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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Kids
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 09/21/2016
Boris the Budgerigar causes Chaos
Born 1960, M, from Southend-on-Sea, Essex, United KingdomIt was the time of year that 9 year old Bobby Bundy and his big sister Bertha dreaded. The start of the football season. Not because they disliked football, Bertha often enjoyed playing a game, but because every year at this time Mr Bundy would get out his scrapbook. The scrapbook which showed the history of his favourite team: Leeds United.
“Those were the days,” Mr Bundy would say every year. “Those were the days when the team was greatest.”
“I suppose they were the days when you played for them,” Bobby would mutter under his breath.
However this year Bertha was determined not to be bored by an evening of football history. Bertha had a plan. Clever Bertha always had a plan.
“Have you seen my scrapbook?” Mr Bundy asked one night, looking worried.
“Fraid not,” replied Bobby honestly.
“Sorry Dad, not seen it,” answered Bertha in her most innocent voice.
Mr Bundy was suspicious. He was just about to open his mouth and question his daughter some more when she was saved by the sound of the front doorbell. Pausing only to glare at his daughter, Mr Bundy opened the front door. The sight that he saw not only made him gasp but it made him forget about his scrapbook too.
He had never seen one as big as that in his life.
“Goodness me is that what I think it is?” exclaimed Mr Bundy to the man at the door.
The man at the door was none other than Mr Bundy’s friend multi-millionaire computer genius and top class inventor Mr Fences.
“That’s right,” replied Mr Fences, “It’s my pet budgerigar, Boris. Thank you for looking after him while I’m on holiday.”
“Strewth! He is a big’un!” exclaimed Bobby.
As for Bertha she loved animals and more than anything else she wanted a pet. For her it was love at first sight. She knew she wanted Boris to stay with the Bundys for ever, but she also knew she would have to be really clever if she was going to persuade her father to let him stay.
Mr Bundy was currently having doubts about letting Boris stay at all. Still a promise was a promise and he did want to remain friends with Mr Fences [after all it is sometimes useful to have a friend who is a multi-millionaire]. Anyway, he thought, how difficult can it be to look after a budgerigar?
“He’ll be no trouble,” promised Mr Fences as he turned around to leave.
“Let’s hope not,” whispered Mr Bundy under his breath.
Later that day the Bundys were all sitting in the living room watching television when suddenly they heard a strange voice.
“So what times dinner then?” it asked.
Mr Bundy turned to Bobby and said, “What are you speaking in that funny voice for?”
“It wasn’t me,” answered Bobby truthfully.
“Oy! Big nose,” said the voice again “what times dinner then?”
Mr Bundy touched the end of his nose. It didn’t feel particularly big to him.
“I hope you’re not being rude Bertha,” he said firmly in her direction, for Mr Bundy was not a man to put up with rudeness from his children.
“I never said a word honest,” protested his daughter.
“It wasn’t them Pinocchio, it was me Boris the Budgerigar,” the voice continued.
The family was astounded, they had no idea that Mr Fence’s budgerigar could speak English so well.
“Oh isn’t he cute?” gushed Bertha turning around to look at him.
Mr Bundy did not express an opinion, thinking that the budgerigar lacked manners.
“What do you mean what time’s dinner?” asked Mr Bundy. “You’ve got loads of bird seed in your cage already,” he pointed out.
“Bird seed! Bird seed! I’m not eating that rubbish” said Boris in a disgusted manner, “I prefer meat and vegetables. I like beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and peas for my dinner.”
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and peas?” asked Bobby.
“And another thing,” continued Boris “when it comes to breakfast don’t burn my bacon.”
Mr Bundy was fast beginning to regret his decision to agree to look after Boris.
“I’m not cooking all this food just to look after a budgerigar,” he stated firmly.
“Oh, so you’re not going to look after me properly then,” moaned Boris “You’re going to let me starve then,” he continued. “Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner anymore then?” asked Boris slyly. “He won’t be very pleased if he comes back from Peru and finds out you haven’t been treating me very well.”
Mr Bundy gulped a little. True he didn’t want to upset Mr Fences. Mr Fences was a nice man and a good friend and would always help his family if they were in trouble, which they often were. So he reached an agreement that whatever the family ate Boris could have as well.
The Bundys returned to their television programme. However it wasn’t long before Boris’ voice could be heard again.
“Isn’t it time to turn over?” Boris asked.
“Pardon!” replied Mr Bundy.
“The television, EastEnders is about to start,” announced Boris.
“We don’t watch EastEnders,” said Bobby.
“But I do,” said Boris “all the time”.
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking EastEnders?” said a surprised Bobby.
“And I like Coronation Street and Hollyoaks,” continued Boris. “I never miss them.”
“Oh isn’t he cute?” said Bertha gushing some more, trying to persuade her father of his virtues.
Mr Bundy, once again, did not express an opinion.
“Well we are not watching EastEnders just because you like the show,” stated Mr Bundy firmly, regretting his decision to look after Boris.
