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Are these my basoomas I see before me?
Louise Rennison


Ohmygiddygodspyjamas! The tenth marvy book in the Confessions of Georgia Nicolson is here! Get ready to laugh like a loon on loon tablets.It’s the FINAL instalment of Georgia's fab and hilarious diary!Does Georgia escape the cakeshop of luuurve?Can there be more heartbreaknosity in store?Will the Sex God pop up again unexpectedly (oo-er)!And what about the supreme accidental snogmaster Dave the Laugh?Will she FINALLY choose her only one and only?So many boys, so little time…


















In memory of the original Luuurve God with the big fat red Yorkshire legs:

Big Fat Bobbins.

This is dedicated to you all.

I quite literally love you all.

p.s. I hope I love you as much as you love me.

But I can’t worry about that now because that is life, isn’t it?

p.p.s. Perhaps I love you more than you love me, which is a bit mean as I am bothering to dedicate this book to you.




Table of Contents


The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson:



Chapter 1 - You know you luuurve it, you cheeky Fräulein! (#ulink_12744399-9254-582a-b433-806cec4582b8)

Chapter 2 - Elepoon in your nick-nacks (#ulink_351d2214-7ea8-5a4f-b388-8eca9907b21e)

Chapter 3 - FIRE!!! I’m gonna teach you to burn! (#ulink_4b001943-6655-5af0-8c10-dc3411812fb4)

Chapter 4 - Suddenly he got his maracas out (#ulink_fce9c269-1c81-5fc2-a7c6-157824895d8d)

Chapter 5 - My tights runneth over (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 - How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love With You (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 - Slim’s snogging lecture (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 - Sven finds his inner Woman (unfortunately) (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 - I may have a slight fence burn (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 - Whey-heyyyy!! (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 - Just call me Pongo (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 - Twits in Tights Fiasco (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 - Rom and Jule: the tragedy (you’re not kidding, mate) (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Georgia

Georgia’s Glossary

The Having the Hump Scale (#litres_trial_promo)

The Snogging Scale (#litres_trial_promo)

Great Mates Scale (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: (#u793d6f22-e78b-56ec-9c90-b13ee1fea5c5)



Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging

‘It’s OK, I’m wearing really big knickers!’

‘Knocked out by my nunga-nungas.’

‘Dancing in my nuddy-pants!’

‘…and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’

‘…then he ate my boy entrancers.’

‘…startled by his furry shorts!’

‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’

‘Stop in the name of pants!’

‘Are these my basoomas I see before me?’

Also available on tape and CD:

‘…and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’

‘…then he ate my boy entrancers.’

‘…startled by his furry shorts!’

‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’

‘Stop in the name of pants!’

‘Are these my basoomas I see before me?’




You know you luuurve it, you cheeky Fräulein! (#u793d6f22-e78b-56ec-9c90-b13ee1fea5c5)


Sunday September 18th 9:00 a.m. Why. Oh why oh why?

9:02 a.m. Why me?

9:03 a.m. And I’ll just say this. Why?

9:04 a.m. One minute, I am the girlfriend of a Luuurve God, skipping around like a Sex Kitty on kittykat tablets and the next minute I am at Poo College, in Pooford. Doing a degree in Poonosity and Merde.

9:10 a.m. Masimo, my Pizza-a-gogo Luuurve God, stropped off with the megahump last night. Not even stopping to say goodbye-io, or whatever they say in Pizza-a-gogo land (#litres_trial_promo). I may never know now.

9:12 a.m. Why? Why oh why oh why?

9:13 a.m. Just because I did a bit of harmless twisting with Dave the Laugh at the Stiff Dylans gig.

That’s all.

9:15 a.m. Is doing the twist such a crime?

Why would you get the Humpty Dumpty about that?

9:16 a.m. I wouldn’t mind, but he doesn’t even know about the accidental snogging Dave the Laugh in the forest of red-bottomosity (#litres_trial_promo) incident. Which I will never be mentioning this side of the grave.

9:17 a.m. If he gets the numpty about a bit of twisting, what number on the Having the Hump Scale would he get to for accidental snogging?

9:18 a.m. Perhaps Masimo has only got the overnight hump with me and he will be calling me soon.

9:30 a.m. Oh joy unbounded. My vati has come barging into MY room. Which to be frank isn’t big enough for him and his bottom.

I am pretending to be asleep.

Thirty seconds later The gros vater said, “Quickly, quickly rise and shine.”

I said, “Erm…Vati…it is Vati, isn’t it? Can you go away and I will pretend I haven’t noticed you breaking into my room without permission. Which incidentally you will never get. Goodbye.”

He came over and ruffled my hair, which is technically assault. I could get on the blower to ChildLine.

Dad was still going on and on in his dadtastic way. As he ripped back my curtains, nearly blinding me, he was rubbing his hands together and saying, “Come on, let’s have some family fun. Put your wellies on-we’re off to the bird sanctuary.”

That woke me up. He is deffo getting madder by the minute. And also he is wearing tight jeans. Surely there is some sort of law about that.

I said, “Dad, I am far too busy to go and look at budgies. Besides, I have seen one.”

He didn’t take any notice and went off. “I’ll be revving up the funmobile. See you in five.”

He was whistling “Sex bomb, sex bomb, I’m a sex bomb”. Pornographic whistling. I will probably be scarred for life.

Five minutes later Oh, the embarrassmentosity of having a dad. He is revving up his clown “car”. It sounds like a fat bloke revving up a sewing machine. Which it is really. He has painted a racing stripe down the side of his three-wheeled Reliant Robin. Even Grandad overtook the clown car (#litres_trial_promo) the other day, and he wasn’t even on his bike. He was just walking quite briskly. That is how pathetico the Robinmobile is.

One minute later Anyway, how can I be expected to go look at budgies when I may once more be a dumpee on the rack of luuurve.

Four minutes later Mum came mumming in.

I said, “Before you start, I’m not coming to look at budgies and that is le fact.”

She said, “Hang on a minute, what are you doing here?”

I said, “Er, I live here.”

She said, “You were supposed to be staying at Jas’s though.”

“Well…she was a bit…tired.”

“You fell out then?”

“Maybe.”

“What did you do to upset her?”

Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it? Nice and supportive.

“It was Saint Jas’s fault actually, if you must know. She was the one who told me to do something when Masimo and Dave the Laugh nearly had fisticuffs at dawn. And then when I did do something she got the mega hump and a half with me and stropped off.”

Mum came and sat on the edge of the bed. Oh Lord, now she had got interested. Drat.

She said, “Dave and Masimo were fighting?”

“Sort of.” “Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I did a bit of ad-hoc twisting with Dave, and Masimo got the hump.”

“So what did you do to stop them?”

“Well. I stepped in the middle of them and told them not to be silly.”

Mum looked at me. “What did you actually say?” “Stop in the name of pants.”

Mum just looked at me again. She is like a seeing-eye dog.

I bumbled on. “But then Rosie started singing that crap song from The Sound of Music (#litres_trial_promo)-‘The hills are alive with the sound of PANTS, with PANTS I have worn for a thousand years.’ And the Ace Gang joined in and…”

“And?”

“Then Masimo just looked at me and he walked off. And not in a good way. In a having the full Humpty Dumpty way.”

10:30 a.m. The budgie lovers’ “advice” is: “Don’t be such a childish arse in future.”

Thank you for that.

10:40 a.m. At least I have the house to myself for a mope-a-thon. The Swiss Family Mad have roared off down the drive at three miles an hour. They’ll be at the end of our street by tomorrow if they’re lucky and have a following wind.

10:45 a.m. I’m not phoning Jas because she was so grumpy with me last night for no reason.

