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vegetable patch. The big wooden barrel stood just inside the gate.
    Matthew shoved the lid to one side, and Danny tipped the steaming, bubbling, seething mixture into the thick, browny-black slop. The Pongy Potion floated on the surface for a moment before the
cowpat sludge sucked it down hungrily.
    Suddenly, huge bubbles began to appear, bursting with loud, sloppy pops. The barrel started to grumble loudly.

    ‘That sounds like Dad’s stomach after he’s had a chicken vindaloo,’ laughed Danny.
    Something knocked on the inside of the wooden tub. Long ropes of sticky slime spat into the air. The grumbling turned to rumbling and the top of the liquid started to bulge upwards.
    ‘It’s going to blow!’ yelled Danny. ‘It is like Dad’s stomach after a chicken vindaloo! Run!’
    The two boys charged towards the farmhouse as the cowpat barrel erupted with a ground-shaking ‘BOOOOOMMM!’.
    Danny glanced over his shoulder and saw a plume of browny-greeny-yellowy-black goo rocket into the air. As it climbed higher, it spread out like a fan, casting its smelly contents far and wide,
and blotting out the sun.
    The shadow of the approaching muck-cloud fell over Danny and Matthew. They nearly made it to the kitchen door, but not quite. They were just a few metres short when the Pong landed.
    SPLAT!
    The whole garden turned browny-greeny-yellowy-black.
    Both boys had been turned into gooey gobs of greasy gloop.
    ‘Ace!’ said Danny, pulling a slimy old tea bag off his head.
    ‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.
    Grandma opened the kitchen door.

    ‘Oh, my days!’ she cried. ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘Grandad’s cowpat barrel blew up!’ answered Danny.
    ‘And we stink ,’ grinned Matthew.
    ‘Not for long,’ replied Grandma. ‘Don’t move!’
    She marched off around the side of the house, returning with the hosepipe.
    ‘Keep still,’ she ordered, and blasted the yucky slime off the boys.
    Grandad Nobby appeared at the door. ‘How did that get up there?’ he asked, pointing to the sock that dangled drippily from the TV aerial on the roof.
    Danny and Matthew glanced at each other.
    ‘Cats?’ suggested Danny.
    ‘Bats?’ suggested Matthew.
    Grandad took off his old flat cap and scratched his head. He looked around at the mess that covered everything in sight. ‘We’ll have to hope it rains,’ he said.
    ‘Well then, we’d better do the Puddlethorpe Rain Dance,’ said Grandma, and she and Grandad set off round the garden, jigging and wailing tunelessly. Danny and Matthew joined
in, splashing in the shallow pools of dark sludge.
    That evening it rained torrents.
    ‘Never fails,’ smiled Grandad, winking at the boys. ‘This rain’ll wash all that goo down into the ground. It’ll be good for the soil, so no harm done.’
    ‘There’s harm done to my nose,’ complained Grandma. ‘What a whiff!’

     
Big
    Danny woke early the next morning, got out of bed and opened the bedroom curtains.
    He gasped.
    He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
    He gasped for a second time.
    ‘Grandad! Grandma! Matt! Get up! Come and look at this!’
    Danny raced downstairs and into the kitchen. He flung open the kitchen door and stared outside. He couldn’t help it: he gasped once more.
    The grass in the garden was two metres high. Buttercups, daisies and dandelions, with flowers as big as dinner-plates, stretched up above the tall green blades. Rose-bushes stood like small
trees down one side of the garden, their branches bending under the weight of enormous white blooms. Other gigantic plants crushed and crowded together nearby, with towering spikes of red and blue
flowers, huge purple bells and rafts of pink blossom.
    Grandad, Grandma and Matthew joined Danny at the door.
    ‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ exclaimed Grandma. ‘I’m going to need a vase as big as a milk churn for those roses.’
    ‘What about your vegetables, Mr B?’ asked Matthew.
    ‘My marrows!’ yelled Grandad. ‘Come on, let’s go and see.’
    They all