“Oh that’s your game is it?” Boris moaned. “Going to upset me all the time are you?” he continued. “So you’re not going to let me watch my favourite programmes, programmes that I have been following for years. Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner?” asked Boris even more slyly than before. “He won’t be very pleased if he comes back from Peru and finds out you haven’t been treating me very well.”
So the family watched EastEnders and Coronation Street and even Hollyoaks.
After EastEnders the family were treated to the sound of an all too familiar voice.
“Take me to the park,” commanded Boris.
“Take you where?” asked Mr Bundy.
“To the park” restated Boris “I love a go on the slide and roundabout I do”.
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking trips to the park?” asked an amazed Bobby.
“I love it, Mr Fences takes me every day,” stated Boris simply.
“Oh isn’t he cute?” Bertha asked once more, glancing at her father hopefully.
Mr Bundy certainly had an opinion but it was not one that he felt he could air in polite company.
“Well I’m not taking you to the park, all the children and their Mums and dads will laugh at me turning up with a great big budgerigar,” said Mr Bundy firmly.
“Oh so that’s your game is it?” moaned Boris “So you’re not going to let me exercise then. Mr Fences won’t be pleased when he comes back from holiday and finds me all fat and unhealthy,” he continued. “Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner?” asked Boris for the third time.
So the Bundys and Boris went to the park. Mr Bundy felt a proper fool. Watching Boris spin around on the roundabout and go up and down the slide was one thing, but having to push a giant budgerigar on the swings was really too much. After all he was 42 years old and here he was playing with a budgerigar in the park! All the little children were pointing and laughing and the parents were sniggering too. Mr Bundy could not wait for the return of Mr Fences.
And the worst was yet to come. Over the next few days Boris asked for and got a bigger cage, as well the following items to go in it: a shower, a bath, an armchair and a four poster bed [budgerigar sized of course]. No uncomfortable perch for Boris.
“He has a better home than us,” thought Bertha “still he is cute!”
However it had to happen. It was just a question of when not if. Sooner or later Boris would overstep the mark and push Mr Bundy too far.
“No I am not giving you pocket money,” snapped Mr Bundy. “Making your cage nice is one thing, but giving a budgerigar pocket money is silly. And before you say Boris about me wanting to stay friends with Mr Fences I don’t care. I am not giving you £5 a week.”
Mr Bundy does not like to spend money.
“And as for you Bertha,” continued Mr Bundy “before you say he’s cute, cute he may well be in your eyes, but he is still not getting my money. And that is that.”
At this point Mr Bundy stormed out of the room. Seconds later he was back.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “If you want money get a job,” he said to Boris. “That’s what the rest of us do.”
With that, Mr Bundy left the room for good, thinking to himself that actually he’d never heard of a budgerigar with a job.
It was when Boris acted upon Mr Bundy’s suggestion that the trouble started.
“What do humans like to do least?” thought Boris to himself. “Why of course washing and drying clothes. I will offer to wash and dry clothes for them.”
Bertha needed little persuasion to join him in this venture.
“You’ll help too won’t you Bobby?” she asked.
Bobby was not sure.
“Hang on,” he reasoned, “where do we get washing powder from?”
“Dad’s got some,” answered Bertha.
“How do we wash the clothes?” worried Bobby
“In Dad’s washing machine,” stated Boris simply.
Bobby couldn’t help thinking that the idea was going to cost his father a lot of money and Mr Bundy never liked to spend money.
“Look if Dad tells us off we will tell him you had nothing to do with it,” persuaded Bertha, “Boris and I will take all the blame. Now will you help us Bobby?”
Bobby was never quite sure whether he should trust his sister or not but decided to go along with the plan against his better judgement.
The three soon had a leaflet printed out which they posted through neighbours doors. It wasn't long before Boris had many customers. Lots of local people wanted their washing done. Even the manager of the local theatre, where Mr Bundy was putting on a variety show, wanted all the costumes cleaned. Luckily he didn’t tell Mr Bundy who was doing the washing.
One day, with Bertha’s help, Boris collected all their washing in carefully labelled bags, one bag for each customer so that he didn’t get them mixed up, and began to wash and dry their clothes. Everything went perfectly. The washing machine did its job and soon all the clothes were beautifully clean. Even the drier, which has been known to have bad moods and simply refuse to dry anything, worked well that day. On the whole Boris and Bertha felt it best not to tell Mr Bundy about any of this.
Soon it was time to return the garments to their rightful owners.
“This is easy money,” stated Bertha.
“Easy money,” agreed Boris.
However, they both spoke too soon.
Outside it was blowing a gale. The wind was swirling, leaves were flying off the trees and waste paper was racing down the streets. Poor old Postman Pete was having trouble staying on his bike. He had been blown off it twice already, once he landed in a very deep puddle and got soaked. He was not best pleased. It had been a very long day and he was very late delivering the letters, because 3 other postmen had phoned in sick and he had to do their rounds as well. He was now cycling up the final road of the day and he was looking forward to a nice long bubble bath and a glass of tomato juice. Unfortunately the last road of the day was the very same road where the Bundys lived. Unfortunately he cycled up to their house just as Boris and Bertha came out with the washing. Unfortunately, not realising how strong the wind was, Boris, who was carrying 3 bags of washing in his beak, was blown off course and crashed into Postman Pete with a loud smack. Postman Pete once again tumbled off his bike, muttering in a menacing manner. Letters and washing were scattered everywhere. Birthday cards and boxer shorts, bills and bikinis, postcards and pullovers were all mixed up. Leaflets and letters were flying down the street.
