I'm Dougal Trump... and it's Not My Fault!
I, Dougal Trump, am dead. Ok, I'm not actually dead, but if I'm not very careful, I soon will be. In this first book, football-loving Dougal Trump finds himself at risk from the mysterious creature living in the garden shed. Nobody believes him but as a precaution, he sets upon writing his will - rewarding thise who help him, disinheriting those who get on his bad side, and fielding constant pleas from friends and associates [Cool will, Dougie! Can I have your playstation? - George]. Meanwhile, as limbs and windows alike are broken by rogue footballs and unhinged canines, Dougal finds himself in all sorts of trouble...
Nobody ever listens to D. Trump, so he has to record things in writing. To clear his name, and to point out that the unfortunate things that happen to him are very rarely his fault. He has a moany sister named Sibble [note to my stupid brother who can't even spell - my name is SYBIL!]. D. Trump apologises for that rude interruption. He has a moany sister named Sibble and a dog who inhales socks. PLEASE NOTE: D. Trump sometimes has a bit of help with his writing from a woman named Jackie Marchant, who lives in northwest London.