sunday july 24th
woke up at the crack of 9:30 a.m.
Jas was still snoozing on her side of the bed. I forgot where I was for a minute, but then I remembered everything that had happened. Oooohhhhhh Masimo. I was missing him already. He would be in Rome by now. I wonder if he was thinking about me.
Because I love the world so much, I may go down and ask Jas’s mum if I can have a cup of tea for me and my little fringey matey.
Went downstairs. There was no one around. On the kitchen unit was a note that said:
Dear Jas,
We are out on a bit of a ramble, we have our flasks so may be gone for the day. There are eggs and stuff for brekky and I thought you and Georgia might like a pizza later so I have left you some money. Have a lovely day.
Lots of love
Mum
Wow. Now that is PROPER hands-off parenting. Just leaving food and buggering off. Top. I made some tea and even boiled a little eggy for Jas, because I know how much she loves eggs. I put it on a tray and went into her bedroom.
I put the tray on the bedside table and leaned over Jas. I got one of the smaller owls and made it kiss her with its little beak. She shot up in bed and was all surly and her fringe was standing on end like an electrocuted hedgehog.
“What have you done? Did you get caught coming in?”
I told Jas that her m and d had gone out rambling and then I said, “Do you want to know all that happened with me and my new boyfriend the Luuurve God?”
She said, “No.”
But I knew she wanted to know, really.
in my bedroom
4:00 p.m.
So that was it. It is official news because I have told Radio Jas that Masimo is my new boyfriend. I’ve been into the cakeshop, I’ve dithered about for a bit, but I’ve finally chosen the Italian fancy.
How many hours was it since I had last snogged him? I have already got snogging withdrawal and that is le fact.
Phoned Rosie.
“Ro Ro, have you ever had your neck stroked by Sven?”
“Only when he is wearing his gardening gloves. Why?”
“Well it’s just that Masimo did it last night, it was fab. Also we did number four, but it was times four.”
At that point my vati came looming unexpectedly out of the front room and said, “What is number four?”
My dad had accidentally entered my snogging space. Erlack. I just looked at him and said, “This is a private conversation, actually, Dad.”
5:30 p.m.
Uncle Eddie arrived. I scampered upstairs before he could tell me any “jokes.”
I must try and distract myself from thinking about Masimo. I will do something that I can really get involved in.
6:30 p.m.
I must get some eyelash curlers. Everyone in CosmoGirl uses them.
7:00 p.m.
Doorbell rang.
Now it’s some of Mum’s aerobics mates coming round. I wonder why. They normally only come round if there are firemen here.
7:30 p.m.
Oh please let that not be Abba playing.
8:00 p.m.
Libby is singing along to “Dancing Bean.”
8:30 p.m.
What are they doing down there? All I can hear is helpless laughing from Mum and Libby. And really crap loud music. With the occasional bang like someone has fallen over.
9:30 p.m.
Things are not getting any better, in fact they are getting worserer. I have never heard so much laughing and squealing. What are they doing down there?
9:40 p.m.
OK, I have had it. They are playing that song from The Full Monty—what is it called, when the blokes at the end take off their uniforms and dance about in their nuddy-pants. You Can Leave Your Hat On, it’s called. And all Mum’s mates are catcalling and yelling, “Get them off!!” I am going to have to tell them to be quiet.
9:45 p.m.
When I opened the living room door, Uncle Eddie was waggling his bottom around to the music. In his undercrackers.
midnight
I will definitely have to go into the priory for counseling. Uncle Eddie is going to be a stripper. Honestly. You know when you can order a policeman or a fireman or a James Bond–o-gram for a hen night or a birthday? Well apparently, and I cannot imagine the kind of people this involves, there is a demand for a baldy-o-gram. And Uncle Eddie is going to be it.
Grown-ups are absolutely obsessed with sex. It’s horrific.
12:35 a.m.
Libby has seen a baldy bloke in his undercrackers. She will certainly be scarred for life and end up with a phobia about boiled eggs.
It all adds up. Dad dying his hair, the leather trousers, the prancing around like a loon. He is having a midlife crisis even though in my opinion his life is two-thirds over.
12:40 a.m.
So if Vati cannot be relied upon to be a proper dad, I must take responsibility myself.
12:45 a.m.
This does not mean I will be growing a little beard.
monday july 25th
morning
I have written a “Dad’s book of rules” and posted it under Mum and Dad’s bedroom door.
This is what it says:
DAD RULES.
DO NOT ASK ME WHO I AM MEETING.
IF I ALLOW YOU TO DROP ME OFF SOMEWHERE IN YOUR “CAR,” DO NOT EVER ROLL DOWN THE WINDOW AND SHOUT SOMETHING AFTER ME. EVEN THOUGH I WILL PRETEND I CAN’T HEAR YOU, SOME OF MY FRIENDS MIGHT HEAR YOU.
DON’T GIVE ME MONEY IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.
NEVER ENTER MY ROOM UNASKED (YOU WILL NEVER BE ASKED).
DO NOT SNOG IN FRONT OF ME AND LIBBY OR MY FRIENDS OR ANYONE. OR BETTER STILL, DO NOT SNOG. THERE IS NO NEED FOR IT AT YOUR AGE.
WEAR PROPER DAD TROUSERS.
BAN UNCLE EDDIE, OR THE BALDY-O-GRAM MAN, FROM OUR HOUSE. THE VISION OF HIM IN HIS COMEDY UNDERCRACKERS WILL BE WITH ME TO THE GRAVE.
THANK YOU.
GEORGIA
8:10 a.m.