“Oh my goodness! I’ll be sacked if I lose all this post,” cried Postman Pete.
“You think you’ve got problems,” grumbled Boris. “Our customers won’t be too pleased if they don’t get their washing back.”
“Come on Boris we must gather up the washing and the letters,” said Bertha who was thinking that to stand around moaning and watch everything fly further away was not probably the best thing to do.
Boris agreed. The postman rushed around as fast as his old legs could carry him, trying to gather everything up before it flew out of sight. So did Bertha and Bobby, whilst Boris, being a budgerigar, had an advantage in that he could fly and could grab items in the air.
For ages they collected the clothes and gathered letters which they put in the postman’s sack. However they didn’t quite manage to gather everything up. Listeners to a brass band concert near Southend pier were later surprised when the trombone player suddenly stopped playing. On close inspection the cause of the problem was found to be a pair of striped socks that had flown into the part where the sound come out.
Also they were too slow to help the vicar who, when riding his motorcycle along the road, was suddenly unable to see when a vest landed on his head, causing him to ride into a lamppost. He staggered away, rubbing his poor head, his motorbike now bent in two.
Worst of all was the case of the poor bus driver, driving along Southend sea front, who was driving in heavy rain only to find a massive pair of underpants entangled in his windscreen. Not thinking clearly he swerved the bus and ended up driving it across the sand and into the sea. No one was hurt but 36 people did have to paddle back to the shore.
“I think I could be in trouble here,” said the bus driver sadly, as he watched the No 27 disappear beneath the waves.
Eventually Boris and Bertha had collected up all they could collect, and they bid farewell to the postman who was now even grumpier than when he had first come up the road and delivered the washing back to it’s owners [although some of it was possibly a little dirtier now than when it had been first given to Bertha and the budgie].
“All that’s left to deliver now are the costumes for the variety show at the theatre,” announced Bobby.
“My goodness look at the time,” exclaimed Bertha, “the show is going to begin in ten minutes and the performers haven’t got their costumes.”
The three ran [or in Boris’ case flew] as fast as they could to the theatre.
“Sorry we’re late,” puffed an exhausted Bobby 8 minutes later.
Mr Bundy, standing at the side of the stage, was almost tearing his hair out with frantic worry.
“Oh it’s you three that have caused this chaos. I might have guessed. The shows about to begin,” he shouted, “hand out the costumes quick!”
Boris, Bertha and Bobby thought it best to do as they were told as they were told.
Soon they realised something was wrong.
As the curtain went up the strongman came out of his dressing room ready to perform his act. The only problem was instead of wearing a leotard he was wearing a pink nightie! He was a big man with bigger muscles and a pink nightie didn’t really suit him.
“What are you wearing that for?” gasped Mr Bundy, feeling faint.
“It’s what they gave me,” bellowed the strongman pointing at Bobby and the others.
“Oh oh!” said Boris.
Mr Bundy raised his hands to his head. He didn’t have time to sort out this mess. “Never mind," he said to the strongman, "you're due on stage, on you go! Perhaps the audience won’t notice.”
They did. How the audience laughed.
Next appeared a very tall man squeezed into some very small Paddington Bear pyjamas. The legs of the pyjamas only reached his knees and the arms only went as far as his elbows.
“I’m the juggler,” he told Boris. “How am I supposed to juggle in this? I can barely move my arms.”
The pyjamas did look rather tight on him.
“Do I look like the sort of person who would wear Paddington Bear pyjamas?” he continued.
Mr Bundy didn’t really know what a man who wears Paddington Bear pyjamas looks like but instead of replying he shoved the juggler hard in the back, pushing him onto the stage.
He tried to juggle 4 balls, but he dropped them. He tried to juggle 3 clubs, but dropped them. His big finale was to juggle 3 chairs. Unfortunately, one by one, each chair hit him on the head.
How the audience laughed. The juggler however did not see the funny side, particularly when he was being carried off the stage.
Bobby went red with embarrassment. So did Boris, or at least as red as budgerigars can get.
Next appeared the greatest opera singer Southend has ever known. None other than Flaccid Flamingo, who had been looking forward to wearing a brand new suit tonight and singing songs from the world’s greatest operas. Tonight, he thought, Southend will be educated. He had just awoken from a nap and had only just discovered that the suit was missing from the bag Bobby had given him.
He stormed out of his dressing room.
“Is this what I am supposed to wear?” he thundered.
Boris, Bobby, Bertha and Mr Bundy stared at the man with a look of shock on their faces. Now, even Mr Flamingo would admit that he was very overweight, but there he was wearing nothing but a yellow bikini.
“Is that not your costume then?” asked Bertha in her most innocent voice, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“No it is not,” spluttered Flaccid Flamingo.
