Twenty disgusting minutes later, we’re inside the Teleportaloo madly washing our hands in the slightly too small basin.

‘There’s no soap!’ I wail. ‘I will never bite my fingernails again.’

‘Try the wipes. They do wonders for the skin. So silky smooth!’ says Matt, admiring his hands.

‘Hands. Sanitary,’ says the Teleportaloo.

‘Thanks, Telly,’ says Matt.

‘Phew,’ I say, exhausted. ‘I confidently predict that Baby Zilla will be asleep now and we can get the hoop before you can say . . .’

Before I can say, I am interrupted by a deafening wail outside.

Followed by a huge . . .

Oh, what now?

We open the door to see Baby Zilla stomping along the street on what can only be described as a RAMPAGE.

Zilla lets out a monstrous roar, tears a telegraph pole from the ground and throws it like a giant javelin into a shop window.

She smashes a car.

She smashes another car.

And a bus stop.

She snaps a tree.

She kicks a bin high into the air.

It is carnage.

We watch her stomp through the town, taking the precious hoop with her.

‘We’ll follow her in that!’ Matt leaps out of the Teleportaloo and tears across the park.

I grab the bag and follow him.

Matt jumps into a golf buggy.

Wait, a golf buggy?

I hop into the passenger seat. He grabs the wheel, turns the key and floors the accelerator.

We charge after Zilla.

At about ten kilometres an hour.

‘Bad baby! Bad giant baby!’ I yell.

‘Do you think she could throw a bus?’ Matt asks.

Zilla toddles along with clumsy steps, knocking signs off buildings.

She grumpily scoops up a bronze statue of a famous Naplandian poet and throws it over her shoulder.

It smashes into a shop selling antique weapons.

‘Wow! The pen IS mightier than the sword,’ says Matt.

Zilla hears us and stops. She turns unsteadily on her feet, looks down at us and gurgles, ‘Broom broom tar!’

She stomps in our direction, crushing cars like coke cans. We begin the slowest U-turn in history.

She reaches out her hand. Her fingers are the size of surfboards.

‘Me want. Broom broom tar!’ she booms.

‘Rich, I’m confused. I thought we were chasing her? Cos I feel like she is chasing us.’

I feel the tinglings of another freak out as she charges towards us in . . .