Part one of many parts. One a week until I stop. For Bubbles.

James and the Giant Spot

 Chapter 1. Trevor the Superstar Spot


The grey clouds wrapped themselves around the sky in a big soppy wet hug. The wind rippled through the trees playing tug of war with branches and leaves. In the garden, Toffee the cat returned from a nighttime trip. No one quite knows where cats go at night: perhaps they have all night raves behind the garage or tell ghost stories in the graveyard.

Toffee looked skulky. She sat on the back step and carefully preened herself. ‘Breckie’ she thought. In cat, of course.


It started with a kiss. A yucky kiss.

A mummy morning kiss.

Mummy kisses me every morning. Not an icky mummy daddy kiss. She does that every morning too. She doesn’t think that we see but we do. I wish they wouldn’t. That’s a really icky kiss and one for another story. An icky story.

With my mum it’s the kind of embarrassing mummy kiss that makes me want to become a bird and fly away into the tree behind the kitchen and feel really angry. Mummy kisses do that to a boy like me.

But my friends say that all mummies are like that so maybe it’s a mummy thing. Perhaps all mummies are silly. And icky. And Lovely.

Then I spotted a spotty spot.

‘I’ve never had a spot to call my own.’

‘ A big, juicy, ripe for picking spot. I’m going to call him Trevor. Trevor the spot. Trevor the superstar spot. My spot.’

Then Trevor the spot decided to have a party. He invited all his friends. There was Big Al, Little Bennie, Squinty Eyed Bob and a spot they called Kierkegaard.

They decided to have a big swanky party on me. A big, itchy, scratchy, drive you completely bonkers party with chickens. CHICKENS!! Yep. These were the Abyssinian chickenpox spots.

Special spots that only partied with special people.

Special people party spots.

With chickens.

Quite what the chickens thought of it is anybody’s guess but they were just happy that they didn’t have to cross the road.

I decided that perhaps it was best to climb down from the icky kissy tree. But instead of climbing down I decided that it might be more fun to fall down instead (just in case you thought I fell out of the tree by accident). I hit the ground with such a BUMP that I almost broke my bum! (I said that inside because if I’d have said it outside my dad might’ve smacked my bum!!).

I carefully wiped the last of the mummy kiss off my cheek with my pajama sleeve and then my tummy rumbled and I thought about brekkie. But my tummy was doing somersaults like Jack and Jake the guinea pigs on their little trampoline and for a moment I thought I’d be sick on the cat.

‘What’s wrong my little precious bumpkin?’ said mum.

‘I feel like a sick chicken’ I said.

I thought. ‘ Why did I say I felt like a sick chicken? That’s so stupid!!’

‘Oh dear’ said mum. ‘You look like a little sick chicken. A little sick chicken with chickenpox.’

‘It’s Abyssinian Chickenpox mum and this is Trevor, the super spot’

‘Did I just tell my mum I’ve given my spot a name?!! I’m not even a teenager!’

Mum ruffled his sandy hair like Mums do.

‘Don’t worry. Mummy will make it better. She just needs to call up an old friend.’


‘Yes sweetheart?’

‘Do you mean, The Wet Bandit?’

‘How do you know about The Wet Bandit?’ she asked with one hand on her hip and the other stroking her chin like Mums do when they know that you’re right!

‘I heard you talking to Dad’