Five minutes later I think I may hate her actually.

Two minutes later So in a nutshell. My so-called bestie hates me and thinks I am the Whore of Babylon and my boyfriend may hate me, even though he doesn’t know the reason why he should hate me.

Six minutes later It is sooooo boring moping.

11:10 a.m. Masimo still hasn’t phoned me. I can’t stand this silence a moment longer. I am going to call an emergency Ace Gang meeting.

11:30 a.m. Rang Jools, Ellen, Rosie, Mabs and Honor.

11:45 a.m. I have arranged to meet the Ace Gang, with the exception of you know who, at 2:00 p.m. in the park. I wanted to meet at mine, but the rest of them want to watch the footie match. They are obsessed with boys.

11:50 a.m. I am just going to tell them all the whole truth and see what they say. Just come clean about the whole situation. Make a fresh start with my bestie mates. Truth is, after all, the cornerstone of friendship.

11:52 a.m. Well, when I say the whole truth, I will obviously not be mentioning the thing that I am not mentioning this side of the grave. And which I have forgotten about, to tell you the truth.

1:30 p.m. I seem to be working my way through the famous “losing it” scale. I have gone from merely having a spaz attack to being now on the edge of a complete nervy b. What if Masimo is actually at the footie match and ignores me?

What can I do?

I ask myself the question, “What would Baby Jesus do in these circumstances?”

One minute later Of course! I must make myself irresistible to the Luuurve God by applying as much mascara as is humanly possible.

1:32 p.m. When I went into the bathroom, Angus was sitting on the loo (#litres_trial_promo) seat. He just looked at me when I came in and then half shut his eyes, like a halfwit cat.

I said, “Oy, what are you doing in here?”

He yawned and then he put his paw on the loo handle. Like he was flushing it.

What fresh hell?

Surely he isn’t pooing in the loo?

He jumped down and skittered off out at about a million miles an hour. How weird.

I wonder if being run over has affected his brain.

Mind you, I read about the Moscow State Circus and they’ve got some cats who can pull a carriage and play chess at the same time.

Maybe I could get Angus a job in the Russian circus displaying his pulling-the-loo-handle skills.

The Russian volk might quite like that.

You never know.

1:40 p.m. Oh, bloody hell, he’s been in my make-up bag again.

Why would a cat eat lip gloss?

1:45 p.m. OK, I am ready to get entrancing and alluring. I am wearing jeans and a skinny jummie, and because I am off to watch a footie match, I’ve put my hair into a little ponytail. Très sportif. It gives me a casual, sporty air.

I may wear my shades to add to my mysterious “uuumph” quality.

1:46 p.m. Just a hint of “uuumph” but not ummphy in the “oy, you slaaaag” sort of way.

2:10 p.m. When I arrived at our usual meeting place underneath the big chestnut tree, Sven and Rosie were there. Practically eating each other. Do they ever stop snogging?

Rosie knew I was there because she waved her hand at me.

Eventually, I went: “Hellllooooooo” for a bit until they came up for air.

Rosie took out her chuddie and said, “Bonsoir, sensation-seeker.”

Sven leaped to his feet and picked me up (thank God I had my jeans on) and started carrying me around singing, “Oh ja, oh ja! The hills are alive wiv zer pants, hahaha, oh ja pants!!!”

I said to Rosie, who was reapplying her lippy, “Rosie, make him put me down…” Rosie said, “Down, boy.”

He put me down and licked Rosie’s face before he ambled off like Lug the Larger to the footie field.

I said to her, “How does this happen? One minute I’ve got more boyfriends than I can shake a stick at and the next minute I am the Leper of Rheims (#litres_trial_promo).”

Rosie looked at me and put her armey round me. “Would you like to sit on my knee for a bit? You like that.”

I just looked at her.

Five minutes later Jools, Mabs, Hons and Ellen arrived.

The meeting began with the official passing around of the Midget Gems. Then we discussed how to make Masimo stop having the hump and start having the Horn.

Twenty minutes later This is our cunning plan.

I have to be nice.

That is it.

I have to be nicey girl on legs for as long as it takes to make Masimo luuurve me again.

The Ace Gang is going to help by only saying really, really nice things about me.

There was a bit of a verging on the “mentioning the thing that I will not be mentioning this side of the grave” when Ellen said, “Masimo, I mean, he like…well, he got the hump when…er…the twisting, or maybe Dave the Laugh or something…erm.”

Jools said, “Ah yes, he didn’t like you dancing like a fool with Dave the Laugh, did he?”

Mabs said, “It’s his hot Pizza-a-gogo blood. They get vair jealous.”

Rosie said, “You might have to eschew Dave the Laugh with a firm hand for a bit.”

OK, well, I can knock it on the head laaarfwise with the Hornmeister.

It’s a shame. But ho hum pig’s bum.

Two minutes later But what if I don’t even get the chance to be nicey-nice girl?

What if Masimo doesn’t get in touch with me again?

I fear the tensionosity will drive me to not only having a complete nervy b. but I might also go ballisticisimus.

2:45 p.m. The lads are arriving, getting their boots on and shouting WUBBISH. They don’t seem to be able to just say “Hello” to each other. It’s all “Aaaaaaah, you’re shit!” and “On my head.” “Hello, you complete tosser (#litres_trial_promo).” Quite, quite weird. No sign of Dave the Laugh-perhaps he’s not playing today. Just as well really.

2:50 p.m. Sven has put two footballs down the front of his shirt and is swaying around like a girl. A girl nearly two metres tall, with massive hairy legs and the beginnings of a goatee.

Rosie said, “I think I’m on the turn. Svenetta is bringing out my inner lesbian.”

Oh good, everyone has gone bonkers. Excellent.

I said, “Rosie, will you promise not to mention your inner lezzie if Masimo turns up?”

Rosie winked at me. “I’ll try, but don’t you start waggling your nungas about, you little minx.”

Do you see what I mean? This is exactly what I am trying to avoid.

Five minutes later Dom, Edward, Rollo, Declan, Sven and two others of the Stiff Dylans are all running around “limbering up”. Meanwhile, it’s Cosmetic Headquarters behind our tree. In principal, I think you should be loved for yourself, and your soul shines through even if you haven’t got mascara on. I know this is what Baby Jesus says and he is renowned for never having worn mascara. So, in principal, I think you should just be yourself, but in practice, I am applying just a tad more mascara.

Speaking of which, Ellen is in such a ditherama about seeing Declan that she has actually got some mascara on her teeth. How?

Two minutes later Jas’n’Tom have turned up.

Oh yes. Here comes Miss Prissy Knickers (#litres_trial_promo) herself. And her boyfriend, Hunky. She caught sight of us and shouted over, “Hi, Rosie, hi, Ellen, Mabs, Jools, Hons…”

She deliberately didn’t say hello to me. How childish.

Two could play at that game.

I shouted out, “Hi, Hunky!” Tom waved at me and went off.

Then I noticed that Jas was not alone. She had brought two of her stuffed owls with her. And they had got little football hats and scarves on.

How pathetico.

I shouted, “Hello, owls!”

Hahahaha. I had said hello to her owls and she couldn’t stop me.

Yessssss! One-nil to me!!!!!!

Nearly kick-off The other team were from St Pat’s and quite fit boys as it happens. If you like quite fit boys.

I was just having a Midget Gem (#litres_trial_promo) to calm me down and my back was to the road when I heard a scooter approaching. It might be the Luuurve God. I got immediate knee tremblers and jelloid knickers. But I must not expose my jelloid knickers-I must exude sophisticosity. How do you do sophisticosity without turning round?

