Horrid Henry's Chores

Horrid Henry Meets the Queen

Horrid Henry's Chores The weekend! The lovely, lovely weekend. Sleeping in. Breakfast in his pyjamas. MorningTV. AfternoonTV. EveningTV. No school and no Miss Battle-Axe for two whole days. In fact, there was only one bad thing about the weekend. Henry didn't even want to think about it. Maybe Mum would forget, he thought hopefully. Maybe today would be the day she didn't burst in and ruin everything. Horrid Henry settled down in the comfy black chair and switched on his new favourite TV show, Hog House, where teenagers competed to see whose room was the most disgusting.

Henry couldn't wait till he was a terrible teen too. His bedroom would surely beat anything ever seen on Hog House. “ Eeeew, ” squealed Horrid Henry happily, as Filthy Phil showed off what he kept under his bed. “ Yuck! " shrieked Horrid Henry, as Mouldy Myra yanked open her cupboard. “ Oooh, gross! " howled Horrid Henry, as Tornado Tariq showed why his family had moved out. “ And this week's winner for the most revolting room is -” CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK Mum clanked in. She was dragging her favourite instruments of torture: a hoover and a duster. Peter followed.

“ Henry, turn off that horrid programme this minute, " said Mum. “ It's time to do your chores. " “ NO! ” screamed Horrid Henry. Was there a more hateful, horrible word in the world than chores? Chores was worse than homework. Worse than vegetables. Even worse than injection, share, and bedtime. When he was King no child would ever have to do chores. Any parent who so much as whispered the word chores would get catapulted over the battlements into the piranha-infested moat. “ You can start by picking up your dirty socks from the floor, " said Mum.

Pick up a sock? Pick up a sock? Was there no end to Mum’s meanness? Who cared if he had a few old socks scattered around the place? “ I can't believe you're making me do this! " screamed Henry. He glared at Mum. Then he glared at his crumpled socks. The socks were miles away from the sofa. He'd pick them up later. Much later. “ Henry, your turn to hoover the sitting room, " said Mum. “ Peter, your turn to dust. " “ No! " howled Horrid Henry. “ I’m allergic to hoovers. " Mum ignored him. “ Then empty the bins and put the dirty clothes into the washing machine. And make sure you separate the whites from the coloureds. " Henry didn't move. “ It will only take fifteen minutes, " said Mum.