Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! by Ivan Brett Read Free Book Online Page A

time I showed you something. Lift the lid.”
    So he did.

Outside, the square was dark, but warm light and the sound of the Omelette Gun wafted from Bistro D’Escargot.
    From the kitchen came much crashing and tinkling as Amanda and Cuddles did the washing-up.
    â€œBe careful, Mum,” called Casper.
    â€œWhat, even with these frisbees?” Amandalaunched a grubby white plate across the room. It whistled past Casper’s head and smashed against the far wall.
    â€œYes,” groaned Casper. “Especially with those frisbees.” He turned back to his dad and the matter in hand.
    Julius’s eyes were sullen and far-off. He handed Casper the first yellowed newspaper clipping from his box and motioned for him to read.
    ----
    Critic hits Britain for Culinary Road Trip
    Chefs across the country are quaking in their Beef Wellingtons as renowned Frenchman and food critic Jean-Claude D’Escargot announces he is to tour Britain, searching for “any food zat is not making me sick in my mouth”. He wrote today in his column for Paris newspaper La Grenouille that he is to spend two weeks in England to see if its food really is as bad as he’s been told.
----
    â€œJean-Claude?” Casper frowned. “But that’s the name you called Renée in the square.”
    Julius nodded. “Now this.” He unfolded a long strip of newspaper with paragraphs in French, each separated by a single asterisk.
    â€œWhat are these?” asked Casper.
    â€œHis reviews.”
    â€œWhat about the asterisks?”
    â€œThose are star ratings. He’s pretty cruel.”
    ----
    â€¢ World of Bacon, Puddleford: Mal. *
    â€¢ Snack Shack, Little Grimston: Trop mal. *
    â€¢ Lady Augusta’s Spiffing Coriander Establishment, Upper-Crustenbury: Dégoûtant! *
    â€¢ Donny’s Donut Diner ’n’ Dental Care, South Grunk: Terrible! J’ai vomi. *
    â€¢ Porridge or Bread or Both, Bittenham: EUGH! PAH! EUGH! Nourriture pour chiens. *
----
    â€œDid that last one mean ‘dog food’?”
    Julius nodded gravely. “But look.” He pointed at the final review. Below the title there were just three words and three stars.
    Ze Boiled Sprout, Corne-on-ze-Kobb: Not zat bad. ***
    Casper stared, amazed. “You told me about this. It’s your old restaurant. You wanted this review on your gravestone.”
    â€œYeah.” Julius nibbled on his lip. “What else d’you notice?”
    Casper leant closer. “Well, it’s the only review above one star. That’s good. And it’s in English. The rest’s French. So…” Then it hit him. Casper felt his jaw drop. “Oh, Dad, you didn’t.”
    Julius winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “I wrote the review, Casp.”
    Casper’s head spun. “But how?”
    â€œHe came on a Saturday night. The place was packed, but he demanded that everyone must leave so he could taste the food properly. He sat down, ordered everything on the menu and said if the starters didn’t arrive in five minutes I’d be getting one star. I tried my best, I really did, but he took one sniff at the food and roared insults that made me glad I couldn’t speak French. He repainted the walls with my soup, gave me a facemask of spaghetti and poured my blancmange down the toilet. The only thing he did like was the wine. I’d been keeping a couple of bottles of vintage Bordeaux that your granny gave your mother and me as a wedding present. He knocked the firstglass back in one, gargled and held out his glass, so I poured another. ‘Zis wine, she is like ’ome,’ he said, and glugged down more. ‘Is good. More.’ I poured him another, then another. He sank down in his chair with a blissful smile. I opened the second bottle. In the end he could hardly string a sentence together, let alone pick up his pen. The pad was sitting right there, so I… I helped him