Perhaps if I tightened my bum-oley (#litres_trial_promo) muscles that might make for a better profile rear-wise?

No, that might look like I needed a poo.

I’ll just not turn round and leave it at that.

I heard the scooter come to a halt and I said to Rosie, “What’s going on?”

And she said, “It’s Robbie and he’s got something hideous clinging to his back.”

I looked round and Wet Lindsay was on the back of his scooter.

They got off and Robbie looked across and smiled at me. I smiled back to him. Lindsay had her head down, looking in her bag. I said to Rosie, “That bag over her head quite suits her.”

What was she doing?

We watched as Robbie got his footie boots on. He is certainly in tip-top condition. It is such a waste for him to be with the Bride of Dracula. Lindsay brought out a towel and a water bottle from her bag and handed it to Robbie.

Ten Seconds later She was massaging his neck. Blimey! Has she turned into some sort of Octopussy handmaiden?

I said to the gang, “I bet she comes scampering on with the half-time oranges tucked down her bra. There is enough room…She’s probably got a packed lunch in there.”

Which is a fact. Surely Robbie must know about her false basooma fiasco?

Erlack! I have accidentally got parts of Wet Lindsay in my brain.

I feel dirty. It was nearly kick-off time. I was behind the tree looking over at the lads and noticed that Dave the Laugh was still missing.

“I wonder where Dave the Laugh is?”

And a voice behind me said, “Why? Are you longing for the Hornmeister, you naughty Kittykat?”

I looked round and there he was, lurking like a lurker and looking very cool in his black training stuff. He was twinkly round the eyes and said to the gang, “The vati has arrived. Now we can groove.”

Ellen’s head practically dropped off with redness. She still luuurves him even though she is going out with Declan.

Dave said, “Well, I’d love to stay swapping make-up hints with you girls, but there are arses to kick.”

As he was going by me, I said, “Erm…Dave, would you give me a call? I want to ask you something.”

He looked at me. “If you are hoping to entice me into rummachen unterhalb der Taille, I have told you before, you are embarrassing yourself.”

Oooohhhhh, he is sooo annoying.

The lads were yelling at him, “Oy, Dave, get a wriggle on, mate!!”

Dave started humming the theme from Match of the Day and jogging off backwards, waving at us. Then he turned towards the team and started doing run run leap like a mad gazelle. When he was a few metres from them, he did slow-motion running with his arms outstretched and his team started doing the same towards him. When they reached each other, they had a minor ruck.

Boys never cease to amaze me, never.

I wonder if he will phone me though? Masimo hasn’t turned up. Perhaps he already has a new girlfriend.

Half time Dave’s team are winning one-nil. I’d like to say it is down to superior skill, but largely it’s because Sven fell on to the St Pat’s goalkeeper and the ball went over the line. St Pat’s protested, but it’s pointless arguing with Sven. He took the player who was arguing with him and lifted him off his feet and kissed him on the mouth.

The bloke was nearly sick, but he shut up and the goal counted.

Wet Lindsay did have half-time oranges. Sadly (#litres_trial_promo) not down her bra.

But even so, half-time oranges. How crap is that? Vair vair crap.

Three minutes later I went and stood really near to Jas. She ignorez-voused me. So I gave a pretendy piece of half-time chocolate to one of her owls. She snatched her owly away.

Tom was there and he said, “Oh, come on, you two. Put your handbags down. Come on, Jas, speak to Georgia.”

She said, “Who?”

And went off flicking her fringe (#litres_trial_promo) to speak to Emma, who turned up to hang around Dave. Jas has only known Emma for about a minute and a half. I do hate her. It’s official.

She should be on my side in my time of neednosity.

After all I have done for her.

I said that to the Ace Gang as the second half started. I said, “She is ignorez-vousing me after all I have done for her.” Ellen dithered into life (unfortunately) and said, “Er…what, erm, what have you, erm, done like, for her?” Where to begin?

I said, “For a start, I have put up with her stupid fringe-flicking for about a million years.”

But it was pointless trying to get anyone’s attention because they were all acting like divs (#litres_trial_promo) in front of their boyfriends.

5:15 p.m. I thought I might have to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on Ellen when Declan asked her to the cinema at the end of the match. Well, actually, I say “asked,” but what happened is that he nodded his head at her and she trotted over to him like puppy dog girl. It was like a horrible love fest at the end.

I would have more pridenosity with my boyfriend. If I had a boyfriend.

6:00 p.m. All alone at home.

Phone rang. I nervously picked it up, but it was only Mum telling me that they are at Grandvati’s for tea and did I want to go over. Is she mad?

6:02 p.m. The rest of the gang have gone to the cinema. With their boyfriends. Not even a thought for my tragicosity. Well, to be fair, they did ask me to go, but I would have just been goosegog (#litres_trial_promo) girl among the snoggers.

6:15 p.m. Angus seems to understand what I am going through. He has leaped up on to my lap.

Nice.

Aaaah. He’s purring.

Really loudly actually.

Nice though.

All comfy and warmy.

One minute later Now he’s snuggling into me.

Nice.

He’s all cosy on my knee and I can read my Vogue.

One minute later He’s snuggling into my chest now, which is nice, but a bit difficult for me to move my arms.

But he’s all comfy and…

Now he’s on my shoulders, like a fur cape.

He’s settled down now-that’s nice. He’s doing his snuggling and purring.

One minute later Now he’s back on my lap…he’s actually on my magazine now.

One minute later Now he’s back on my chest.

I CAN’T STAND ANY MORE OF THIS!!!!!!

Five minutes later It’s no use him just staring at me through the window. I’m not letting him in.

Three minutes later Staring and staring.

I’m going into the kitchen to see if there is anything to stave off scurvy.

Two minutes later Now he’s staring in through the kitchen window.

6:30 p.m. He can’t stare at me in the bathroom because there is frosted glass. Hahahahaha.

He’d better not burrow in through the sewage system and pop up out of the loo.

No calls from anyone.

Not Masimo, not Dave the Laugh.

Too busy with his girlfriend I suppose.

Really, I’m too upset and tired to do my beauty routine, but as someone once said, possibly on Big Brother, “When the going gets tough, the tough get moisturising and plucking.”

If I am once again going to be spinster of the parish, I will at least be smoothy smooth.

In the bathroom What does Dad do with his razors? They are so blunt! I’ve torn my legs to ribbons. I look like I’ve been playing hockey with the Piranha family. Ouchy ouch ouch!!!

And ouch.

I must staunch the flow. I’ve probably lost an armful of blood already.

Phone rang Oh my giddy god’s pyjamas. I hobbled over with my legs covered in bits of loo paper and picked up the receiver. I tried for a casual, nonchalant sort of voice, one that didn’t sound like I was bleeding to death.

“Hello.”

“Hello, you cheeky Fräulein. You know you love it.”

It was Dave. Oh, I felt so happy I wanted to cry.

He said, “So what’s up, Kittykat?”

And I started.

“After you went on Saturday night, the Luuurve God got on his huffmobile.”

Dave said, “And he didn’t say anything?”

“No, he just looked at me all sort of sad.”

“Was he crying?”

“Er no.”

“Probably worried his mascara would run.”

“Dave.”

“I’m just being jovial Dave the Biscuit to lighten the mood.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m too upset.”

“Look, Georgia, this is a bit tricky for me. There’s Emma and well…”

“Well what? I’m only asking you to be like the Hornmeister and tell me what to do.”

There was a pause and then he said, “OK, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll casually bump into him…”

“And not mention pants or anything.”

“No, I will leave pants out of it. I’ll just say that there is nothing going on to have a girlie tizz about and…”

“You won’t actually say the girlie tizz thing, will you?”

