The Grunts In Trouble Read Free Page A

reasonable question.

    “Not a big family,” said Larry Smalls, who had picked the topmost rock off his pyramid-shaped pile of rocks with his long, thin fingers and was now tossing it from one handto the other. “THE Bigg family. The family called Bigg.”
    “Oh,” said Sunny, though his “oh” made it obvious that he wasn’t any clearer as to why this meant that he should throw rocks.
    Except, perhaps, for the fun of it.
    Looking at the man’s expression, though, Sunny didn’t think that FUN had anything to do with it. He eyed Larry Smalls’ T-shirt. “So the ‘BIGG’ on your T-shirt means the Bigg family then?” He’d assumed it had just been a case of bad spelling.
    “Humph,” said Larry Smalls. The smell of his breath somehow reminded Sunny of the smell of a circus , which was rather strange. “Don’t you know your history, boy?” he asked.
    Not having been to school, Sunny didn’t know much about anything except what MrGrunt, Mrs Grunt and Mr Grunt’s dad (Old Mr Grunt) had told him, along with the things he’d learned for himself over the years, of course.
    And one of the most important things that he’d learned for himself was to believe half of what Mr Grunt, Mrs Grunt and Mr Grunt’s dad (Old Mr Grunt) told him.
    Sunny was just about to get an answer as to why it might be a good idea to throw rocks at the gates to Bigg Manor, when Mrs Grunt went and spoiled it all.
    She appeared in the doorway of the caravan. For some strange reason – if there was a reason – she had a mouldy old carrot stuck in her unkempt hair. “You’re blocking the road, big nose!” she shouted.
    Larry Smalls – whose nose was no bigger than Mrs Grunt’s – looked rather startled. Hewas about to protest when Mr Grunt stuck his head out of a window in the roof. “Why have we stopped, wife?” he shouted. “What have you done NOW?”
    “I haven’t done nothing but breathe ,” said Mrs Grunt, “and everyone has to breathe.”
    “Except for dead people,” snapped Mr Grunt, leaning dangerously far out of the window.
    “Except for dead people,” his wife agreed.
    “ And except for rocks and fridges and stuff,” Mr Grunt added. Because he doesn’t know much about anything, this felt like a very clever conversation he was suddenly having with Mrs Grunt. Quite intellectual , in fact.
    Clip and Clop brought him back to earth with a bump.
    Quite a big bump.
    They had decided that it was high time towalk forward a few donkey paces, causing Mr Grunt to lose his balance, fall out of the window and bounce off the caravan roof on to the road.
    He stood up, adjusted his belt (which his father had made for him out of two smaller belts sewn together) and stood next to his wife.
    “WHAT ARE YOU DOING BLOCKING OUR WAY?” Mr Grunt shouted at Larry Smalls.
    Before Larry Smalls had a chance to say anything about Bigg not being best, Mr Grunt marched over to him in six purposeful strides and tripped over the pyramid of rocks almost as though he’d done it on purpose.
    Mr Grunt hit the ground like a sack of mummified cats, with a terrific THUD! and an accompanying GRUNT! The rocks wenteverywhere: some flying through the air, some rolling across the ground and just about ALL of them heading for Larry Smalls.
    Yelping like a cartoon dog who’s had his tail nipped by a crab, Smalls ran for safety. He took a giant leap and scrabbled to the top of his intended target: one of the gates to Bigg Manor.
    “Lunatics!” he shouted, shaking one fist as he held on to a gold-painted spike at the top of the gate with the other. “You’re all lunatics!”
    Somehow the wiry man’s belt had got tangled up in the spikes, looping around one of them. He was stuck, and in trying to wriggle free, lost his grip and found himself hanging from the top of the gates like a dog’s chew toy on a display hook in a pet shop. The “BIGG AIN’T BEST” on his T-shirt was now facing downwards.

    Mrs Grunt twisted her head round to try to read the