Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time by Katrina Nannestad Page B

is quite different from laughing with an English, a Chinese or a French accent.
    Try it now. See for yourself!
    â€˜Ha, ha, ha, ha!’ laughed the Red Baron with a German accent.
    â€˜It really is the Red Baron!’ gasped Olive. A jumbled mass of bold red uppercase letters swam before her eyes: R-A-W-B-E-E! She blinked, shook her battered head and the letters ran past again: B-E-W-A-R-E!
    â€˜The Red Baron!’ cheered Bullet, leaping to his feet, waving his arms.
    â€˜The Red Baron!’ cried Basil, who was taking a stroll before lunch. ‘Whoopsy-edelweiss! It would appear that the Time Slurp has started to take effect!’

18
    In which we hunt a woolly mammoth
    Num-Num eyed her lunch with suspicion – vegetable pie, baked potatoes, asparagus spears. She picked up a potato, sniffed it, licked it and threw it at Eduardo. ‘Yuck! Num-Num want meat.’ She grabbed Blimp, wedged him into the top of her vegetable pie and smiled. ‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!’
    Olive giggled. ‘Okay, but just for looking. No nibbles.’
    Blimp was just about to express grave concern at the seating arrangements when the tables began to shake. The benches quivered. The cutlery rattled. The water in the glasses formed little ripples. The walls shook and the light fittings swayed back and forth.
    â€˜Earthquake!’ gasped Bullet Barnes, tightening the strap on his crash helmet.
    â€˜ Nein! Worse!’ yelled Basil. ‘Woolly mammoth!’
    And sure enough, there, charging up the centre of the dining room, as big as a double-decker bus, was a woolly mammoth. He tossed his head from side to side, his enormous ivory tusks skittling naughty boys, talking animals and circus performers. He lifted his trunk and trumpeted like a postman blowing his nose on a frosty morning – loud, lusty and of just the right tone to send all the neighbourhood dogs into a howling frenzy.

    Mrs Groves looked up from the model of the Eiffel Tower that she had been constructing from asparagus. She gasped, pulled the large gold fob watch from her apron pocket and cried, ‘Goodness gracious me! Is that the time? I really must be going!’ She hitched her skirt up around her knees, bolted across the dining room, threw open the window and dived out into the rosemary bushes.
    Diana the lion tamer leapt up onto the buffet and cracked her whip at the woolly mammoth. ‘Ya! Ya! Sit!’ she ordered.
    Fumble the moose, Clara the cow and Scruffy the dog all exhibited wonderful obedience and sat down at once, but the woolly mammoth barrelled forth. He stomped right over the top of the dessert trolley, then disappeared through the kitchen door with a tablecloth and Bozo’s underpants dangling off his tusks. (Believe me, dear reader, you don’t want to know!)
    â€˜Phew!’ cried Olive. ‘Thank goodness that’s ov–’
    â€˜Ooga booga! Ooga booga!’ A short, stout caveman dropped from the ceiling, waving a heavy wooden club. Moth-eaten animal skins hung from his filthy body. The air became thick with a smell akin to rotten fish soaking in sour milk.
    â€˜Hey!’ shouted Linus. ‘That chap smells like Tiny Tim’s socks.’
    The caveman peered out through the matted strands of hair that fell over his face. ‘Ugga thugga! Ugga thugga!’
    â€˜Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!’ cried Num-Num, staring at the caveman, licking her lips.
    â€˜No, Num-Num!’ snapped Olive. ‘I do not think that is a good idea.’
    â€˜Boogie woogie! Boogie woogie!’ Waving his club in the air, the caveman ran along the tabletops, leapt over the asparagus model of the Eiffel Tower, kicked aside the splintered dessert trolley and vanished into the kitchen.
    Tiny Tim lifted his foot up to his nose, sniffed his sock and nodded, satisfied.
    Someone giggled. Cutlery scraped across a plate. Hamish and Doug started to plan their next caper. Mrs Groves hoisted herself