Billy Bumpkiss is a bland boy who lives in the blue house on the other side of the fence behind the house. He is the only child cheeky enough to dare venture near my garden. I don't know what is wrong with the stupid boy, I've warned him time and time again not to let his cricket ball hop over the other side of the fence or I'd crack it in half and then whack him with my stick a couple of times, but he simply doesn't listen to me. It's almost like he doesn't care that I will chase him around until I can aim blows at his ankles and knees, and throw stinging nettles over the fence in the back hoping that he'll step on one. No. The boy doesn't care. He is as cheeky as cheeky could be. He's an awfully skinny boy, all bones and no brawn and no brains. You can see his elbows poke through the long sleeves on his shirts, and hid knees are so bony they look permanently bent. If I were his mother I would feed him a little more, fatten him up, because the rest of the world doesn't want to look at skin that bony, they'd rather ignore him and look away than have to stare at that ghastly bag of bones and teeth.
I believe he throws the balls over the fence on purpose, just to upset me and make me run around the garden. But I have a plan to stop him. Tomorrow I will wait very close to the fence for a ball to fly overhead. Once one does I will run to it and snatch it up before stupid Billy Bumpkiss can get to the fence, and I will look over and then chuck it at his head.