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Billionaire Boy
David Walliams
A hilarious, touching and extraordinary new fable from David Walliams, number one bestseller and one of the fastest growing children’s author across the globe.Joe has a lot of reasons to be happy. About a billion of them, in fact. You see, Joe's rich. Really, really rich. Joe's got his own bowling alley, his own cinema, even his own butler who is also an orangutan. He's the wealthiest twelve-year-old in the land.But Joe isn't happy. Why not? Because he's got a billion pounds… and not a single friend. But then someone comes along, someone who likes Joe for Joe, not for his money. The problem is, Joe's about to learn that when money is involved, nothing is what it seems.The best things in life are free, they say – and if Joe's not careful, he's going to lose them all…
David Walliams
Billionaire
Boy
Illustrated by Tony Ross
Copyright (#ulink_f5849586-8aac-5817-8571-d1faca166f2c)
HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Text © David Walliams 2010
Illustrations © Tony Ross 2010
Cover lettering of author’s name Copyright © Quentin Blake 2010
David Walliams and Tony Ross 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 nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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 e-books.
Source ISBN: 9780007371051
Ebook Edition © JULY 2013 ISBN: 9780007371433
Version: 2017-01-31
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Dedication (#ulink_a7c5deda-d53b-5636-a071-1d0e986c6c1a)
Voor Lara,Ik hou meer van je, dan ik met woorden kan zeggen
Contents
Cover (#ue4c8b3b8-401c-5ee5-a533-6f4ed395f8c9)
Title Page (#ue13067a5-f123-5911-a781-54167cda42bd)
Copyright
Dedication (#ua36edc10-88da-5c69-b805-2c219288a35e)
Chapter 1 - Meet Joe Spud
Chapter 2 - Bum Boy
Chapter 3 - Who’s the Fattiest?
Chapter 4 - “Loo Rolls?”
Chapter 5 - Out of Date Easter Eggs
Chapter 6 - The Grubbs
Chapter 7 - Gerbils on Toast
Chapter 8 - The Witch
Chapter 9 - “Finger?”
Chapter 10 - Dog Spit
Chapter 11 - Camping Holiday
Chapter 12 - Page 3 Stunna
Chapter 13 - New Girl
Chapter 14 - The Shape of a Kiss
Chapter 15 - Nip and Tuck
Chapter 16 - Peter Bread
Chapter 17 - A Knock on the Toilet Door
Chapter 18 - The Vortex 3000
Chapter 19 - A Baboon’s Bottom
Chapter 20 - A Beach Ball Rolled in Hair
Chapter 21 - A GCSE in Make-Up
Chapter 22 - A New Chapter
Chapter 23 - Canal Boat Weekly
Chapter 24 - The Rajmobile
Chapter 25 - Broken
Chapter 26 - A Blizzard of Banknotes
Postscript
Thank yous
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter 1 Meet Joe Spud (#ulink_cbdf3477-d597-524d-a72a-9fdf623f068c)
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a million pounds?
Or a billion?
How about a trillion?
Or even a gazillion?
Meet Joe Spud.
Joe didn’t have to imagine what it would be like to have loads and loads and loads of money. He was only twelve, but he was ridiculously, preposterously rich.
Joe had everything he could ever want.
100-inch plasma widescreen flat-screen high-definition TV in every room in the house
500 pairs of Nike trainers
A grand-prix racetrack in the back garden
A robot dog from Japan
A golf buggy with the number plate ‘SPUD 2’ to drive around the grounds of his house
A waterslide which went from his bedroom into an indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool
Every computer game in the world
3-D IMAX cinema in the basement
A crocodile
24-hour personal masseuse
Underground 10-lane bowling alley
Snooker table
Popcorn dispenser
Skateboard park
Another crocodile
£100,000 a week pocket money
A rollercoaster in the back garden
A professional recording studio in the attic
Personalised football coaching from the England team
A real-life shark in a tank
In short, Joe was one horribly spoilt kid. He went to a ridiculously posh school. He flew on private planes whenever he went on holiday. Once, he even had Disneyworld closed for the day, just so he wouldn’t have to queue for any rides.
Here’s Joe. Speeding around his own private racetrack in his own Formula One racing car.
Some very rich children have miniature versions of cars specially built for them. Joe wasn’t one of those children. Joe needed his Formula One car made a bit bigger. He was quite fat, you see. Well, you would be, wouldn’t you? If you could buy all the chocolate in the world.
You will have noticed that Joe is on his own in that picture. To tell the truth, speeding around a racetrack isn’t that much fun when you are on your own, even if you do have a squillion pounds. You really need someone to race against. The problem was Joe didn’t have any friends. Not one.
Friends
Now, driving a Formula One car and unwrapping a king-size Mars Bar are two things you shouldn’t try and do at the same time. But it had been a few moments since Joe had last eaten and he was hungry. As he entered the chicane, he tore open the wrapper with his teeth and took a bite of the delicious chocolate-coated nougat and caramel. Unfortunately, Joe only had one hand on the steering wheel, and as the wheels of the car hit the verge, he lost control.
The multi-million-pound Formula One car careered off the track, span around, and hit a tree.
The tree was unharmed. But the car was a write-off. Joe squeezed himself out of the cockpit. Luckily Joe wasn’t hurt, but he was a little dazed, and he tottered back to the house.
“Dad, I crashed the car,” said Joe as he entered the palatial living room.
Mr Spud was short and fat, just like his son. Hairier in a lot of places too, apart from his head – which was bald and shiny. Joe’s dad was sitting on a hundred-seater crocodile skin sofa and didn’t look up from reading that day’s copy of the Sun.
“Don’t worry Joe,” he said. “I’ll buy you another one.”
Joe slumped down on the sofa next to his dad.
“Oh, happy birthday, by the way, Joe.” Mr Spud handed an envelope to his son, without taking his eyes off the girl on Page 3.
Joe opened the envelope eagerly. How much money was he going to receive this year? The card, which read ‘Happy 12
Birthday Son’, was quickly discarded in favour of the cheque inside.
Joe could barely disguise his disappointment. “One million pounds?” he scoffed. “Is that all?”
“What’s the matter, son?” Mr Spud put down his newspaper for a moment.
“You gave me a million last year,” whined Joe. “When I turned eleven. Surely I should get more now I’m twelve?”