“Well it definitely suits you, yellow is definitely your colour,” Bertha lied. “Anyway you’re on now. Sing you’re loudest.”
Unable to work out what was going on the singer walked onto the stage.
How the audience laughed.
Luckily the dancers all had the right clothes. Apart from one young lady who instead of being given dancing shoes to wear had to perform her routine in a very large pair of clown shoes. Sadly she fell off stage and landed in the lap of a very surprised man on the front row. His popcorn went everywhere. For weeks after the show people were finding bits of it in their hair and clothes.
The last performer, who always liked to look his best, insisted on wearing the top hat he had been given despite the fact it was the wrong one. The problem was it was too big. The problem was he was a tightrope walker. The problem was it fell over his eyes when he was performing his act. He fell off the tightrope!
Mr Bundy had had enough! He was angrier than he had been for ages.
“You’ve ruined my show,” he shouted, turning to Bobby, Bertha and Boris. Sadly only Bobby was left. Boris and Bertha, fearing a telling off, had decided to run home and go straight to bed. Bobby had not known whether to run off or not and now he was very, very nervous. It seemed to him that he’d been left to take the blame.
“It’s all right,” Bobby told Mr Bundy, “Boris and Bertha promised me they wouldn’t let me get into trouble if it all went wrong.”
Mr Bundy had no intention of sticking to their promise.
__________________________________________________________________
Two weeks later. The dust had settled on the laundry affair and Mr Fences had returned from Peru to collect Boris. Mr Bundy was feeling happier than usual. He was at last going to get rid of Boris.
However there were two problems. Boris didn’t want to go and Bertha didn’t want him to leave. Boris had grown to like the Bundys. If truth be told Mr Fences didn’t really take Boris to the park every day as Boris had said. Nor was he allowed to watch EastEnders or the other soaps. Overall Boris quite fancied staying with the Bundys.
“I don’t want to go with Mr Fences,” he squawked most loudly.
“Well I don’t mind if he stays here with you,” replied Mr Fences most generously.
But Mr Bundy was having none of it. “I wouldn’t want to take your beloved pet away from you Mr Fences,” he argued desperately, “I’m sure you love him very much.”
Mr Fences was not so sure about this.
“Right off you go Boris. Time to go home.” Mr Bundy continued. “Nice meeting you and all that.”
Mr Bundy waved his hand in the direction of the door as he spoke.
Boris walked slowly to the door, heavy with sadness. His head was bowed as he walked, dragging his heavy suitcases along the floor. Quite difficult when you only have wings. Was that a little tear that appeared in the corner of his eye?
“I’m sorry I called you big nose and Pinocchio,” Boris said meekly to Mr Bundy.
Mr Bundy would not be swayed.
“Never mind that,” he replied, “It’s all forgotten now. Goodbye.”
Boris lowered his head once more. “Nobody wants me,” he cried. “Nobody wants me.”
The situation looked desperate to Bertha. It was now time to be clever. She decided to look sad.
“Please don’t make him go Dad,” begged Bertha, Boris’ friend.
“I’m sorry Bertha he can’t stay,” insisted Mr Bundy.
“OOOOh ! but I love Boris,” cried Bertha “He’s so cute.” And with this Bertha started to cry; small, silent tears. Little droplets of water ran from her eyes and down her cheeks, drip, dripping upon the floor.
Now Mr Bundy is not a heartless man and he dearly loved his children. He couldn’t bear to see them upset. His heart, that had previously been so hard and strong, suddenly melted when he saw his daughter’s sadness. He looked into her water filled eyes and began to weaken.
Then Bertha played her killer move.
“You should let Boris stay. Boris is ever so helpful around the house you know,” she argued.
Mr Bundy couldn’t think of one thing that Boris had done that was helpful.
“Boris,” Bertha continued “Fetch that thing you found in the shed the other day.”
“I found?” said Boris puzzled.
“Yes you know the thing we were looking at in the shed. Go and fetch it,” continued Bertha.
“Oh I know!” Boris said, the penny dropping and off he flew.
“He found it all himself you know,” stated Bertha.
A few minutes later Boris flew back carrying a very special book.
“That’s my Leeds United scrapbook,” said Mr Bundy joyfully, “I’ve been looking for that! Thank you Boris. I wonder why it was in the shed.”
Bertha was quick as a flash. “We think Bobby hid it in there to avoid your wonderful football talks,” she claimed.
“You what?” choked poor innocent Bobby. “I never touched it.”
“I’ll have words with you later Bobby,” said Mr Bundy in a firm voice, “but as you found this Boris, feel free to stay here if you like.”
Both Boris and Bertha were delighted.
“I can stay?” said Boris, glee spreading across his beak.
“He can stay?” shouted a delighted Bertha rushing up to cuddle her Dad.
“Yippee I can stay,” repeated Boris, and before anyone could say anything else he had flown back into his lovely cage as fast as a bullet out of a gun. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist my charm,” he added smiling.
Mr Bundy couldn’t help grinning either. You had to admire that bird’s cheek.
