Colin Z Smith
Mystery, Magic & Mayhem

The Colour of Bananas
“I like bananas,” Lucy says. “All mushy between your teeth when you bite into them.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I can squish one backwards and forwards between the gap in my teeth millions of times.”
The others chuckle. “Sounds like water going down the bathroom plug-hole when you do that,” Michael says. “If you do it loud enough.”
“No, that sounds more like - Shlooughhhhhhhhhhhh.” I make it really long and loud, shaping my lips into a big ‘O’ that I can feel squashing up my nose and cheeks, and making my forehead wrinkle into a big frown. Everybody else laughs again, I suppose because my face is all scrunched up.
“Bananas are not so nice when they’re not quite ripe, though - they taste like smelly socks,” Michael says when they’ve all finished laughing.

Tarantulas
Tarantulas are brilliant,
Tarantulas are cool;
Tarantulas make everybody
Scream when they’re at school.

Tarantulas make lovely pets
For those who don’t have cats.
(But best to have them in the house;
They’re far too cramped in flats.)

Tarantulas
Tarantulas are brilliant,
Tarantulas are cool;
Tarantulas make everybody
Scream when they’re at school.

Tarantulas make lovely pets
For those who don’t have cats.

Daisy The Goat And The V(ILE) Kidnapping
The headquarters of V(ILE) was a big grey building that stood in the middle of town. “Baa ba ba ba baa,” Daisy the Goat said as we stood trying to peek into one of its big grey windows.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Clever to have their headquarters right where nobody would think of looking for it.”
I read the big grey plaque screwed to the big grey front door.
VILLAINS (INCLUDING LICENSED EVILDOERS)
IMPORTANT PERSONS KIDNAPPED,
COUNTRIES TAKEN OVER,
ASSASSINATIONS ATTEMPTED.
Underneath was a note saying,  “Important kidnapped person inside. Two pints today, please.”
“So this is where they’re keeping Professor von Cleverperson,” I said.
“Baa ba baa ba ba ba ba baa.”
Daisy was right. We had to check first to make

My Angel
The new lady at the swimming pool smiles at me as she takes my money. “Hello, and what’s your name, then?” she asks.
“Becca,” I tell her.
“My little angel,” Granddad says, giving his own money to her.
I always think it funny when Granddad calls me “my little angel”, as if angels are ever little. My angel isn’t little at all - she’s huge. And she’s standing behind the lady behind the counter, smiling at me as well. Granddad is smiling too, at the lady, and at me, and at everybody else around. I don’t think he’s