“Right, er well, I’ll say…well, I don’t know exactly what I will say, just that we were having a laugh because…that’s what mates do.”

“And that’s true, isn’t it?”

There was another little pause and then Dave said, “Yeah, well, listen, I have to go now.”

And he was gone.

Had that gone well?

If so, why did I feel so funny?

10:30 p.m. No call from Masimo.

10:32 p.m. Still, on the bright side, we’ve got a budgie.

10:40 p.m. Not for long I suspect. Angus and Gordy have been staring at it since Vati brought it home from the birdy sanctuary.

Midnight If anyone can fix it, it’s the Hornmeister. I must get the Luuurve God back. It means everything to me.

I hadn’t even been able to properly show off that I was his girlfriend before I was maybe dumped.




Elepoon in your nick-nacks (#ulink_fdf88fc3-ac53-5afb-b0c5-d84c05e8babf)


Monday September 19th Woke up from a dream where Dave had come up to me and said, “I didn’t even mention pants and he went ballisticisimus.”

And Dave had a pair of pants on his head.

And they weren’t small.

8:15 a.m. A bit earlier than usual. I want to make sure Jas doesn’t get to Stalag 14 without me.

I want to know how Jazzy Spazzy is going to carry on her campaign of ignorez-vousing me when I refuse to be ignorez-voused.

8:25 a.m. Thar she blows! She senses I am here and she is putting a bit of speed on.

8:29 a.m. Aaaah, I have got her in my sights. Her bottom is waggling away only just in front of me. I am going to do my world-renowned speedwalking.

8:32 a.m. My nose is practically on the back of her beret.

She is still pretending I am invisible girlie, but she must be able to hear me panting.

I pulled out a Jammy Dodger (#litres_trial_promo) and held it in front of her face. She loves a Jammy Dodger.

8:55 a.m. Even when I ate the Jammy Dodger walking backwards in front of her she didn’t slow down.

OK, I am going in.

I leaped on her unexpectedly and pulled her beret right down over her eyes. But even then she kept marching on like nothing had happened. It was only when she crashed into the postman, who was bending over filling his sack, that she had to stop and take her beret off.

The postman went bonkers and shouted at her to “stop playing silly beggars (#litres_trial_promo)!!!!”.

I have said this before and I will say it again, how come anyone who puts a badge on goes immediately insane?

And anyway, why do they need a badge?

A badge that says “postman” or “caretaker”.

Don’t they know who they are?

I took advantage of the brouhaha and stepped in front of Jas. Eyeball to eyeball.

I said, “Jazzy, it’s me, your old pally.”

She was all red and her fringe looked like a tumble-dried ferret.

She said, “I know it’s you. I know it’s you because every time anything bad happens or someone is shouting, you’ll be around.”

I said, “That’s not fair. What about the time I helped you get off with Hunky by pretending that you were normal and popular?”

She shrugged and said, “Yeah, well…”

“And remember the puffball skirt incident?”

That got her.

She said, “It looked nice.”

“Wrong, Jas. You looked like you had a little elepoon in your nick-nacks, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, but she knew I was right really because Astonishingly Dim Monica had worn a puffball skirt to the school play and Rosie started singing, “Nellie the elephant packed her PANTS and said goodbye to the circus”!!

I had her on the ropes now and said, “Come on, little pally, think of all the larfs we’ve had. Come on, I need you…I need you because you are so vair vair wise. You are tip-top to the toppimost full of wisdomosity…and I am a fool.”

Jas was flicking her stupid fringe, but I didn’t strike her. She said, “You bring it on yourself.”

I put my arm round her and held her arm down so she would stop the fringe-fiddling business. I said, “I know, Jazzy, but that is because I am full of je ne sais quoi.”

Stalag 14 At least Jas and me are besties again. Hurrah!

Well, until she begins to annoy me again. In about a minute.

RE What is it with Miss Wilson? She’s obsessed with rudey-dudeyness. Since the camping trip when she, I think deliberately, exposed herself to Herr Kamyer in the shower, she’s gone sex mad.

I said to Rosie, “Is she wearing lippy? Or has she just eaten a strawberry Mivvy (#litres_trial_promo)?”

Rosie was making a little beard for her pencil case so she was a bit “busy,” but she took the trouble to look up and said, “Most people wear lippy on their lips, not on their nostrils and chin. But at least she is giving it a go.”

I wish she wasn’t “giving it a go”.

We were having to discuss the Song of Songs from the Bible. It’s about some old ancienty bloke who was a king and a ye olde handmaiden-type person. I think it’s mostly about snogging, but not as we know it. I said to Jools, “What does ‘he put his hand on my lock’ mean when it’s at home?”

Jools said, “Ask her.”

I had nothing else to do, and Miss Wilson would go boring on if I didn’t interrupt her. And I had done all I could to pass the time, even my toenails, sooo…

I put my hand up. Well, actually, I put them both up as a sort of novelty. Like an orangutan.

I said, “Miss Wilson, if we translated ye olde Bible into modern language-you know, that made sense-well, what number on the Snogging Scale would ‘he put his hand on my lock’ be?”

Miss Wilson went sensationally red, nearly as red as her nostrils and chin.

“Well, Georgia, erm, yes, that is interesting…yes, making a connection between biblical love and rituals and so forth, and, erm, modern vocabulary, erm…”

Rosie put aside her beard because we sensed a comedy opportunity. We all stared at Miss Wilson’s bob.

We were not disappointed. The bob was in full bob.

German It’s not often that we get two comedy opportunities for the price of one, but happy days here we are.

Herr Kamyer had hardly had time to adjust his knitted tie before Rosie started.

She said, “Herr Kamyer, we have just had a sehr interesting talk with Miss Wilson.”

Herr Kamyer was blinking through his glasses in a kindly and interested way. It’s tragic really. He said, “Oh ja?”

Rosie said, “Ja, it is sehr sehr interesting. It was from the Bible. In der German Bible vas ist…”

Herr Kamyer said, “Der word für Bible in German is…”

Rosie said, “Vat ever. In der German Bible vas ist der translation für ‘he put his handchen on my lock’?”

Herr Kamyer looked like a goldfish in a knitted tie. He said, “I’m afraid I do not know dis expression.”

I said, “It is int der Bible, Herr Kamyer, int der Song of Songen. It ist about der Knutschen!”

Rosie was in her own German snogging world by now.

She said, “Would it be Abscheidskuss?”

I said, “Or perhaps AUF GANZE GEHEN!!!!!!!”

4:30 p.m. Walking home with the gang.

Funnily enough, I sort of forgot about the Luuurve God for a while. But after the others had gone I felt really miz.

I let myself in to my “home”.

No one in.

Do you know, Jas even knows what she is going to have for supper most nights.

More to the point, she GETS some supper.

Still, as long as my mum can waggle her enormous basoomas around in the swimming pool with her mates.

That’s what counts.

Two minutes later Had a bowl of Shreddies. The milk was past its sell-by date so with my luck I’ll get milkytosis. Which will make my nostrils flare up to twice their size, and I will start eating grass.

In the front room Libby, my charming but insane little sister, has christened the budgie Bum-ty.

Bum-ty doesn’t look very chirpy.

Who would with two cats staring at you.

Have they been there all day?

5:30 p.m. Ooooh, I am so vair bored. And depressed at the same time.

6:00 p.m. The Family Mad have come in.

And Uncle Eddie is here. Hurray!!!

They caught me by surprise so I couldn’t barricade myself in my room.

Uncle Eddie larged in first.

He said, “I’ve got one for you. Two nuns driving along at night on a lonely forest road and a vampire leaps out and on to the bonnet. The nun who’s driving says to the other nun, ‘Quick, show him your cross!’ and the second nun shouts, ‘Get off the bloody bonnet!’!!!!!”