Boris the Budgerigar causes Chaos(Paul Bundy)
It was the time of year that 9 year old Bobby Bundy and his big sister Bertha dreaded. The start of the football season. Not because they disliked football, Bertha often enjoyed playing a game, but because every year at this time Mr Bundy would get out his scrapbook. The scrapbook which showed the history of his favourite team: Leeds United.
“Those were the days,” Mr Bundy would say every year. “Those were the days when the team was greatest.”
“I suppose they were the days when you played for them,” Bobby would mutter under his breath.
However this year Bertha was determined not to be bored by an evening of football history. Bertha had a plan. Clever Bertha always had a plan.
“Have you seen my scrapbook?” Mr Bundy asked one night, looking worried.
“Fraid not,” replied Bobby honestly.
“Sorry Dad, not seen it,” answered Bertha in her most innocent voice.
Mr Bundy was suspicious. He was just about to open his mouth and question his daughter some more when she was saved by the sound of the front doorbell. Pausing only to glare at his daughter, Mr Bundy opened the front door. The sight that he saw not only made him gasp but it made him forget about his scrapbook too.
He had never seen one as big as that in his life.
“Goodness me is that what I think it is?” exclaimed Mr Bundy to the man at the door.
The man at the door was none other than Mr Bundy’s friend multi-millionaire computer genius and top class inventor Mr Fences.
“That’s right,” replied Mr Fences, “It’s my pet budgerigar, Boris. Thank you for looking after him while I’m on holiday.”
“Strewth! He is a big’un!” exclaimed Bobby.
As for Bertha she loved animals and more than anything else she wanted a pet. For her it was love at first sight. She knew she wanted Boris to stay with the Bundys for ever, but she also knew she would have to be really clever if she was going to persuade her father to let him stay.
Mr Bundy was currently having doubts about letting Boris stay at all. Still a promise was a promise and he did want to remain friends with Mr Fences [after all it is sometimes useful to have a friend who is a multi-millionaire]. Anyway, he thought, how difficult can it be to look after a budgerigar?
“He’ll be no trouble,” promised Mr Fences as he turned around to leave.
“Let’s hope not,” whispered Mr Bundy under his breath.
Later that day the Bundys were all sitting in the living room watching television when suddenly they heard a strange voice.
“So what times dinner then?” it asked.
Mr Bundy turned to Bobby and said, “What are you speaking in that funny voice for?”
“It wasn’t me,” answered Bobby truthfully.
“Oy! Big nose,” said the voice again “what times dinner then?”
Mr Bundy touched the end of his nose. It didn’t feel particularly big to him.
“I hope you’re not being rude Bertha,” he said firmly in her direction, for Mr Bundy was not a man to put up with rudeness from his children.
“I never said a word honest,” protested his daughter.
“It wasn’t them Pinocchio, it was me Boris the Budgerigar,” the voice continued.
The family was astounded, they had no idea that Mr Fence’s budgerigar could speak English so well.
“Oh isn’t he cute?” gushed Bertha turning around to look at him.
Mr Bundy did not express an opinion, thinking that the budgerigar lacked manners.
“What do you mean what time’s dinner?” asked Mr Bundy. “You’ve got loads of bird seed in your cage already,” he pointed out.
“Bird seed! Bird seed! I’m not eating that rubbish” said Boris in a disgusted manner, “I prefer meat and vegetables. I like beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and peas for my dinner.”
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and peas?” asked Bobby.
“And another thing,” continued Boris “when it comes to breakfast don’t burn my bacon.”
Mr Bundy was fast beginning to regret his decision to agree to look after Boris.
“I’m not cooking all this food just to look after a budgerigar,” he stated firmly.
“Oh, so you’re not going to look after me properly then,” moaned Boris “You’re going to let me starve then,” he continued. “Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner anymore then?” asked Boris slyly. “He won’t be very pleased if he comes back from Peru and finds out you haven’t been treating me very well.”
Mr Bundy gulped a little. True he didn’t want to upset Mr Fences. Mr Fences was a nice man and a good friend and would always help his family if they were in trouble, which they often were. So he reached an agreement that whatever the family ate Boris could have as well.
The Bundys returned to their television programme. However it wasn’t long before Boris’ voice could be heard again.
“Isn’t it time to turn over?” Boris asked.
“Pardon!” replied Mr Bundy.
“The television, EastEnders is about to start,” announced Boris.
“We don’t watch EastEnders,” said Bobby.
“But I do,” said Boris “all the time”.
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking EastEnders?” said a surprised Bobby.
“And I like Coronation Street and Hollyoaks,” continued Boris. “I never miss them.”
“Oh isn’t he cute?” said Bertha gushing some more, trying to persuade her father of his virtues.
Mr Bundy, once again, did not express an opinion.
“Well we are not watching EastEnders just because you like the show,” stated Mr Bundy firmly, regretting his decision to look after Boris.
“Oh that’s your game is it?” Boris moaned. “Going to upset me all the time are you?” he continued. “So you’re not going to let me watch my favourite programmes, programmes that I have been following for years. Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner?” asked Boris even more slyly than before. “He won’t be very pleased if he comes back from Peru and finds out you haven’t been treating me very well.”
