Horrid Henry and the TV Remote

Horrid Henry Wakes the Dead

Horrid Henry and the TV Remote Horrid Henry pushed through the front door. Perfect Peter squeezed past him and ran inside. ‘Hey! ’ screamed Horrid Henry, dashing after him. ‘Get back here, worm. ' ‘Noooo! ’ squealed Perfect Peter, running as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Henry grabbed Peter's shirt, then hurtled past him into the sitting room. Yippee! He was going to get the comfy black chair first. Almost there, almost there, almost . . . and then Horrid Henry skidded on a sock and slipped. Peter pounded past and dived onto the comfy black chair. Panting and gasping, he snatched the remote control. Click! ‘All together now! Who's a silly Billy?' trilled the world's most annoying goat. ‘Billy! ’ sang out Perfect Peter. NOOOOOOOooOOOO! It had happened again. Just as Henry was looking forward to resting his weary bones on the comfy black chair after another long, hard, terrible day at school and watching Rapper Zapper and Knight Fight, Peter had somehow managed to nab the chair first. It was so unfair. The rule in Henry's house was that whoever was sitting in the comfy black chair decided what to watch on TV. And there was Peter, smiling and singing along with Silly Billy, the revolting singing goat who thought he was a clown.

Henry's parents were so mean and horrible, they only had one teeny tiny telly in the whole, entire house. It was so minuscule Henry practically had to watch it using a magnifying glass. And so old you practically had to kick it to turn it on. Everyone else he knew had loads of TVs. Rude Ralph had five ginormous ones all to himself. At least, that's what Ralph said.

All too often there were at least two great programmes on at the same time. How was Henry supposed to choose between Mutant Max and Terminator Gladiator? If only he could watch two TVs simultaneously, wouldn't life be wonderful? Even worse, Mum, Dad, and Peter had their own smelly programmes they wanted to watch. And not great programmes like Hog House and Gross Out. Oh no. Mum and Dad liked watching . . . news. Documentaries. Opera. Perfect Peter liked nature programmes. And revolting baby programmes like Daffy and her Dancing Daisies. Uggghh! How did he end up in this family? When would his real parents, the King and Queen, come and fetch him and take him to the palace where he could watch whatever he wanted all day?