And he went wheezing and cackling off into the kitchen.

Grown women pay money to see him taking his clothes off to music.

I don’t know what to say.

Yes I do.

I would pay him not to take his clothes off.

In fact, I might go along one night to one of his baldyman gigs and shout, “Get ’em on!!!”

No. I won’t do that.

I may as well go and get my jimjams (#litres_trial_promo) on. When you are visiting the cakeshop of agony, they don’t mind what you wear in there. Most of their customers are in their jimjams. With big swollen eyes. And covered in dribble.

God, I am really depressed now.

In the lounge in my jimjams Vati came in with a pork pie. Taking his health seriously then.

He said, “What’s the matter with you?”

Not that he cares.

I said, “I’m depressed actually.”

He said, “Depressed, at your age? You’ll be saying you’re bored next.”

“That is what I was going to say next.”

Vati looked at me and sat down. He patted my knee with his pork-pie-free hand.

Oh dear God, he had touched my jimjams.

He said, “Do you know what my mum used to say when I was bored?”

Oh, this would be good. It was bound to be something to do with making hats out of eggboxes.

I was about to say, “I’m bored enough as it is without you telling me about prehistoric hats.”

But he was rambling on.

“She used to say, ‘I’ll tell you what…bang your head against a wall and that will take your mind off it.’”

Charming.

In bed 7:00 p.m. I can hear Libby trying to teach Bum-ty the words to “Dancing Bean”.

I think Bum-ty might not be long for this world. He’s got two cats staring at him night and day and now a mad toddler is shoving a sausage through the cage and singing.

Three pairs of mad eyes looking at you.

7:30 p.m. Was that a scooter coming near?

7:32 p.m. No.

Oh, good. Now I’m having hallucinations.

Of the earhole.

Ear-lucinations.

7:55 p.m. No.

Oh yes.

Oh my God.

It IS a scooter coming up the road.

I looked through the window.

It was Masimo!!!!

Oh merde.

I hadn’t got time to do anything.

I was in my jimjams.

I had plaited all my hair because I was so bored and depressed.

I ran down to the front room and said, “Mum, quick, I need you.”

For once, Mum did what I asked her.

I told her to tell Masimo that I was out.

As the scooter came to a halt outside, I was scarpering up the stairs and I whispered to her, “Don’t start a conversation with him, will you? Don’t tell him about yourself.”

She said, “Don’t make me change my mind.”

And at the top of the stairs I said, “Don’t let him see Dad in his leisure trousers. Please.”

Then the doorbell rang.

I bobbed down and looked through the banisters. I could only see the bottom bit of the open door.

I heard Masimo’s voice. He said, “Ciao.”

I had thought I might never hear “ciao” again. Oh, what was he here for???

Mum said, “Masimo, what a lovely surprise. You look, er…lovely.”

Oh nooooo, she was talking to him like he was a boy and she was a girl! Did she have her cardigan buttoned up? I couldn’t remember…

Masimo said, “Er, I have come, scusi for my English, I have come for to give Georgia…”

Mum interrupted. “I’m afraid she had to stay late for, erm, hockey.”

Masimo said, “Ah yes, she is good for hockey, I think…but I come for to give her…a letter. Grazie mille.”

And he was gone.

I crouched down by my window and looked out. Masimo accelerated away down the street. He was wearing a leather coat. My heart skipped a beat to see him.

In a way, I didn’t want to go down and get the letter.

What if it said, “Ciao, bella… you are…how you say in English…dumped.”

Mum came rushing up to my room.

She handed me the letter and said, “What does it say?”

I said, “It says, ‘What fine weather we are having for this time of year…’ Mum, I DON’T KNOW what it says because I haven’t opened it yet. I am waiting to open it privately. Do you see?”

She slammed out of the room saying, “Sorry for being interested in your life.”

I daren’t read it.

Five minutes later I’ve tried to psychically feel what it might say.

It’s not very nice to dump someone by post, is it?

Just because they had a bit of a twist with Dave the Whatsit.

Two minutes later Ripped it open.

Three minutes later Well, the nub (#litres_trial_promo) and the gist is…

I think…

That Masimo says he thinks that he was a bit out of order. And that Dave had been to see him and said that we were just mates having a laugh.

But (and this is the worrying bit) Masimo said he thought that maybe I wanted just to have fun with my mates. And that maybe I am too young for a relationship with him.

He doesn’t know.

He is thinking.

He wants me to think too.

And that we can meet at the Stiff Dylans gig on Saturday, and then we will talk.

He just signed it “Masimo”.

No kisses.

Not a “I am missing you and want to snog you within an inch of your life.”

Hmmm. So am I semi-dumped?

Fifteen minutes later The one person I would like to talk to about this is the Hornmeister.

But I can’t.

I had to make do with Jazzy Spazzy.

Phoned Jas I told her about the note.

“I think what the note means is that I have got another chance. To show that I want to be with him. And that I am not a twisting fool. I am, in fact, a sophisticate wise beyond my years. And so on.”

She just went, “Hmmmmm.”

“He is, in fact, asking me to reveal my inner maturiosity, of which I have got bloody bucketfuls as it happens. And he is requesting me to put away my inner fool. That is what I think.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

What does she mean, “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”?

Midnight “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm” does not mean “Yes yes, I agree with you.”

It means “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”.

Anyway she can “hmmmm” away. I am going to start my campaign of maturiosity tomorrow.




FIRE!!! I’m gonna teach you to burn! (#ulink_7a4e8049-14a7-5bfc-8c59-ce43fcaf33f8)


Tuesday September 20th Stalag 14 Break It’s bloody nippy noodles (#litres_trial_promo) outside.

Mabs said, “Shall we work out a new disco inferno dance for Saturday’s gig? To warm us up?”

I said, “Er, well, it’s a bit soon after our last triumph, don’t you think?”

Rosie said, “No. A triumph is not a triumph until you have gone too far.”

Jas said, “I’m freezing.”

To change the subject away from mad dancing, that I am now eschewing with a firm hand, I said, “Well, Jas, we are all freezing. Why don’t you use some of your very well-known forest skills and start a lovely campfire? I bet you’ve got your special fire-making stick in your rucky (#litres_trial_promo), haven’t you?”

Jas said, “Don’t be silly.”

I said, “I’m not being silly. I’m being frozen to within an inch of my life. Anyway, you can’t do it without Hunky, can you? You’re frightened of fire.”

“I am not frightened of fire.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Look at me, Jas. I’m a flame and I’m coming near your fringe.”

And I started doing an ad-hoc flame improv, wiggling my body and making my arms all snakey, touching Jas’s fringe and making a whooshing noise.

Jas was getting quite red and there was deffo a touch of tomato about her ears.

Rosie, Jools and the rest of the gang started snaking and shaking about, going “Whoosh whoosh”.

Jas finally lost her rag and said, “I can make a fire! Go and get some twigs and I’ll show you.”

Excellent!

Ten minutes laterBrillopads (#litres_trial_promo).

Jas actually did it. She rubbed her special little fire-making stick in a wedge thing. She did happen to have her special “rubbing sticks” with her in her haversack. I don’t know why, but I knew she would have. She is very secretive about her rucky. I bet she has several changes of different type weight pants in there. And possibly a collection of molluscs. We may never know. At least, I may never know because I will never be putting my hand in there. My hand will never be upon her lock and that is a fact!!!

Anyway, it was really jolly sitting round our little campfire. It was made mostly out of crisp packets. To be fair, there was more smoke than flame, but we pretended we were really really warmey warm. I said, “Shall we sing the old traditional campfire song, little Ace Gang pallies?”