So the family watched EastEnders and Coronation Street and even Hollyoaks.
After EastEnders the family were treated to the sound of an all too familiar voice.
“Take me to the park,” commanded Boris.
“Take you where?” asked Mr Bundy.
“To the park” restated Boris “I love a go on the slide and roundabout I do”.
“Whoever heard of a budgerigar liking trips to the park?” asked an amazed Bobby.
“I love it, Mr Fences takes me every day,” stated Boris simply.
“Oh isn’t he cute?” Bertha asked once more, glancing at her father hopefully.
Mr Bundy certainly had an opinion but it was not one that he felt he could air in polite company.
“Well I’m not taking you to the park, all the children and their Mums and dads will laugh at me turning up with a great big budgerigar,” said Mr Bundy firmly.
“Oh so that’s your game is it?” moaned Boris “So you’re not going to let me exercise then. Mr Fences won’t be pleased when he comes back from holiday and finds me all fat and unhealthy,” he continued. “Don’t you want to remain friends with Mr Fences my owner?” asked Boris for the third time.
So the Bundys and Boris went to the park. Mr Bundy felt a proper fool. Watching Boris spin around on the roundabout and go up and down the slide was one thing, but having to push a giant budgerigar on the swings was really too much. After all he was 42 years old and here he was playing with a budgerigar in the park! All the little children were pointing and laughing and the parents were sniggering too. Mr Bundy could not wait for the return of Mr Fences.
And the worst was yet to come. Over the next few days Boris asked for and got a bigger cage, as well the following items to go in it: a shower, a bath, an armchair and a four poster bed [budgerigar sized of course]. No uncomfortable perch for Boris.
“He has a better home than us,” thought Bertha “still he is cute!”
However it had to happen. It was just a question of when not if. Sooner or later Boris would overstep the mark and push Mr Bundy too far.
“No I am not giving you pocket money,” snapped Mr Bundy. “Making your cage nice is one thing, but giving a budgerigar pocket money is silly. And before you say Boris about me wanting to stay friends with Mr Fences I don’t care. I am not giving you £5 a week.”
Mr Bundy does not like to spend money.
“And as for you Bertha,” continued Mr Bundy “before you say he’s cute, cute he may well be in your eyes, but he is still not getting my money. And that is that.”
At this point Mr Bundy stormed out of the room. Seconds later he was back.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “If you want money get a job,” he said to Boris. “That’s what the rest of us do.”
With that, Mr Bundy left the room for good, thinking to himself that actually he’d never heard of a budgerigar with a job.
It was when Boris acted upon Mr Bundy’s suggestion that the trouble started.
“What do humans like to do least?” thought Boris to himself. “Why of course washing and drying clothes. I will offer to wash and dry clothes for them.”
Bertha needed little persuasion to join him in this venture.
“You’ll help too won’t you Bobby?” she asked.
Bobby was not sure.
“Hang on,” he reasoned, “where do we get washing powder from?”
“Dad’s got some,” answered Bertha.
“How do we wash the clothes?” worried Bobby
“In Dad’s washing machine,” stated Boris simply.
Bobby couldn’t help thinking that the idea was going to cost his father a lot of money and Mr Bundy never liked to spend money.
“Look if Dad tells us off we will tell him you had nothing to do with it,” persuaded Bertha, “Boris and I will take all the blame. Now will you help us Bobby?”
Bobby was never quite sure whether he should trust his sister or not but decided to go along with the plan against his better judgement.
The three soon had a leaflet printed out which they posted through neighbours doors. It wasn't long before Boris had many customers. Lots of local people wanted their washing done. Even the manager of the local theatre, where Mr Bundy was putting on a variety show, wanted all the costumes cleaned. Luckily he didn’t tell Mr Bundy who was doing the washing.
One day, with Bertha’s help, Boris collected all their washing in carefully labelled bags, one bag for each customer so that he didn’t get them mixed up, and began to wash and dry their clothes. Everything went perfectly. The washing machine did its job and soon all the clothes were beautifully clean. Even the drier, which has been known to have bad moods and simply refuse to dry anything, worked well that day. On the whole Boris and Bertha felt it best not to tell Mr Bundy about any of this.
Soon it was time to return the garments to their rightful owners.
“This is easy money,” stated Bertha.
“Easy money,” agreed Boris.
However, they both spoke too soon.
Outside it was blowing a gale. The wind was swirling, leaves were flying off the trees and waste paper was racing down the streets. Poor old Postman Pete was having trouble staying on his bike. He had been blown off it twice already, once he landed in a very deep puddle and got soaked. He was not best pleased. It had been a very long day and he was very late delivering the letters, because 3 other postmen had phoned in sick and he had to do their rounds as well. He was now cycling up the final road of the day and he was looking forward to a nice long bubble bath and a glass of tomato juice. Unfortunately the last road of the day was the very same road where the Bundys lived. Unfortunately he cycled up to their house just as Boris and Bertha came out with the washing. Unfortunately, not realising how strong the wind was, Boris, who was carrying 3 bags of washing in his beak, was blown off course and crashed into Postman Pete with a loud smack. Postman Pete once again tumbled off his bike, muttering in a menacing manner. Letters and washing were scattered everywhere. Birthday cards and boxer shorts, bills and bikinis, postcards and pullovers were all mixed up. Leaflets and letters were flying down the street.
