My name is – the most boring name in the world. Dad says with a name like John Smith no one will EVER make fun of me. Mum says I’m “one in a MILLION”. My sister says it makes me the most boring person in history. But do not judge a book by its cover. My life is ANYTHING but boring!

  Contents

  Cover

  John Smith is NOT Boring!

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Cap’n John the (Slightly) Fierce

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Boring! Boring! Boring! Boring! Boring!”

  “Why don’t you go and play in your bedroom?” says Mum.

  “Why don’t you go and play in the garden?” says Dad.

  “Why don’t you go and play on the other side of the world?” says my big sister, Hayley.

  The Smith family are all together. Mum’s watching her favourite film, Attack of the Mutant Death Chimps; Dad’s dozing underneath a newspaper; Hayley and her boyfriend, Rufus, are curled up on the sofa touching toes; and Granddad is picking his dentures out of a block of toffee with a screwdriver.

  “But I’m so bored,” I repeat.

  “Only boring people get bored,” says Mum.

  “And you should know,” Hayley laughs.

  Oh no, here we go again. Hayley’s favourite subject…

  “You’re the most boring person in the world – with the most boring name in the world! I’m almost falling asleep just staring at your dreary little face.”

  “You do indeed have a very boring name,” says Rufus. “Did you know there are nearly half a million John Smiths on the planet…?”

  “But there’s only ever been one Rufus Randall the Third,” sighs Hayley.

  “I think you’ll find there’ve been at least three,” I snort.

  “Be quiet, vermin!” snaps Hayley.

  Everyone goes back to watching the film. After a bit longer I pipe up: “Why did you call me John Smith, Dad?”

  Dad drops his paper, looks at Mum anxiously, searching for an answer. “Because with a name like John Smith, nobody will ever make fun of you,” he says.

  Hayley begins to giggle.

  “Why did you call Hayley Hayley?” I reply.

  “We named her after Halley’s Comet,” says Mum, “because she’s our bright little star.”

  “Aw,” says Hayley, “sweet.”

  “I thought a comet was a long streak of gas,” mutters Granddad.

  I burst out laughing. “Good one, Granddad!”

  Hayley looks at me, her eyes draining to ice.

  “Let me tell you something about you, John Smith. You’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re never going to be anybody. Why? Because you’re John Smith. I’ll say it again – in capitals. JOHN SMITH. I’ll underline it too: JOHN SMITH! Are you getting the message? You are a complete nobody. As for me…” Hayley suddenly springs off the sofa and throws her arms in the air. “I was born to be a star!”

  Tonight is curtain up on Hayley’s big school show, and she’s playing the lead role. I look at Rufus and pull a funny face. “She loves me really.”

  “No I don’t, cross my heart and hope to die,” says Hayley. “Haven’t you got homework or something to fail at, you miserable little cockroach?”

  Granddad farts.

  Mum pretends there’s a bee in the room.

  Hayley moves to the door, dangling Rufus on her little finger. “If anybody needs me,” she smiles, “I’ll be starring in the school play.”

  “We’ve got front row tickets,” says Mum.

  “Break a leg,” says Dad.

  Hayley glides out of the house and down the garden path.

  “If anybody needs me … I’ll be in my bedroom,” I sigh.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I live in an ordinary little house which is sort of square and a bit yellow and a bit white round the edges and a bit brown on the top, and it’s in the middle of a street with green bits and grey bits. You get the picture.

  Apart from me and Mum and Dad and Hayley, we also live with Granddad. His name is John Smith too. As Hayley always says, my name is so common I’m not even the only John Smith in my own home.

  But here’s this thing you should know: I have this massive, massive, MASSIVE secret. I can travel into other worlds and go on amazing adventures. Granddad is an adventurer too. It’s this big thing we share.

  Granddad says we’re members of something called the John Smith Club. He says you don’t have to have a fancy name to have a big adventure – just because you sound like a NOBODY you might actually be a SOMEBODY. Granddad says if you see a John Smith in the street he’ll have this BIG secret too.

  I flop on the bed and think about my homework. I’ve got to write a story all about knights in shining armour.

  I’d love to be a knight riding round the countryside, swishing my sword over my head, fighting off fire-breathing dragons! Talking of fire-breathing dragons, I wonder if knights have annoying big sisters too. And here’s another thought: do you think knights fart inside their suits of armour? You have to admit, there are some interesting questions to be answered. I have to do a show and tell and right now I’m not showing or telling anything. I haven’t got a single thing to share with my class. Come on, brain, THINK!

  Then it hits me. If I want to be a knight in armour I CAN be a knight in armour. I can have this brilliant, amazing adventure AND get one up in class. I love it when a genius idea comes together.

  I run out of my room and straight into Granddad shuffling out of the loo, a sheet of toilet paper flapping off his shoe.

  “Granddad, I wanna go on an adventure! Can you help me?”