And they all went, “Yeah!!!”

And I said, “What is it?”

Then I remembered some old crap recording of Top of the Pops in the 70s that my dad had. I’d shown it to the gang. I said, “Let’s sing ‘Fire’ by that bloke who wore a helmet that was actually on fire. And when he sang on Top of the Pops, his helmet set fire to the ceiling. By the way, Ro Ro, do NOT mention that to Sven. He’s bound to want to do it and then it’s goodbye to any club that we go to.”

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, we were just sitting round our campfire singing, “FIRE!!! I’m going to teach you to burn. FIRE! I’m gonna teach you to learn!!!” when out of nowhere came Wet Lindsay. The octopus in the ointment. With her assistant fascist, ADM. She saw us round our innocent “campfire” and went absolutely ballisticisimus.

She was yelling, “You absolute twits!!!!! Step away, step away!!! Monica, get Mr Attwood and tell him there is a fire in the fives court (#litres_trial_promo)…”

Twenty minutes later What a fuss and a kerfuffle.

Mr Attwood practically pooed himself with delight. He’s been standing by with flame retardant since MacUseless when somebody accidentally set fire to Nauseating P. Green. The fact that the “inferno” had gone out by the time he got there didn’t stop him. He came leaping up and made us stand and watch from “a safe distance” (the edge of the fives court) while he donned his special breathing apparatus. He was shouting through the mask, “There may be toxic fumes.”

I was yelling, “It’s out, Mr Attwood!”

But he couldn’t hear me.

He squirted his extinguisher thing until there was foam up to the top of his welligogs (#litres_trial_promo). Quite, quite extraordinarily bonkers.

Three minutes later He took off his mask and looked at the huge pile of foam.

He said, “I’ve made the area safe-I’ll just radio in to Headquarters to say I’ve achieved a result safety-wise and no casualties.”

From his “fire sack” he fished out an enormous walkie-talkie thing.

Wet Lindsay said, “Right, you lot, the headmistress’s office. NOW!”

Oh no, not Slim.

She frogmarched us off, chuntering (#litres_trial_promo) on to ADM and giving me the evils every now and again. She just absolutely loves it times a million.

If she can upset me, she’s made up.

Jas said, “Oh, now I’ll never get to be a prefect. This is all your fault, Georgia. Again.”

I said, “Er, I think you are the firestarter, crazy firestarter Jas.”

Rosie said, “Do you think Slim will beat us to death with her chins?”

As we sloped along at one mile an hour, we could hear Mr Attwood shouted into his walkie-talkie. “Z Victor I to B.D. Are you receiving me? Over.”

Astonishingly barmy.

Jools said, “Who is he talking to?”

And I said, “He’s talking to Headquarters. And you know who that is, don’t you?”

Ellen said, “No, I…er…is it…erm, is it, like…Headquarters or something?”

We just looked at her.

I said, “He is talking to the radio in his shed. And do you know who is listening? No one.”

Outside Slim’s office I asked “permission” to go to the piddly-diddly department and Wet Lindsay came with me. Like I was going to escape through the loo window! Actually, I did do that once, but that is not the point. As I was in the cubicle, trying not to make any piddly-diddly noises because I didn’t want her to hear me, she said, “You really are the most appalling little tart, Georgia Nicolson. Robbie did the right thing dumping you and Masimo must be dying to get rid of you.”

I started to say, “Actually, I think boys like girls with foreheads…”

But she said, “Nicolson, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the term recovering from a very bad hockey injury, I advise you to SHUT UP right now.”

As I walked back under armed guard, I thought, how could Robbie kiss her?

Erlack.

I think he must have clinical depression after I stopped going out with him. When she had been yelling at me, I could see right up her nostrils. Also she didn’t have mascara on and her eyelashes were like albino mouse eyelashes. No, they weren’t as nice as that; they were like duck eyelashes. And ducks don’t have eyelashes.

I hate her times a million. When I get over enticing Masimo back into my web of luuurve, I will concentrate on ruining her life and saving Robbie.

Outside Slim’s office Three minutes later The Little Titches (#litres_trial_promo), also known as the Dave the Laugh fanclub, were in the outer torture chamber with the Ace Gang when I got there. Wet Lindsay went off to get Elvis.

I said, “Hello, Titches, what are you up for? GBH? Titchiness?”

Ginger Titch said, “We were making up a tribute to Dave the Laugh in the loos.”

And I said, “Where is the crime in that?”

And the littlest one said, “We broke the loo seat with our stamping.”

“There is no justice in this place. It squashes any sign of creativitosity.”

The Little Titches nodded. Ginger said, “Miss, do you like Dave the Laugh the bestiest? We do.”

All of the gang looked at me and I went a bit red.

Jas said, “Yes, do you “accidentally” like Dave the Laugh, Georgia?”

Ellen was looking and blinking and started saying, “Why would…I mean, what…Dave and…well, what is that…”

Rosie started shouting “FIRE!! I’m gonna teach you to burn, FIRE!!” and doing whooshing and flame dancing when Slim opened her door suddenly and said, “I’m glad that you are all in such a jolly mood. Let’s see if we can change that. You two first-formers in my room, now.”

The two Little Titches started to follow her. After her gigantic bottom had waddled off, they got to her door and looked round. I saluted them by putting my finger on my nose and making it stick up like a piggie.

They saluted back and even did a little grunt.

They are top girls for Little Titches.

Five minutes later We could hear muffled shouting and then a bit of crying.

Rosie said, “She is beating them with her chins.”

God, if Slim was going to go ballistic over a loo seat, we were deffo going to get a severe mental thrashing.

Then Wet Lindsay arrived, accompanied by Mr Attwood. In a wheelchair. What????

Was he too lazy even to walk across the playground?

A man in his physical condition should not be in charge of the safety of high-spirited youth.

Or any people.

Or anything.

Wet Lindsay looked at me like I was snot in a skirt. It turned out that Elvis had slipped in his own foam and done his back in. I bet he hasn’t.

He was moaning on for England, as usual.

“How am I supposed to do my job now?”

I was going to say, “Oh, you know, the usual way, sitting perving in your hut.”

But I didn’t.

He was rambling on.

“You have no thought for others. When I was a boy, we had respect for our elders.”

Moan moan. Here we go. It will be, “In my day we used to enjoy ourselves just by picking our own noses.”

I said, “Well, as it happens, Elvis, er, I mean Mr Attwood, I agree with you. You are clearly too old to be working. It’s cruel. In fact, I am going to have a word with our headmistress and suggest she gives you the big goodbye you so richly deserve.”

Wet Lindsay had her usual spazerama attack.

She said, “Shut up and grow up!”

Charming.

Slim’s office Oh, I am soooo bored with being told off. It is giving me the megadroop. I should be at home glamming myself up for the Luuurve God and practising my new sophisticosity. Just in case he forgives me. Instead of which I am in an office counting chins.

Slim was completely jelloid. In fact, her whole body was having a chin-a-thon. Of course, it was me who got it in the neck. As if I started the bloody fire. I just did a bit of whooshing.

Slim said, “It’s always you, isn’t it, Georgia? What happened this time? Is it another miscarriage of justice?”

Well, at least she was being reasonable for once.

I said, “Well actually, Miss, yes it is. You see it was minus 50 outside and we were terribly cold, so I mean we, decided to use our woodland skills that we learned on our magnificent camping trip with Herr Kamyer and…”

Slim looked at me.

“You mean you set fire to some rubbish in the fives court.”

I said, “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

Mr Attwood lurched to life.

“I’m in agony, Headmistress, because of an act of senseless arson. By arsonists.”