“Oh my goodness! I’ll be sacked if I lose all this post,” cried Postman Pete.
“You think you’ve got problems,” grumbled Boris. “Our customers won’t be too pleased if they don’t get their washing back.”
“Come on Boris we must gather up the washing and the letters,” said Bertha who was thinking that to stand around moaning and watch everything fly further away was not probably the best thing to do.
Boris agreed. The postman rushed around as fast as his old legs could carry him, trying to gather everything up before it flew out of sight. So did Bertha and Bobby, whilst Boris, being a budgerigar, had an advantage in that he could fly and could grab items in the air.
For ages they collected the clothes and gathered letters which they put in the postman’s sack. However they didn’t quite manage to gather everything up. Listeners to a brass band concert near Southend pier were later surprised when the trombone player suddenly stopped playing. On close inspection the cause of the problem was found to be a pair of striped socks that had flown into the part where the sound come out.
Also they were too slow to help the vicar who, when riding his motorcycle along the road, was suddenly unable to see when a vest landed on his head, causing him to ride into a lamppost. He staggered away, rubbing his poor head, his motorbike now bent in two.
Worst of all was the case of the poor bus driver, driving along Southend sea front, who was driving in heavy rain only to find a massive pair of underpants entangled in his windscreen. Not thinking clearly he swerved the bus and ended up driving it across the sand and into the sea. No one was hurt but 36 people did have to paddle back to the shore.
“I think I could be in trouble here,” said the bus driver sadly, as he watched the No 27 disappear beneath the waves.
Eventually Boris and Bertha had collected up all they could collect, and they bid farewell to the postman who was now even grumpier than when he had first come up the road and delivered the washing back to it’s owners [although some of it was possibly a little dirtier now than when it had been first given to Bertha and the budgie].
“All that’s left to deliver now are the costumes for the variety show at the theatre,” announced Bobby.
“My goodness look at the time,” exclaimed Bertha, “the show is going to begin in ten minutes and the performers haven’t got their costumes.”
The three ran [or in Boris’ case flew] as fast as they could to the theatre.
“Sorry we’re late,” puffed an exhausted Bobby 8 minutes later.
Mr Bundy, standing at the side of the stage, was almost tearing his hair out with frantic worry.
“Oh it’s you three that have caused this chaos. I might have guessed. The shows about to begin,” he shouted, “hand out the costumes quick!”
Boris, Bertha and Bobby thought it best to do as they were told as they were told.
Soon they realised something was wrong.
As the curtain went up the strongman came out of his dressing room ready to perform his act. The only problem was instead of wearing a leotard he was wearing a pink nightie! He was a big man with bigger muscles and a pink nightie didn’t really suit him.
“What are you wearing that for?” gasped Mr Bundy, feeling faint.
“It’s what they gave me,” bellowed the strongman pointing at Bobby and the others.
“Oh oh!” said Boris.
Mr Bundy raised his hands to his head. He didn’t have time to sort out this mess. “Never mind," he said to the strongman, "you're due on stage, on you go! Perhaps the audience won’t notice.”
They did. How the audience laughed.
Next appeared a very tall man squeezed into some very small Paddington Bear pyjamas. The legs of the pyjamas only reached his knees and the arms only went as far as his elbows.
“I’m the juggler,” he told Boris. “How am I supposed to juggle in this? I can barely move my arms.”
The pyjamas did look rather tight on him.
“Do I look like the sort of person who would wear Paddington Bear pyjamas?” he continued.
Mr Bundy didn’t really know what a man who wears Paddington Bear pyjamas looks like but instead of replying he shoved the juggler hard in the back, pushing him onto the stage.
He tried to juggle 4 balls, but he dropped them. He tried to juggle 3 clubs, but dropped them. His big finale was to juggle 3 chairs. Unfortunately, one by one, each chair hit him on the head.
How the audience laughed. The juggler however did not see the funny side, particularly when he was being carried off the stage.
Bobby went red with embarrassment. So did Boris, or at least as red as budgerigars can get.
Next appeared the greatest opera singer Southend has ever known. None other than Flaccid Flamingo, who had been looking forward to wearing a brand new suit tonight and singing songs from the world’s greatest operas. Tonight, he thought, Southend will be educated. He had just awoken from a nap and had only just discovered that the suit was missing from the bag Bobby had given him.
He stormed out of his dressing room.
“Is this what I am supposed to wear?” he thundered.
Boris, Bobby, Bertha and Mr Bundy stared at the man with a look of shock on their faces. Now, even Mr Flamingo would admit that he was very overweight, but there he was wearing nothing but a yellow bikini.
“Is that not your costume then?” asked Bertha in her most innocent voice, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“No it is not,” spluttered Flaccid Flamingo.
