The Funny Thing about Norman Foreman, Julietta Henderson [best novels to read for students .TXT] 📗

a gentlemen’s club and rescuing a guy from a tumble dryer and getting his dad’s mooring money back, and that was just a totally normal day, thanks very much.

And because it didn’t feel weird at all and it was actually really nice being with a lot of responsible adults it made me stop worrying about Mum a bit. And maybe because I was still feeling all fizzy inside from rescuing James and escaping from Slim’s goon and the ride on the back of the moped and everything, suddenly my mouth just started talking on its own. I’m not even kidding. It was like when Jax has to let something out of his ideas factory and he just blurts it all out in one big long sentence without taking a breath, and then he has to stop and rummage through his backpack or his pocket for a puff on his inhaler because he talked so much he ran out of air.

In between mouthfuls of pie and tiny sips of Guinness so I could make it last, and remembering to keep on taking lots of breaths in between so I wouldn’t run out of air, I told the guys about everything. I mean, not my entire life since I was born, but quite a lot and loads about Jax. I told them how me and Jax were the Rolls-bloody-Royce of best friends and how we made a really cool Five Year Plan. And that Jax and Norman’s Five Year Plan turned into Norman’s Plan because now Jax is gone and he’s most probably not coming back. And about Grandad Foreman, who used to be an almost famous comedian, and my mum, who’s the best mum in the world because she’s helping me get to the Fringe and meet my dad. Even though I know she’s just as scared as me about both those things. Maybe even more.

Gray gave me another two fingers of Guinness to wash down my pie and James said, steady on, old-timer, but he winked again so I knew it was OK. And then Lucy goes, come on, lad, don’t keep your crowd waiting, go on wi’ yer story, so then I told them all about Leonard and his Austin and Little Big Man and why you needed a Facebook page for marketing purposes. And then about Toad Hall and the bush in the middle of the path and Bill’s full English brekkie and the invisible Gloria. And about the Noble Goat and how it looked like the dog was driving the milk float, and Lou behind the bar and Big Al reciting a John Keats poem like wow, and me still winning by a tit’s whisker.

And you know what’s cool? I had to keep stopping because the guys were all laughing so loud they couldn’t hear me. Like really and truly proper laughing. Like my story was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. When I got to the bit about the two Franks having a dust-up at Swansea’s Got Talent and Leonard asking if the fat lady’s husband got an encouragement certificate, Beano slapped the table so hard his glass bounced off and fell into his lap and gave him a trouserful of Guinness. Which made them all laugh even harder, and then Gray nudged me and goes, och, Norman, I haven’t seen the old geezer laugh that hard since old Robbie Jones finally bought a round back in ’87.

Every time I stopped talking one of them yelled at me to keep on going. So I kept on talking about how I turned into an alien for a night at the Premier Inn in Bournemouth and about meeting Adam. Then about having to make a run for it because of ruining all the towels and Leonard getting to have a go on Adam’s mobility scooter. And about Leonard making Little Big Man look so good on Facebook that I actually got a spot at the Fringe for one night only at the Duke.

Then because they kept on saying, gaun yersel, Norman, I told them how when we got to Edinburgh the Soft Fudge turned out to be a weird old empty house in a seedy neighbourhood, but it did have clean sheets. And that we woke up and Leonard had nicked off in the Austin and Mum went out to look for him and she didn’t get back by six o’clock at the latest like she promised. Then I said about the dodgy geezers outside the window and how it gave me the idea to call a responsible adult, but that Big Al and Kathy and Tony and even Adam didn’t answer their phones and so I called James, who used to know my mum a long time ago.

I looked over at James, and he was frowning a bit, like he was trying to remember something, but then he gave me a nod and a wink, so I told them how I caught the bus to rescue him from the tumble dryer in the Whisky-a-Go-Go, and how we pretended to be chefs and broke into Slim’s office and found a load of money and the blue cooked book. Then, after the part about escaping on the moped and seeing Slim’s goon with his bum in the bins, I folded my arms and sat back and said, that’s it, folks.

Well, I thought old Beano and Gray and Lucy were about ready to wee themselves, they’d laughed so much. Maybe it was partly because of the six empty Guinness bottles sitting in the sink, but I was almost sure it was also because it actually made a pretty funny story when you heard it all together like that.

When everyone stopped laughing Gray slapped the table and said I sure knew how to have an adventure. Which made me think, wow, I can’t believe I’ve actually had a real-life adventure. Then Beano said, aye, and I sure did know how to tell a story, and I just thought, wow full stop.