He leaned close. His breath smelled of licorice and secrets. “It un-boils eggs,” he said.
I hear whispering. I hear a giggle—and it is not my father’s giggle. Then I hear a small, wet voice say, “Oh! Oh, I see! Well, why didn’t you say so?” my dad is fantastic roald dahl pdf
Most fathers would say, “Don’t be silly, there’s no such thing.” Not my father. My father takes a torch, lies down on the carpet, and slides under the bed. He leaned close
Tonight, as I go to sleep, I hear him downstairs. He is playing the accordion and singing a song about a frog who became a king. The cat is dancing. My mother is laughing. And Grumblegut is nowhere to be seen. I hear whispering
My mother was standing in the kitchen, making a noise like a boiling kettle. “That cat is a menace!” she shrieked. “A FURRY MENACE!”
Every Saturday, my father takes me to the shed at the bottom of the garden. It is not a normal shed. It does not contain rusty rakes or old paint. No. It contains the Whizzpopper 3000 .