Nathalia Buttface and the Most Epically Embarrassing Trip Ever

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

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Nathalia Buttface and the Most Epically Embarrassing Trip Ever

Text copyright © Nigel Smith 2015

Cover illustration © Sarah Horne 2015

Nigel Smith and Sarah Horne assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007545230

Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007545247

Version: 2015-02-13

To Michèle. Because mums who live with embarrassing dads suffer just as much.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

The Bit After the Book’s Finished

A Sneek Preview from Nathalia Buttface

Also by Nigel Smith

About the Author

About the Publisher

The Most Embarrassing Dad in the World paused. He hadn’t expected this reaction. In fact, he had come home from the pub with his Great French Holiday Idea feeling really pleased with himself.

Dad liked France. He liked the weather and the food and the wine and talking to local people.

“You wear STUPID shorts, your bald spot goes pink and peely, you drink red wine every day and get silly and even more embarrassing than usual and your teeth look like a vampire’s,” Nat went on, not pausing for breath, “and THE VERY WORST thing is, you talk in a funny accent.”

“It’s called speaking French.”

“It is not, Dad, it’s called ‘speaking English in a silly voice’. You don’t even bother to change the words. You are literally supposed to change the words to actual French ones. I know that and I’m eleven. BUT I didn’t know it at my primary school, did I? In my first French lesson.”

Dad put the kettle on. He knew what was coming; he’d heard this story about Nat’s first French lesson a lot. He looked around the kitchen for support from Mum but she was in the living room. She was pretending to do emails, but she was really playing a game on her phone and having a quiet giggle at Dad being in trouble again.

“Cos of you, when Madame Hérisson asked us who could speak any French, I put my hand up.”

“Biscuit?” said Dad, still trying to avoid the story. “There might be one left as your nan’s not been here for a couple of days.”

But Nat wasn’t going to let him escape. She was an angry blur of stick arms and legs and flying blonde hair. Dad was already regretting getting her out of bed to tell her about the Great French Holiday Idea.

Nat advanced on her father. “I put my hand up and said ‘Yes, I know French,’ and Madame Hérisson said ‘Wonderful, come up and tell the class what you had for breakfast, in French.’”

“No custard creams,” said Dad, popping the lid of the biscuit tin back on. “I could do you a cheese toastie though?”

But Nat was too busy remembering that horribly embarrassing lesson.

“’Ello my leetle class mateys,” Nat had said, confidently, “for brek-farst, I ’ad a sliss of tost.” She waited for applause.

“Very amusing,” said Madame Hérisson coldly. She didn’t look amused. Nat’s classmates giggled.

“Zere is nuffink zat iss fuh-nee about a sliss of tost,” Nat continued, still speaking what she now called ‘Dad French’.

“Do it properly or sit down,” snapped Madame Hérisson, marking Nat out for special attention that year.