The chequered flag went up, signalling the end of the race was nigh. It went down on …
Mick’s car! He had won.
Mick jumped up. “Beat you, beat you, ha ha ha,” he shouted nastily. The kids booed like he was a panto villain. “Pants on your head, get them on!” crowed Mick heartlessly.
Nat felt sick. Dad was going to break all previous embarrassment records. But no. What was this? A computerised referee appeared on the screen, wagging a finger at Mick’s car.
Stern text appeared.
“Due to dangerous driving, this car has been given a ten-second time penalty. The winner of the race is now – car number two.”
Dad had won!
The French kids went wild. Dad did a victory lap of the arcade as Nat cringed and Mick slunk off saying he had to get back to work and the machine was broken and it wasn’t fair and he never wanted to see any of them ever again and no he WASN’T going to wear his pants on his head for anyone, thank you, so there.
“Bad loser, bad loser,” sang the chorus of kids behind him. He shook his fist at them and went off to shout at the smallest people he could find.
Nat breathed a sigh of relief. She knew Dad would DEFINITELY have worn his pants on his head if he’d
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