  Granddad gives me a cheeky wink.

  In the middle of Granddad’s room is a battered old trunk covered with stickers of gladiators, spacemen and spies.

  “You want to journey to faraway lands?” says Granddad, popping his head up from inside the trunk. “The world is your lobster! So what’s the adventure going to be this time?”

  “I want to wear a suit of armour. I want to ride a horse. I want to win tournaments…”

  “You want to be a knight in armour,” chortles Granddad. “I was a knight in armour once…”

  Granddad suddenly stops chortling and bites his lip. “On the other hand, you could choose a different adventure,” he mutters. “We could send you somewhere just as exciting – the bottom of the ocean or the far reaches of outer space. All you have to do is say the word.”

  “But this could really help with my homework, Granddad,” I protest. “I’ve got to write a story about knights in armour…”

  Granddad nods and smiles. “Then a knight ye shall be…”

  Inside the trunk are pirate hats, cowboy boots, spaceman suits … and what’s this? A knight’s sword and shield!

  “So what do you think?” says Granddad.

  “It’s one in the eye for my big sister,” I chortle, swiping my sword around the room. “If she could see me now…”

  “Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?” says Granddad.

  “I was born ready!” I beam, proudly.

  Granddad goes to the bedroom door and turns to face me. “It’s time to say the magic words…”

  Holding my sword and shield, I take a deep breath and read the special words written on the trunk:

  “Say it long, say it loud – I’m JOHN SMITH and I’m proud!”

  Granddad throws the bedroom door wide open. “Go forth, John Smith … knight of this realm!”

  I can hear cheering and trumpets and horses’ hooves!

  “Have fun,” chuckles Granddad. “And don’t lose your head!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Everyone is chanting my name…

  “John Smith! John Smith! John Smith!”

  I’m riding into a castle on a huge black horse. The bells in the tower are ringing out; the crowds are cheering.

  Someone shouts out, “John Smith has come to save us!”

  Someone else shouts out, “All hail John Smith!”

  And then someone says, “He is the greatest name in the land!”

  What can I say? I like the sound of this! I give the crowd a big wave and they all cheer again.

  “You are most popular, sire!” says a boy who’s holding my horse as he leads me into the courtyard. “John Smith is such an amazing and wonderful name. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  “It’s true it is a very rare name,” I reply. “Down my way I’m one of a kind.”

  “I am Oswald Periwinkle,” says the boy. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, what a very common name. When I asked my father why he called me Oswald Periwinkle, he said—”

  “Because with a name like that, no one will ever make fun of you?” I interrupt.

  Oswald looks at me and gasps. “You can read my mind, John Smith. It’s true what they say – you are touched by greatness!”

  Oswald holds his hand out to help me off the hor

se.

  “Come with me. The Queen is waiting in her castle.” He pats me on the shoulder and smiles. “You can call me Ossie.”

  I follow Ossie into the castle, through a massive hall with pictures of old kings and queens on the walls and past the heralds blowing their trumpets.

  A messenger shouts out, ”All kneel for Her Majesty, the Queen!”

  At the top of the hall the Queen sits on a shiny gold throne wearing a shiny gold crown.

  I kneel before her.

  Standing next to the Queen is a really scary man with an axe who looks just like my headmaster. “Watch out for him,” whispers Ossie. “That’s the Queen’s executioner, Woodworm!”

  The Queen rises to her feet and looks at me. Everyone listens very closely.

  “John Smith, your name is legend around these parts. And such an unusual name…” says the Queen.

  The crowd all nod their heads.

  “You are probably wondering why we have sent for you.”

  “Speak, Your Queenliness,” I reply.

  “We have a big problem,” says the Queen. “Ivan the Horrible is going to wreak havoc on our castle, causing much mayhem and misery. This is why we have sent for you, John Smith! We want you to do battle with Ivan the Horrible and we really want you to try your hardest to KILL him!”

  “They don’t call me John Smith for nothing, Your Majesty!” I reply. “I’ll take care of your little problem.”

  “Three cheers for John Smith!” someone shouts out.

  And everyone cheers, including the horses.

  The Queen slumps in her throne and scratches her cheek. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” she says.

  “Oh no, Your Majesty, there is only one of me!” I laugh. Which of course is a completely enormous fib; there are millions of me!

  “Very well, then. Eat, drink and be merry,” she chuckles. “For very soon you will probably be dead.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I do not like the sound of this! The eating bit, the drinking bit, the being merry bit – that all sounds ace. But the being dead very soon bit scares the pants off me! Still, I must put on a brave face.

  I stride out of the castle. The heralds blow their trumpets and everyone is nudging each other and gawping at me.

  “You don’t seem very frightened,” says Ossie. “After all, you’re going to fight Ivan the Horrible, and he’s a real rotten meanie!”

  “Frightened?” I scoff. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “It means terrified, scared, speechless…” says Ossie.

