The World of Poo Read Free Page A

plump woman, standing in front of the old range. ‘My name is Hartley,’ she said, handing him an empty matchbox, ‘and I’m the cook. After you’ve washed your hands really well I’ll cook you some breakfast. How would you like a nice boiled egg and toast soldiers?’

    After breakfast, Geoffrey helped Plain Old Humphrey feed the chickens and collect the eggs. ‘Some of these eggs must be quite lucky,’ said Geoffrey. ‘They’ve got chicken poo stuck to them.’ 2
    Plain Old Humphrey scratched his head. ‘Well, there’s no doubt that when bird poo lands on your head it brings good luck, but the bird’s got to choose, see. Poo may not always be lucky but it’s certainly useful. I use it in the garden. Look over here. I mix horse apples and straw in with the garden waste and that rots down to the best compost you will find. And the thing is, you’ll also find lots of worms there, who burrow away, pooing to their hearts’ content, which helps to break it up and make it good and fine.’ 3
    Geoffrey went to put his hand into the smelly compost heap to find some worm poo. ‘No, don’t do that,’ said Plain Old Humphrey. ‘I’m sure I can find something that will make it easier for a likely young lad such as you to start his own poo collection.’
    He went off to one of his sheds and Geoffrey heard a clattering and rattling and a nasty boingggg from within. 4 Plain Old Humphrey emerged with a garden hose wrapped around him like a snake, which he finally managed to fight off and sling back into the shed. He disappeared again before returning moments later with a bucket and spade.

    Taking the spade, Geoffrey carefully excavated a small hole at the bottom of the great heap and uncovered a tangled knot of wriggling pink worms. ‘What does worm poo look like?’ asked Geoffrey, bending down to get closer to the worms.
    ‘Well, it’s quite difficult to spot in there,’ said Plain Old Humphrey, ‘but see the little curly heaps of soil over here on the grass? That’s your worm poo, that is; it’s called worm casts.’ He brought out a cobwebby old jam jar and trowel for this delicate work, and with a bit of help, Geoffrey carefully transferred a sample of worm poo into the jar.
    Meanwhile, Widdler was running in circles and barking at nothing in particular or anything in general. In the vegetable patch Geoffrey could see a large black cat digging a hole. ‘What’s that cat doing?’ he asked.
    ‘That dratted cat,’ said Plain Old Humphrey through gritted teeth, ‘is digging up my champion leeks again! I’ll swing for him, I will.’
    ‘Why is he digging?’
    ‘Because he’s doing a poo. And because cats is a bit particular. They like to bury it when they’re done, and because they’re a bit lazy, they like to bury it where I’ve already been digging.’ As the cat finished its business and stalked off, Geoffrey moved purposefully towards the spot, holding the bucket and spade. ‘I’d let that cool down a bit before you dig it up,’ warned Plain Old Humphrey. ‘Mark the place with a stick and collect it in a day or so. Pretty strong stuff your cat poo. 5
    ‘Look, you must excuse me, lad, I need to pay a visit.’ Carefully lighting his pipe and picking up an old copy of the
Almanak
, Plain Old Humphrey made his way to his small personal privy between the compost heaps and the hedge. ‘Why don’t you take that puppy of yours for a walk in the park?’ he called over his shoulder.
    ‘Please may I wait until you come out?’ asked Geoffrey, holding up his bucket.
    ‘No, you may not,’ replied Plain Old Humphrey firmly. ‘There are some things a chap needs to do without being under observation, especially by a small boy holding a bucket. Even if you can’t see him it tends to put you off your stride, so off you go.’
    Geoffrey stood on a pile of old seed boxes and, holding Widdler in his arms, looked over the hedge and into the park. ‘Shall we go and explore, Widdler?’ he said. Widdler