I don’t know what it is about the word arse-onists, but it does give me the inward hysteria. Mr Attwood had more or less said “arse” in front of Slim. I daren’t look at Rosie.

Slim looked at me.

“It’s always you, Georgia. Why can’t you grow up?”

I nearly said, “I’m growing as fast as I can. Look at the size of my nungas!”

Wet Lindsay had to put her oar in.

“The trouble is, of course, that she does lead the others into it.”

Oh yeah, that’ll be the day.

I started to say, “Well actually, funnily enough, this time it was…”

And Jas looked at me like an annoying fringey puppy. Dear God, she actually did want to be a prefect. It is vair nice of me to even be mates with her under the circs.

It’s an act of charity really. And when I had mentioned my plan for sophisticosity she had said, “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

But then she looked at me again. A bit tearful. Oh, bloody hell.

It had to be done.

I said, “Oh, OK, yes, it was my idea…”

Rosie and Jools said, “Well, not really. We all…”

But I ploughed on.

“Whatever they say, they are my mates and they are covering for me. It was my idea, but it was only a tiddly tiny firey thing.”

Mr Attwood said, “I bet that’s what the baker said about the fire he started that turned into the Great Fire of London.”

What is he rambling on about? We’re not even in London.

Anyway, the long and the long of it is that the others have got a ticking-off and reprimands and I have got detention…and worst of all…have to “help” Mr Attwood this term. Again.

Oh, what larks we’ll have.

Not.

Detention 4:00 p.m. Jas squeezed my arm as she left for home and pressed a secret stash of Midget Gems into my hand. She said, “You are truly my bezzie mate of all time, Georgia.”

And she is not wrong. I am without doubtosity top mate of all time.

4:05 p.m. Luckily, I have got Miss Wilson as my prison guard so I will be able to make best possible use of my time.

First of all, I am going to plan my Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

Fifteen minutes later The Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

1. “You are never alone with your lippy and mascara.” I am going to make a sort of pouch that fits under my bra and pants so that I have a secret supply at all times. Even if the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly (oo-er) I can refresh by reaching for my pouch.

NB. Make my pouch out of nice softy soft material so that I can wear it in bed. In case the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly in the night. (Oo-er.)

2. I will exude sophisticosity with just a hint of glaciosity. I think the European Luuurve God likes this sort of thing. He is not, after all, a crude Viking like Sven who quite frankly wouldn’t recognise glaciosity if it hit him in the face. On the contrary, Sven would think you were playing hard to get because you were a lezzie and that would give him the Horn.

Four minutes later 3. Be nice. This means regrettably I will not be disco dancing like a tit any more. When the Stiff Dylans play, I will waft around like a…wafting thing on waft tablets. I will laugh lightly, but at no time don a false beard.

False beards are over. I will never wear the beard again.

Ditto horns. And finally…

4. I will not do arm-wrestling or any kind of wrestling with Dave the Laugh.

Dave the Laugh is no longer a laugh to me. He is Emma’s boyfriend and my mate.

Actually, I wonder where he is? I haven’t seen him for yonks. Ah, well. Stop thinking about Dave the Laugh. He is not in this re-entrancing document.

Five minutes later Blimey, I have finished my manifesto and it is still not time to go home. Miss Wilson is humming and reading something. It had better not be some humming idea she has for the school play. I am not doing a humming version of Rom and Jule and that is a fact. I am not humming in tights.

Four minutes later I know what I will do next. I will make another scale for the Ace Gang. On how they too can become great mates like what I am.

Ten minutes later Great mates scale.



1 Offer a mate a Midget Gem without being asked.

2 2. Share your last Jammy Dodger even though you really want it and your mate may be flicking her fringe about.

3 Listen to your mate rambling on about themselves when you have got vair important things to do yourself (e.g. nails, plucking etc.).

4 Be with your mate through thick and thin. Or even if they are both thick and thin. Tee-hee. I made a great mate-type joke there. Did you see??? Which leads me to Number 5.

5 Always be game for a laugh even though you may be blubbing on the inside.Crikey, I am coming out of this scale VAIR well indeed. But as everyone knows, I do not blow my own trumpet. I just blow my own HOOOOORN.No, I don’t. And that brings me to my tip-toppy of the toppimost great mate scale.

6 Even when they have all the reason in the universe to be top dog (i.e. when they are the girlfriend of a Luuurve God, even if it is slightly on a sale-or-return basis) a top mate does not blow their own trumpet. Or snitch on her less fortunate mates.


6:00 p.m. On my way home at last. Miss Wilson said, “Well, now that’s over, I expect you are excited about our workshop for Romeo and Juliet.”

Oh no, the humming in tights.

Miss Wilson was rambling on.

“I’ve been busy coming up with some original ideas. I think it’s important to keep up with you modern girls. I hope we can make this a…erm…groovy production.”

Oh dear God.

I was walking along as fast as I could out of the school gates. She is wearing a knitted hat. It has a bobble on it.

That is all I am saying. I am not being bobble-ist.

She turned left out of the gate with me. Please, please let her not be going my way. I had done my detention!!!

She was still going on.

What if she linked arms with me?????

“I know you girls might think that us teachers are not very, you know…hip.”

What? She was trying to be my mate! Please don’t let her tell me about her growing feelings for Herr Kamyer. Maybe she’ll call him by his first name. I don’t even know what that is. I don’t want to know. I bet it’s Rudi!!!! Stop being my friend!! I’ve got enough on my plate without having to be friends with knitted people.

She didn’t hear my inner screaming though. She said, “Yes, I think you will see that I do listen to your ideas and so on. For instance, when Jas suggested that perhaps Juliet could have a little companion-a sort of puppet dog-I thought ‘Bingo’!!”

I couldn’t stop myself, even though I had taken a vow of silence until she shut up or I died. I said, “Er, Miss Wilson, do you remember your last ‘Bingo’ idea? Do you remember, you said that juggling would be ‘happening’, but what actually ‘happened’ was that Melanie toppled over with the weight of her own basoomas and the oranges bounced into the audience.”

Miss Wilson said, “Well, that’s the excitement of theatre, isn’t it? The danger, the risk!”

“Yes, my grandvati said an orange nearly took his eye out, so…”

Miss Wilson fortunately saw a bus coming and scampered off to get it. Thank the Lord.

It really is tragic how keen she is to get on with us. Touching really, if you like that sort of thing. Which I don’t.

Thank goodness no one I knew saw me walking along talking to a teacher. I may just as well have gone to a leper colony if they had. Or become a policewoman.

Twenty minutes later My road at last. Angus was round in Naomi’s garden. He likes to go over to Mr and Mrs Across the Road for his evening poo.

Mr and Mrs Across the Road are vair unreasonable about it. They say he always chooses to poo in their rare heathers windowbox. I explained to them, that is because the soil is nice and softy and he doesn’t have to do any digging. But you can’t tell people.

When he last came over to complain, Mr Across the Road said, “How long does his breed of cat live? Is it nearly over?”

I said with great dignitosity (I like to think), “Angus is half Scottish wildcat and sometimes he hears the call of the wild and longs to poo somewhere that reminds him of home. Hence the heather.”

Mr Across the Road stomped off though. Some people don’t understand the poetry of life. Or even the poo-etry of life. Hahahaha. I have just made an inward joke.

One minute later When Angus saw me, he did his weird croaky miaow thing. And waved his tail about. His tail is still a bit crooked from his car accident. (The accident being that the car wasn’t the huge mouse on wheels that Angus thought it was.) Otherwise, he is top dog catwise.

