Next morning, the Wakey-wakey Hooter parped through the forest, blasting the campers from their sweet dreams. It stopped, and for a moment there was silence in the camp. Then shrill shrieks from the girls’ hut sliced through the peace and quiet.
Danny hung upside down from his bunk bed, grinning at Matthew.
‘In. The. Net!’ he said, dropping to the floor and hurrying outside. ‘The Bonzer Boys are on the scoreboard!’
The boys spilt out into the courtyard to see what was happening as a stream of screaming, spider-infested girls barged from their hut.
Sally Butterworth burst through the door. A delicate silver web stretched from her ear to her shoulder, and a spider as big as a biscuit swung from her nose.
‘Get it off! Get it off!’ she yelled.
Danny sauntered over to her and gently lifted the spider on to the ground. ‘Soppy-Sally-dillydally-bing-bang-bong,’ he said.
‘Dopey-Danny-dilly-dally-bing-bang-bong to you!’ she yelled, brushing at her arms and legs and shaking her head to get any spiders out of her pigtails. ‘With knobs on!’
Danny grinned.
‘You!’ she growled.
‘Me!’ replied Danny, scratching his left armpit.
Vicky Wilmott strolled over to them. ‘Silly-billy-dilly-dally-bing-bang-bong, Matt,’ she said. Her head was enveloped in a shining cap of silvery webs, and the dozen tiny spiders that had spun them.
‘Silly-billy-dilly-dally-bing-bang-bong, Vicky,’ Matthew replied, scratching his tummy. ‘Your hair looks cool.’
Thanks. I like spiders.’
‘They don’t,’ said Danny, grinning at a group of girls who seemed to be doing a strange dance, running round in circles, screeching wildly and waving their arms about their heads.
‘Don’t be soft, girls!’ said Bunny Grylls, wading into the hysterical mob. ‘At least they’re not poisonous like the ones back home. On my first trip into the Australian outback, I woke up one morning covered in deadly Burrumbuttock Bottom-biter spiders. I had to sit on a wombat for three days to neutralize the effects of the venom!’
Danny rubbed his elbow, then scraped at his knee. He noticed Matthew standing on one leg to scratch his toes. Six or seven of the other boys from his hut were scratching themselves furiously.
‘I’ve got fleas!’ cried Jimmy Sedgley.
Danny glared at Sally. ‘You!’
‘Me!’ she answered. ‘That makes us even!’
Bush picked one of the fleas off Jimmy and examined the insect closely. ‘Holy Dooley! This is the Snowdonian Fidgeting Flea,’ he said. ‘These little beauties produce five-hundred and sixty-nine flea-babies every hour! It’s no wonder you’re all crawling. They make you itch like blazes!’
Bush rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘These bities usually live on the Lesser-warty Woodland Hedgehog. I wonder . . .’
He went into the boys’ hut and emerged a minute later with a family of spiky and not-too-warty hedgehogs in a cardboard box. ‘Just as I thought: I found these little fellas snuffling around under your beds,’ he said. ‘That’s why you’re all jumping with fleas.’
‘Competition time!’ said Bunny. ‘Who’s the most infested, boys or girls? Matt, Vicky, get counting!’
‘Fab!’ cried Vicky.
‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.
Bush turned to Danny and Sally. ‘Don’t forget, you two: from today, and for the rest of the week, you’re doing the Poo-wiggly-wig Wipe-up: scrape up the slops and wash the dish mountain!’
‘Bet I can slop and wash more dishes than you,’ scowled Sally.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ replied Danny. ‘Go for your dishcloth!’