  We walk back into the courtyard where my horse is waiting. Ossie gives me the reins.

  “What a magnificent beast!” says Ossie, patting the horse on the neck. “I suppose you travel far and wide on your trusty steed?”

  “Oh yes,” I chortle, “up and down the country riding my fine four-legged friend.”

  The truth is that I’ve never seen this horse before in my life.

  I climb on to the horse and wave to the crowd. Then I lift my sword over my head and try to swing it around a bit; they seem to like that sort of thing. The sword is so heavy I nearly backflip off the horse.

  We trot across the courtyard. I take the cheers from the crowd again, feeling generally marvellous.

  “Does your horse have a name?” asks Ossie.

  “Um, yes, she’s called Daisy!” I reply.

  The horse snorts.

  I lean over and pat the horse on the side of the neck. “We’re a right regular team, aren’t we, Daisy? We go together like sausage and mustard, bacon and eggs, cheese and onnniiiiooooooonnnnn…”

  Suddenly the horse shoots off really fast.

  I’m bouncing about in the saddle, trying to hold on to the reins. The crowd gasp and cheer as I charge round the courtyard, desperately clinging on, my sword and shield clattering and battering around me. My suit of armour is clanking all over the place, my visor is rattling up and down in front of my face and my helmet is bashing all over my head!

  “STOPPPPPP!!!!”

  The horse comes to a sudden stop and throws me clean over her head. I plunge face down in a trough of pig swill.

  I roll over, wipe the slime from my eyes and look at the crowd.

  They are all staring at me with their mouths wide open. This is NOT what they were expecting. I straighten my helmet, clean myself off and stagger back to my horse.

  “And there’s plenty more where that came from!” I announce, pretending I meant to do it all along.

  The horse looks at me and blows two jets of hot air out of her nostrils, then does a massive dump on the cobblestones.

  “Better out than in,” I say.

  “Follow me,” says Ossie. “I’ll take you to my home.”

  “Rightio,” I grunt.

  I pull myself on to the horse again.

  “You’re facing the wrong way,” says Ossie.

  “That’s right,” I reply, bluffing. “I’d like it to be a surprise!”

  I hope Ossie believes me because I’m actually making all this up as I go along.

  Ossie tells me all about the Queen. He says she has been heartbroken since her red ruby was stolen and if she ever finds the thief she’ll make him pay! Ossie says the Queen’s executioner, Woodworm, will chop his head off and use it as a football.

  “That’s bound to hurt,” I laugh.

  “Which bit?” says Ossie. “Getting your head chopped off or having it used as a football?”

  “Both,” I gulp.

  As we cross the courtyard, Ossie shows me a massive comic strip on the wall, which he says is called a tapestry. It’s like a big carpet with pictures of lots and lots of people. I can see Ossie, the Queen, Woodworm the executioner and lots of other folk I don’t recognize.

  “It was done a while back,” says Ossie. “I completely forgot to clean my teeth and brush my hair. Mum went mad!”

  I really like Ossie. I think we’re going to be friends.

  “OK” says Ossie, “this is where I live!”

  Ossie’s house is a bit black and a bit white with lots of little hanging baskets on the porch, a blackboard on a stand offering something called “traditional fayre” and lots of barrels outside the front door.

  “Ye Olde Inn?” I say, reading the sign by the door. What sort of place is this? And why have they written Old with an e?

  “My dad runs the local pub,” says Ossie.

  The front door opens and a little man with rosy red cheeks and a tea towel over his arm comes running out to greet us.

  “Dad, this is the great John Smith,” says Ossie. “He’s come to save us!”

  “Oh, thank ye, sir,” says Ossie’s dad, shaking me by the hand. “Thank ye, thank ye, a thousand thank ye’s…”

  A rosy-cheeked lady in a yellow apron bustles out of the door.

  Ossie nudges me. “You’ll love my mum.”

  “An honour to meet you, young man!” says Ossie’s mum. She wipes her hand on her apron and sticks it out. “Please excuse me, I’ve just been scattering cow dung on my turnips.”

  I shake her hand carefully.

  “Sorry, wrong hand,” she giggles. “Come inside, John Smith, and settle yourself down. You must be starving.”

  I tie Daisy up and follow Ossie and his mum and dad inside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We sit at the kitchen table and Ossie’s mum gives me turnip cake and turnip tea. Turnips! Yucky! Worse than sprouts!

  “We’ve got turnip biscuits as well if you’re not a big fan of turnip cake?” she chuckles.

  “You haven’t got a cheese toastie, have you?” I mumble. I realize I’m really hungry.

  “We could do you a turnip toastie,” says Ossie’s dad.

  “No, no, this is lovely,” I mumble, chewing lumps of raw turnip.

  “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” says Ossie’s mum as she opens the pantry door and about half a million turnips come tumbling out. “You’ve got to keep your strength up if you’re going to save us from Ivan the Horrible.”

 

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