‘Help!’ I yell.
‘Help!’ yells Terry.
‘Andy?’ says a familiar voice. ‘Terry? What are you doing up there?’
It’s Jill!
‘The ants went crazy and turned into a hose!’ I say.
‘Can you turn the tap off so we can get down?’ says Terry.
‘Sure thing,’ says Jill.
Jill turns the hose off (at the ant-tap) …
and Terry and I fall to the ground with a loud THUMP!
‘What did you do to upset the ants?’ says Jill. ‘They appear to be very agitated.’
‘It’s Terry’s fault,’ I say. ‘He left the ant farm gate open and all the ants got out and started attacking us.’
‘I only left it a little bit open,’ says Terry.
Jill frowns. ‘When it comes to ants,’ she says, ‘a little can be a lot. I’d better have a talk to them.’
She gets down on her knees, makes her fingers into pretend antennas and wiggles them around.
‘It’s not working,’ she says. ‘I’m too big. I need to be ant-sized. Can you draw me smaller, Terry?’
‘Sure, Jill,’ says Terry. ‘One ant-sized you coming up!’
Soon Jill is deep in conversation with the ants—which is not surprising, really, because Jill can talk to any animal … even insects, and ants are insects, which is why she can talk to them.
‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ says Terry.
‘Beats me,’ I say. ‘I don’t speak Ant.’
Finally Jill turns to us and starts explaining, but her voice is just a tiny little squeak.
‘Oh, great!’ I say.
‘Now we can’t understand her because she’s too small.’
‘No problem,’ says Terry. ‘I’ll give her this micro-mini-megaphone I made last week.’
‘Thanks, Terry,’ says Jill through the micro-mini-megaphone. ‘The ants said they are very cross because you and Andy keep wrecking their ant farm.’
‘But I’m always really careful around the ants!’ I say.
‘Me too!’ says Terry. ‘I’m even more careful than Andy!’
‘And I’m even more careful than Terry!’ I say.
‘Well,’ says Jill, ‘that may be true, but perhaps you’re not being as careful as you think you are. Take a look at this.’
‘Those poor little ants,’ says Jill. ‘You owe them a really big apology.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ says Terry. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
‘I’m even sorrier than Terry,’ I say.
‘And I’m even sorrier than Andy,’ says Terry.
‘I think the ants will be okay now,’ says Jill. ‘Just promise that, whatever you do, you WILL NEVER DISTURB THEIR ANT FARM EVER AGAIN!’
‘We promise,’ I say. ‘Don’t we, Terry?’
‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘We really, really promise.’
‘Good,’ says Jill, leading the ants away, back to the ant farm.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, that’s right, I was telling you all about the permit. Like I was saying, Terry took care of that. ‘Didn’t you, Terry?’
‘What?’ says Terry.
‘The building permit. I was telling the readers that you organised it. You did, didn’t you?’
‘Well, er, sort of,’ says Terry. ‘Except for one small problem …’
‘I can explain,’ says Terry. ‘Once upon a time …’
(Hold on, readers, we’re going into a flashback.)
‘Once upon a time,’ says Terry, ‘you gave me some money to go and get a building permit for our treehouse.
So off I went to the building permit office.
‘On my way through the forest, I met a friendly little man selling see-into-the-future peanuts … and, luckily, I had exactly the right amount of money to buy the whole bag!
‘I didn’t eat them, though, because I remembered that I’m allergic to see-into-the-future peanuts.
So …
‘I traded the see-into-the-future peanuts for the fastest horse in the world …
but it wasn’t fast enough so I traded it for a talking goat …
but the goat only spoke French so I traded it for a singing monkey …
but it turned out the monkey couldn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ so I traded it for a solid gold goldfish …
but the solid gold goldfish was so heavy it couldn’t even swim, so I traded it for a mathematical mouse, but the mathematical mouse thought two plus two equalled five, so …
I traded it for a performing flea …
but the performing flea refused to do any tricks, so I traded it for a magic bean.
‘After all that trading I was really hungry …
so hungry that I completely forgot and I ate the magic bean.’
‘You completely forgot what?’ I say. ‘About getting the permit?’
‘No,’ says Terry, ‘I completely forgot that as well as being allergic to see-into-the-future peanuts, I’m also allergic to magic beans!
and then I felt worse …
and then I felt even worser …
and then, just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more worser, I blew up!
Now it’s time to come back to the present.’
‘So you’re telling me we don’t have a valid building permit for the treehouse?’ I say to Terry.
‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘But look on the bright side: I blew up but I didn’t die.’
‘That’s true,’ I say, putting my hands around his throat, ‘but you’re going to die now. Any last words?’
‘Yes,’ gasps Terry. ‘Who’s going to answer the phone?’
‘I will,’ I say. ‘And then I’ll finish strangling you!’
I let go of Terry and answer the 3D video phone.
(Did I mention we have a 3D video phone? Well we do—and it’s 3D!)
It’s Mr Big Nose, our publisher.
‘What took you so long?’ he says.
‘Andy was trying to strangle me,’ says Terry.
‘I’ll strangle you both if your next book isn’t here by twelve o’clock today,’ says Mr Big Nose. ‘Goodbye!’
‘This is terrible,’ I say. ‘Not only do we not have a permit for the treehouse, but we haven’t written our book and it’s due in today!’
‘Look on the bright side,’ says Terry.
‘What bright side?’ I say.
‘I still didn’t die after I ate the magic bean and blew up,’ he says.
I go back to strangling him.
‘Letter for you,’ calls Bill the postman, distracting me and accidentally saving Terry’s life.
‘Cool,’ says Terry. ‘I love getting letters.’
We sit down and read the letter. This is what it says:
INSPECTOR BUBBLEWRAP
SAFETY CENTRAL HEADQUARTERS
BUILDING PERMIT DEPARTMENT
Dear Andy and Terry,
This is to inform you that I will be visiting your treehouse in one minute to check that you have a current and valid building permit.
Regards,
Inspector Bubblewrap
‘What a nice letter,’ says Terry.
‘Are you crazy?’ I say. ‘He’s a building inspector and he’s coming to check if our treehouse building permit is current—the very building permit we don’t have!’
‘Yikes!’ says Terry. ‘When is he coming?’
‘In one minute,’ I say.
‘One minute?!’ says Terry. ‘Double yikes!’
