his best to eat it. Otherwise, he thought, he’d seem rude. But then Barry remembered something about these parents. About what they’d just said.
“I don’t want it,” he said.
Elliott and Mama Cool looked up from their bowls.
“Sorry, Barry, man, couldn’t quite understand you,” said Elliott. “It sounded like you said mmmi mdon mwan bbbliiit?”
Barry chewed as best he could, for about ten seconds, then shut his eyes and, forcing his throat open, gulped down the spoonful of Muck-Muck. Mouth now clear, he said: “I don’t want the Mung Bean Muck-Muck. It’s disgusting. Can I have sweets instead, please?”
Elliott’s spoon stopped halfway towards his mouth, and Mama Cool looked a tiny bit hurt, but, after a moment’s pause, Elliott said: “Yeah, man, whatever. Let’s get in the, like, bus?”