Piggins, ‘he got me to do his laundry!’
‘I thought that was within the job description of what a nanny –’ began Mr Green.
‘I’m going to start counting,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And when I get to three, anybody who is still in this house whom I regard to be very naughty, will get a good hard stamp on the foot. One . . .’
Nanny Anne and Mr Green both ran for it as fast as they could.
The next moment Boris burst in through the back door with a huge watermelon held above his head. ‘Where is she?’ asked Boris.
‘There’s no need to hit me over the head with a watermelon, Boris,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Aaagghh!’ shrieked Boris. ‘Nanny Anne has turned into a pig!’
‘It’s not Nanny Anne,’ explained Samantha.
‘Then it’s one of Nanny Piggins’ evil identical fourteenuplet sisters!’ squealed Boris.
‘No, it is I,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘Your sister, Nanny Piggins.’
‘Sarah?’ asked Boris, peering past the hideous hair and clothing. ‘Oh no, what happened to you?’
‘Nanny Anne gave me a makeover,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
‘You poor, poor pig,’ said Boris, crushing his sister to his chest in a big bear-hug. ‘What an evil woman to take advantage of you when you had come down with a little brain damage.’
‘Come along, there will be plenty of time for hugging later,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
‘We do?’ asked Samantha.
‘Getting hit in the head gave me a tremendous idea,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
‘It did?’ asked Michael.
‘Let’s have a bonfire!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And burn things on it.’
‘Like what?’ asked Derrick.
‘For a start we’ll have to burn your father’s Persian rug,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘We’ll never get the smell of zucchini out.’
‘Then can we burn those clothes Nanny Anne gave you?’ asked Boris.
‘Definitely,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And the cake, although we’ll all have to be careful to wear water-soaked rags over our noses so we don’t breathe in any zucchini fumes.’
‘That sounds like fun,’ enthused Derrick.
‘That’s just the start of it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘After we’ve burnt your father’s laundry, we’ll have to stay up half the night toasting marshmallows and making up rude songs about Nanny Anne’s dress sense.’
‘It’s good to have you back, Nanny Piggins,’ said Samantha.
‘It’s good to be back,’ said Nanny Piggins, embracing all three children. ‘You’ve no idea how unspeakably dreadful it is not remembering the important things in life: the taste of a chocolate cake, the smell of a freshly blasted cannon and the sweet satisfaction of throwing Nanny Anne out of the house.’
Sixty small noses were pressed up against the windowpanes of the school canteen, as a crowd of children breathlessly – they dared not breathe in case their breath fogged the windows – watched Nanny Piggins perform an act of sheer magic.
And this is no exaggeration. Throughout history, the world’s greatest minds, people such as Leonardo da Vinci and Nicholas Flamel, have attempted alchemy – the transformation of lead into gold.But Nanny Piggins could do something much more impressive than that. She could transform eggs, flour and butter into cake, which is much more delicious than gold, and equally pretty in Nanny Piggins’ opinion.
On this particular occasion the children were waiting to see Nanny Piggins take her marble cake out of the oven. It was a mixture of white chocolate cake, milk chocolate cake and dark chocolate cake carefully swirled together. The smell coming from the oven was divine. The children could not wait to see if it looked as good as it smelt, because if it looked good and it smelt good, the chances of it tasting good were very, very high indeed.
The oven pinged. Nanny Piggins put down her romance novel (which she had been pretending to read so that the children would think she was relaxed, but really she was just as anxious
‘I thought that was within the job description of what a nanny –’ began Mr Green.
‘I’m going to start counting,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And when I get to three, anybody who is still in this house whom I regard to be very naughty, will get a good hard stamp on the foot. One . . .’
Nanny Anne and Mr Green both ran for it as fast as they could.
The next moment Boris burst in through the back door with a huge watermelon held above his head. ‘Where is she?’ asked Boris.
‘There’s no need to hit me over the head with a watermelon, Boris,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Aaagghh!’ shrieked Boris. ‘Nanny Anne has turned into a pig!’
‘It’s not Nanny Anne,’ explained Samantha.
‘Then it’s one of Nanny Piggins’ evil identical fourteenuplet sisters!’ squealed Boris.
‘No, it is I,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘Your sister, Nanny Piggins.’
‘Sarah?’ asked Boris, peering past the hideous hair and clothing. ‘Oh no, what happened to you?’
‘Nanny Anne gave me a makeover,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
‘You poor, poor pig,’ said Boris, crushing his sister to his chest in a big bear-hug. ‘What an evil woman to take advantage of you when you had come down with a little brain damage.’
‘Come along, there will be plenty of time for hugging later,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
‘We do?’ asked Samantha.
‘Getting hit in the head gave me a tremendous idea,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
‘It did?’ asked Michael.
‘Let’s have a bonfire!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And burn things on it.’
‘Like what?’ asked Derrick.
‘For a start we’ll have to burn your father’s Persian rug,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘We’ll never get the smell of zucchini out.’
‘Then can we burn those clothes Nanny Anne gave you?’ asked Boris.
‘Definitely,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And the cake, although we’ll all have to be careful to wear water-soaked rags over our noses so we don’t breathe in any zucchini fumes.’
‘That sounds like fun,’ enthused Derrick.
‘That’s just the start of it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘After we’ve burnt your father’s laundry, we’ll have to stay up half the night toasting marshmallows and making up rude songs about Nanny Anne’s dress sense.’
‘It’s good to have you back, Nanny Piggins,’ said Samantha.
‘It’s good to be back,’ said Nanny Piggins, embracing all three children. ‘You’ve no idea how unspeakably dreadful it is not remembering the important things in life: the taste of a chocolate cake, the smell of a freshly blasted cannon and the sweet satisfaction of throwing Nanny Anne out of the house.’
Sixty small noses were pressed up against the windowpanes of the school canteen, as a crowd of children breathlessly – they dared not breathe in case their breath fogged the windows – watched Nanny Piggins perform an act of sheer magic.
And this is no exaggeration. Throughout history, the world’s greatest minds, people such as Leonardo da Vinci and Nicholas Flamel, have attempted alchemy – the transformation of lead into gold.But Nanny Piggins could do something much more impressive than that. She could transform eggs, flour and butter into cake, which is much more delicious than gold, and equally pretty in Nanny Piggins’ opinion.
On this particular occasion the children were waiting to see Nanny Piggins take her marble cake out of the oven. It was a mixture of white chocolate cake, milk chocolate cake and dark chocolate cake carefully swirled together. The smell coming from the oven was divine. The children could not wait to see if it looked as good as it smelt, because if it looked good and it smelt good, the chances of it tasting good were very, very high indeed.
The oven pinged. Nanny Piggins put down her romance novel (which she had been pretending to read so that the children would think she was relaxed, but really she was just as anxious
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