Bogey Boy and the Super Snot

Chapter 1 - Grott & Snot!

Chapter 1 – Grott & Snot!

A thick, green, gloopy and syrupy snot slid slowly from Simon Grott’s left nostril in one long string-like strand. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, Simon stuck out his tongue to catch the slimy bogey which oozed out of his nose. Sucking the snot into his mouth with his tongue, he gave a great, long slurp and the bogey, as long, slippery and warm as a piece of spaghetti slurped into his mouth. It was a strangely satisfying sensation and left his top lip a bit wet. Taking a big gulp, he swallowed it down and licked his lips.

This is a story for anybody who has ever picked their nose. And if you’ve ever flicked those bogeys when you thought no one was watching, it is definitely for you. It is a story about snot, bogeys and mucus. This is why this story should not be read by Mums, Grandmas or Granddads who are all far too sensible and polite. This is a book for children who aren’t afraid of being gross, though most Dads will also enjoy this book as, as everybody knows, dads are just boys who got big and old but never actually grew up.

Now, everybody knows that the best thing to do with a snotty nose is to use a handkerchief, tissue or even toilet paper and give it a really good blow. I know this, you know and the Queen knows this (though I doubt she uses toilet paper, rather silk handkerchiefs with corgis on) Even Simon knew this because his mother told him everyday. In truth, Simon was a very snotty child, he would quite happily blow his nose like other well mannered child like you except, well, it wasn’t as much fun.

Simon sniffed, and just to make sure he hadn’t missed any, stuck his finger up his nose and gave it a wiggle as he walked into the house for his tea. He hoped there wasn’t going to be peas, after all, he’d already eaten some greens.

“Dinner ready?” asked Simon walking into the kitchen.

“Nearly,” replied Mum.

“Need any help?”

“From you?” Mum turned around with a quizzical look at Simon. “You’re hands are not going near anything that other people have to eat Snotbags, I can guess where those fingers have been!” and she turned back the big pan she’d been stirring.

Simon smiled coyly and went to wash his hands. Even though Mum could manage to smile and joke about Simon’s nasal habits, he daren’t be caught even scratching his nose while Mum was around. He knew he’d get earache about it being unhygienic, impolite and horrible. She would tell him that if he kept sticking his finger up his nose it would eventually go right up into his brain – he wasn’t quite sure whether this was true but he was prepared to take the chance.

*    *    *    *    *

After dinner Simon went out to the garden to kick the football against the garage wall. As he kicked, he stuck his finger up his nostril and pulled out a large, gloopy, green bogey from his nose. After briefly admiring it sitting on the end of his finger, he flicked it absent mindedly away from him and walked back over to where his football was lying. Simon was confused to find his arm jerked back hard. He turned to see that the bogey he had flicked had stuck itself firmly on the garden wall five metres away. More unusually however, it was still stuck on the end of his finger with a long strand of snot linking Simon’s finger and the wall.

“Wow!” thought Simon. “This isn’t just snot, it’s Super Snot!”

Simon tried it again. He successfully shot a string of snot at the garage, the apple tree at the end of the garden and almost managed to get next doors cat who had been sitting up the tree watching these strange goings on at the time and only just managed to get out of the way.  He decided that he was a pretty good aim, mind you, it wasn’t exactly hard to hit a great big wall and he did miss the cat.  He looked down at the football now lying on the grass by the wall. Scooping a sizable green blob from out of his nose, Simon took aim and fired at the ball. A long, wet, elastic string of green slime connected the ball with his finger. Giving it a yank, the ball flew back through the air and landed comfortably in his hands. “Nicely done”, he thought wiping his finger clean and rolling the ball away to try again.

He stuck his finger in his nose gave it a wiggle and pulled it out. Nothing. He tried the other nostril. He was empty!

“Just as things were getting interesting”, he grumbled to no one in particular walking dejectedly into the house yet feeling rather proud of himself.

“You’ve been out a long time”, observed Mum suspiciously as he walked through the door. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been…” began Simon, then he paused. Should he tell Mum? Would she tell him off? He decided that he might as well. A talent like his, he thought, was too good to keep to himself. “I’ve been practicing my Snot Shot!” he informed her.

Mum turned and looked down at him with a scowl. “Your what?” She asked.

“My snot shot”, repeated Harry, “I’ve just discovered it. First you take some Super Snot…”

“Super Snot!” Mum repeated the words slowly, making the ‘s’ sound long, her top lip curling up in disgust.

“…Yeah, you put it just on the end of your finger nail then you take aim and flick it at your target and…”

“You disgusting little boy!” squealed Mum. Her mouth was so curled up in disgust that it looked like her whole face was turning inside out. “You are a revolting pile of mucus Snotbags! ”

Straight away, Simon knew telling Mum had been a bad idea.

            “How dare you flick anything that comes out of your nose!”

            Simon found this a strange thing to say. ‘Anything?’ What else could come out of his nose other that snot? Toothpaste? A speedboat? A dead hedgehog? This, thought Simon, was proof that Mums don’t talk as much sense as they like to think.

            “You’ll spread your snotty little germs and you’ll make a mess! What will the neighbours say? You must never ever do that again you horrid child!” shrieked Mum giving his a clip around the ear, not too hard, just hard enough to show she meant business. She gave him a glare which said ‘if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get washed and go to bed.’ Simon knew this look well and disappeared quickly up the stairs.