“Well it definitely suits you, yellow is definitely your colour,” Bertha lied. “Anyway you’re on now. Sing you’re loudest.”
Unable to work out what was going on the singer walked onto the stage.
How the audience laughed.
Luckily the dancers all had the right clothes. Apart from one young lady who instead of being given dancing shoes to wear had to perform her routine in a very large pair of clown shoes. Sadly she fell off stage and landed in the lap of a very surprised man on the front row. His popcorn went everywhere. For weeks after the show people were finding bits of it in their hair and clothes.
The last performer, who always liked to look his best, insisted on wearing the top hat he had been given despite the fact it was the wrong one. The problem was it was too big. The problem was he was a tightrope walker. The problem was it fell over his eyes when he was performing his act. He fell off the tightrope!
Mr Bundy had had enough! He was angrier than he had been for ages.
“You’ve ruined my show,” he shouted, turning to Bobby, Bertha and Boris. Sadly only Bobby was left. Boris and Bertha, fearing a telling off, had decided to run home and go straight to bed. Bobby had not known whether to run off or not and now he was very, very nervous. It seemed to him that he’d been left to take the blame.
“It’s all right,” Bobby told Mr Bundy, “Boris and Bertha promised me they wouldn’t let me get into trouble if it all went wrong.”
Mr Bundy had no intention of sticking to their promise.
__________________________________________________________________
Two weeks later. The dust had settled on the laundry affair and Mr Fences had returned from Peru to collect Boris. Mr Bundy was feeling happier than usual. He was at last going to get rid of Boris.
However there were two problems. Boris didn’t want to go and Bertha didn’t want him to leave. Boris had grown to like the Bundys. If truth be told Mr Fences didn’t really take Boris to the park every day as Boris had said. Nor was he allowed to watch EastEnders or the other soaps. Overall Boris quite fancied staying with the Bundys.
“I don’t want to go with Mr Fences,” he squawked most loudly.
“Well I don’t mind if he stays here with you,” replied Mr Fences most generously.
But Mr Bundy was having none of it. “I wouldn’t want to take your beloved pet away from you Mr Fences,” he argued desperately, “I’m sure you love him very much.”
Mr Fences was not so sure about this.
“Right off you go Boris. Time to go home.” Mr Bundy continued. “Nice meeting you and all that.”
Mr Bundy waved his hand in the direction of the door as he spoke.
Boris walked slowly to the door, heavy with sadness. His head was bowed as he walked, dragging his heavy suitcases along the floor. Quite difficult when you only have wings. Was that a little tear that appeared in the corner of his eye?
“I’m sorry I called you big nose and Pinocchio,” Boris said meekly to Mr Bundy.
Mr Bundy would not be swayed.
“Never mind that,” he replied, “It’s all forgotten now. Goodbye.”
Boris lowered his head once more. “Nobody wants me,” he cried. “Nobody wants me.”
The situation looked desperate to Bertha. It was now time to be clever. She decided to look sad.
“Please don’t make him go Dad,” begged Bertha, Boris’ friend.
“I’m sorry Bertha he can’t stay,” insisted Mr Bundy.
“OOOOh ! but I love Boris,” cried Bertha “He’s so cute.” And with this Bertha started to cry; small, silent tears. Little droplets of water ran from her eyes and down her cheeks, drip, dripping upon the floor.
Now Mr Bundy is not a heartless man and he dearly loved his children. He couldn’t bear to see them upset. His heart, that had previously been so hard and strong, suddenly melted when he saw his daughter’s sadness. He looked into her water filled eyes and began to weaken.
Then Bertha played her killer move.
“You should let Boris stay. Boris is ever so helpful around the house you know,” she argued.
Mr Bundy couldn’t think of one thing that Boris had done that was helpful.
“Boris,” Bertha continued “Fetch that thing you found in the shed the other day.”
“I found?” said Boris puzzled.
“Yes you know the thing we were looking at in the shed. Go and fetch it,” continued Bertha.
“Oh I know!” Boris said, the penny dropping and off he flew.
“He found it all himself you know,” stated Bertha.
A few minutes later Boris flew back carrying a very special book.
“That’s my Leeds United scrapbook,” said Mr Bundy joyfully, “I’ve been looking for that! Thank you Boris. I wonder why it was in the shed.”
Bertha was quick as a flash. “We think Bobby hid it in there to avoid your wonderful football talks,” she claimed.
“You what?” choked poor innocent Bobby. “I never touched it.”
“I’ll have words with you later Bobby,” said Mr Bundy in a firm voice, “but as you found this Boris, feel free to stay here if you like.”
Both Boris and Bertha were delighted.
“I can stay?” said Boris, glee spreading across his beak.
“He can stay?” shouted a delighted Bertha rushing up to cuddle her Dad.
“Yippee I can stay,” repeated Boris, and before anyone could say anything else he had flown back into his lovely cage as fast as a bullet out of a gun. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist my charm,” he added smiling.
Mr Bundy couldn’t help grinning either. You had to admire that bird’s cheek.
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