He came bounding over, purring around my legs. Which is nice, but it makes it really difficult to walk without falling over and breaking your neck. Now he has started his pouncey game. He pretends my ankles are his prey and hides behind something until my ankles loom in view. Then he tries to kill them.

I managed to beat him off with my rucky.

Then I noticed that Oscar, Junior Blunder Boy and all-round idiot, was lurking around on his wall, pretending to talk on his phone to all his mates. A.k.a. the Blunder Boys. He was going, “Yeah, check it…for real…awwwrite.”

Absolute bloody wubbish of the first water.

I’d be amazed if he can work his phone and keep his trousers up at the same time. I used to prefer him when he just played keepie-uppie for ages. Now he’s taking an interest in me, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

When he stopped pretending to talk on his phone, he shouted over to me. “Ay, girl! Do you believe in love at first sight…or am I going to have to walk by again?”

Then he flicked his fingers and said, “For real.”

Good Lord.

I didn’t say anything.

What is there to say?

Besides “Go away” a LOT.

As I walked in my gate, Naomi came slinking along, waggling her bottom about. She displays no glaciosity or sophisticosity. Things are very different in the cat world. If I was a pussycat, entrancing a Luuurve God, I would merely have to lie on my back and display my girlie parts to him. Or maybe lick my bum-oley area, and not only him, but every boy in the area would be following me around like fools.

Angus and Naomi slunk off together under Dad’s useless clown car. Vati has got a fur driving-wheel cover now. There is absolutely no need for it. Mind you, there is no need for Dad either.

Front room One minute later Vati was in his recreational area, a.k.a. lying on the couch getting fatter.

He lurched into life when I tried to slope up the stairs.

He said, “Where have you been until now?”

I said, “Why? Have you been waiting to tell me how much you appreciate me as a daughter and that although you will never be seeing me again once I am twenty-one, you have liked me entertaining you through your twilight years?”

“No, I bloody well didn’t want to say that and stop being so bloody cheeky. Where have you been?”

“Erm, I was doing extra hockey.”

“What, without your boots or kit which is thrown on the floor of your bedroom or ‘rubbish tip’, as I call it?”

I said, “Father, why have you been in my room? You know it is verboten. I may write to my MP and…”

He is sooooo violent. His slipper just missed my ponytail.

I wandered into the kitchen. Mum, Libby and Gordy were making some cakey thing. Which I will not be eating under any circumstances, including famine. Libby was covered in dough stuff. It was clinging to her raincoat and wellingtons. She came running over to me yelling, “It’s bad boy, it’s Gingeeeee! Kissy kiss, Ginger.”

Oh gadzooks (#litres_trial_promo). She started climbing up my legs like a mad monkey in boots.

Oh good, now I am covered in cake mix, hurrah. Things are really looking up.

Mum said, “What did you get detention for this time?”

Why is everyone sooooo suspicious? I am not surprised I get detention all the time because no one will give me a chance. I could show her my “how to be a great mate” scale, but I won’t.

I grabbed a sausagey thing from the cooker. It may have some nutritional value, you never know.

I was just going up to my room when Mum said, “Dave popped round earlier. He’s a cool-looking boy, isn’t he? If I was a few years younger, I wouldn’t mind tangling tonsils with him.”

Oh, how very disgusting.

I took the sausage/spam thing out of my mouth. I felt besmirched.

I said, “Mum, what were you wearing when he came round?”

She looked at me.

“Why? This.”

I said, “What-that tiny skirt and even tinier top? I’m surprised he didn’t call the prostitute police.”

She snapped then.

“Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

Libby joined in then. She stood with her hands on her hips and yelled, “Yes, bloddy chinky.”

9:00 p.m. I wonder what Dave was going to say?

I wish I’d been in, instead of being a great mate. I would have really liked to see him.

And he’s not bad on the great mates scale himself. He talked to the Luuurve God for me.

Maybe I should phone him. And thank him.

One minute later No, I can’t because of my new re-entrancing a Luuurve God plan.

I am going to distract myself by making my little pouch.

9:15 p.m. I am wearing my pouch. I am going to sleep in it tonight to make sure it is softy soft enough and so on. If I wake up in the night, I might feel for it (oo-er) and do a practice application.

9:20 p.m. Libby is practising her snogging skills on Mr Potato Head. Surely this can’t be right at her age? Shouldn’t she mostly be pretending to be a fairy and playing with elves?

This is disgusting. Libby is going “mmmmmmmmm naiiice” and making lip-smacking noises.

I shouted downstairs.

“Hello, my sister Libby, also your daughter, is snogging a potato in my bed. What are you going to do about it?”

Dad started yelling uncontrollably. I wonder if he is having the male menopause? If he starts growing breasts, I will definitely be running away with the circus. Although to be fair, he would have a better chance of getting a job with them.

I could hear him going on.

“Connie, have you been using my bloody razors again? I’ve nearly cut my chin off.”

Ah well, time for bobos (#litres_trial_promo).

I went back into my room and shut the door.

Libby is now doing a sort of smoochy dance with Mr Potato Head. It involves a lot of botty-wiggling.

What do they teach her at playschool? When I was little, we used to do face-painting and so on. Our tiny faces covered with little flowers and hearts. Libby wrote BUM on Josh’s face in indelible marker.

I said to Bibbs, “Don’t you want to take Mr Potato Head into your nice bed? In your own room. In your own lovely, snugly…”

She put her face really near mine and said, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

Midnight I had to read Heidi to Libby and Mr Potato Head. She never tires of tales of cheese. I do.

The bit that makes her laugh the most is when the little crippled girl falls out of her wheelchair.

It’s not right.




Suddenly he got his maracas out (#ulink_ebd2bfda-2f50-536f-97dd-0ea61868c48b)


Wednesday September 21st Assembly 9:00 a.m. Oh, hurrah! We are having an “ad-hoc” assembly. No proper hymns that we can improvise hilarious lyrics to. No “Breathe on me BREAST of God” or “There are some green PANTS far away without a city wall…”

Hang on a minute though, things are looking up. On to the stage came Herr Kamyer in a check shirt and a cowboy hat. With a guitar. And he is accompanied by Miss Wilson on ukulele.

I said to Rosie, “I didn’t even know she could play the ukulele.”

Two minutes later She can’t.

This is torture. I don’t know if you have ever heard the Country and Western version of “All things bright and beautiful,” but I thoroughly don’t recommend it.

I said to Rosie, “Quickly leap on stage and grab Herr Kamyer’s guitar and kill him with it.”

She said, “Righty-o,” and started moving along the line. When she got to ADM on guard duty, she said to her, “Women’s trouble” and skipped off to the loos.

Damn.

Fifty-five million years later we were set free. Well, free if you think double maths is freedom. Which it isn’t.

Maths Oh, shut up about numbers, why don’t you?

Lunch Behind the fives court. Right, this was my chance to introduce the question of sophisticosity into the whole boynosity area.

I began, “I’d like to open this meeting of the Ace Gang…”

They were all looking at me attentively. Well, if you call people chewing and fiddling with their fringes and being fools attentive.

I went on, “I have called this meeting of the Ace Gang…”

Jools said, “One for all and all for one and one in all for one of us and so on?”

I said, “Yes, well, shall we get on?”

Ellen said, “Shall we do the group hug?”

I said, “I think we can take the group hug as done.”

Mabs said, “I really like the group hug.”

Oh dear Gott in Himmel.

Four minutes later The group hug practically turned into a love-in. Rosie would not let me go. She knows it annoys me so she keeps doing it.

Eventually though, I beat her off and started again.

“The thing, the serious thing I want to discuss is…”

Rosie said, “My Viking wedding?”

“Well, no I…”

But it was too late. She had her beard out.

Afternoon break




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