Chapter 4

Friday Dad has been in the shed every night this week making Agung's bird table. During the day he is a warehouse manager at a car metal parts factory. He finds it agonisingly dull, apart from Fridays, when there's Toad in the Hole in the canteen. His dream is to come up with an invention that will make enough money to buy a house where Agung isn't

stuck in the garage and so Dad can retire and rummage through even more skips. Mam thinks bringing back other people's rubbish is unhygienic. She never complains when he's turned it into something useful, though. The saucepan rack he made gets shown off to everyone who comes round, including the electricity meter man. I am sure he is more interested in finishing his rounds than listening to her harp on about effective storage solutions. (Must look into whether saucepan racks could be a money spinner).

How to make moneySpinning inventions? Dad's pan rack basically a towel holder and some hooks. Invisible elastic that keeps shoes together. So Agung can always wear a matching pair. Portable pedestrian crossing so you can safely cross the road wherever and whenever. Aunt police with the wholesome smell of niceness.

Dev's been asking me all sorts of questions to help with his research. After school he asked if I was psychic and I replied, 'Well if I was, I'd know what my flippin' talent was, wouldn't I?!' While he was off thinking up more daft questions I asked Dad if I could help with the bird table. You never know, there could be the minutest chance that I had inherited his craft skills. I was surprised he said yes, as he knows how clumsy I can be. Just this morning I fell UP the stairs. The carpet burn is still visible under my chin. By all accounts 'falling up' shouldn't be possible. Jack, who is a science geek, said it defied the laws of gravity. I wondered if that counts as a talent? I should check the Guinness World Records.

'I'm off to the BAMBOO GARDEN with Agung to get us Chinese takeaway for tea,' Dad said. 'Can you finish off the bird table with a lick of paint all over?' HA! DID HE THINK I WAS A TOTAL DIMWIT? Anyone is capable of slopping on a bit of paint. 'Never fear, Dad, you're looking at the next Michelangelo,' I assured him. 'Well as long as you're not the next Jackson Pollock, that's all right,' he replied, shoving a brush and tin of paint in my hands and walking off. I didn't know who Jackson Pollock was but I'm sure he wasn't as bad as Dad made

out. The bird table looked superb. It was like a miniature Swiss cottage on a stick. I felt honoured to be contributing to Dad's fine piece of craftmanship. I prised open the paint tin lid with the screwdriver and was shocked to see the colour inside. It was luminous orange! Maybe Dad has been colour blind all along and I wasn't aware? Or maybe he wanted to help birds locate the table in the dark? Anyway I was sure Dad knew what he was doing, so I laid some old newspaper on the lawn and made a start. I was onto the roof part when I stopped to rest my eyes. The glare of the paint was burning into my retinas. I looked up and spotted FUZZFACE about to attack a pigeon. All I could think was there'd be a massive scuffle and a million feathers would get stuck to my