I scampered out of the house before anyone was moving around. I heard a lot of moaning from the bedroom, which serves everyone right. As Romulus or Remus or Ethelred the Unready says (anyway, one of the clever dick philosopher types), “Ye cannot have your fun and eat it.” Elderly men should learn to leave off the vino tinto and keep their pants on.
10:30 a.m.
careers talk
Miss Wilson is in charge because Hawkeye is off girl-baiting (she says on a course, but we know what she does really). So the career talk, usually a very dull time, offers many, many comedy opportunities.
Rosie started by saying, “Miss Wilson, what openings might there be in casual work for Viking brides? I am particularly interested in reindeers and vats.”
Miss Wilson said, “Rosie, please try and be serious.”
Rosie looked puzzled. “I am.”
And the sadnosity is that she is telling the truth.
Ellen says she is interested in nursing which is the first I have heard about it. I tell you one thing, I will not be going into any emergency department that has Ellen in it. The last thing you need when your arm is hanging off is to have Ellen saying, “Erm well, is it your left arm or, erm, do you or something, or is it the other one?”
ten minutes later
To think she showed us the bee film. Miss Wilson is very ill informed on courses for beekeeping and backing singing.
4:20 p.m.
As I was ambling home with Jools and Rosie, the two little titches came pelting up to me. All keen and red-faced.
“Er, Miss, wasn’t it brillo pads at the gig??? Is it the singer one that you like? He’s like…”
I said, “Brillo pads?”
And they both went, “Yeah!!!”
Like twin mini loons. Then Titch No. 1 said, “But, you know what, I think Dave is the grooviest of them all, I know he’s not a pop star or anything, but I think he’s lovely.”
She went absolutely beetroot.
The second little titch said, “We love him.”
And then they ran off.
Blimey. Dave the Laugh has a growing fan club.
teatime at bonkers headquarters
Grandad and Maisie are here. I wasn’t allowed to go to my room, but had to sit around listening to madnosity for hours.
Grandad said, “I have an announcement to make. Maisie has just made me the happiest man alive.”
I nearly said, Why, is she going on a knitting tour of the world? But I didn’t. Grandad reached over and took one of Maisies hands (well as much as he could as she was wearing multicolored mittens. Keep in mind this is July).
“She has agreed to marry me.”
kitchen
10:00 p.m.
Mum was making some coffee and the “swingers,” Grandad and Maisie, had staggered off home. Mum said, “It just shows you that you must never give up on love; it comes when you least expect it.”
I said, “Mum, it is sad and weird.”
She said, “I think it’s lovely and romantic.”
I said, “You won’t when you have to wear a knitted jumpsuit for the wedding.”
Mum was still in elderly loon land because she said, “Age isn’t everything. Grandad says she’s a fine body of a woman underneath all that wool.”
Erlack a pongoes!
Anyway, who cares about the knitted folk? Is now a good time to get Mum to agree for me to go to Pizza-a-gogo land? I am having very bad withdrawal symptoms from the Luuurve God. I have dreamt about him last night and it was a bit alarming. He had been doing the neck-stroking thing and my neck had started stretching like it was a piece of clay. You know, like when you see those programs about potters making vases and they stretch the clay. Anyway that was happening and then my head fell off.
I think it is probably Freudian. I think it means I mustn’t lose my head. Especially as in the dream, my head rolled off into a corner and Angus came and started biffing it around like a ball.
Where was I? Oh yes. Asking Mum when I could go to Pizza-a-gogo land.
“Mum, which do you think would be the best week for me to go to Rome? I finish term next week and then there is the ludicrous camping weekend, but I could go the weekend after that.”
She said, “Why are you talking rubbish about going to Italy?”
I laughed in a lighthearted way.
“Oooh Mum, you prankster!!! You know what I mean, I mean about going to visit Masimo’s family as we agreed.”
“Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Where was I when we agreed?”
“You were, er, near me, agreeing.”
“Georgia, A, I did not agree and B, nothing you say will make me agree. And C, the first two—times a million.”
five minutes later
I HATE my family. Why do they want me to hang around all the time—why can’t they make their own fun??? Well, this time I will show them. If they won’t let me have the money to go to Italy to see my boyfriend, then I will get the money myself.
I will sell something.
ten minutes later
Looking through my cupboards.
How much would I get for my slightly worn leather boots? Where do you take stuff to sell it? I don’t know. Oxfam? A selling shop?
I like them and anyway, what would I wear in Italy for disco wear?
And also, I am very, very tired. It’s the end of term, I have been working like a dog, I haven’t got the energy to go traipsing around earning my own money.
midnight
I am going to not speak to my mum and dad until they let me go to see the Luuurve God.
tuesday july 26th
breakfast
Mum asked me if I wanted some toast and I ignorez-voused her. It won’t be long before she snaps.
As I was silently leaving the house, Mum said, “If you are planning to keep up the silent treatment, I’ll just have to guess what you would say. Which is quite handy actually as I want you to babysit tonight. I’m guessing that you want to. Yes yes, I can see you do. That’s good. Tatty bye.”
Damn!!!
2:00 p.m.
I can’t believe I’m being made to go on this camping fiasco. In German, Herr Kamyer showed us a lot of things you can do with a Swiss Army knife. All of them indescribably useless and naff.
I said to Ro Ro, “In my humble opinion, if a horse gets a stone stuck in its hoof, that is just carelessnosity. Why should I have to lug a heavy knife around just so I can get it out?”
Ro Ro gave me the Klingon salute. “You are all heart, Georgia. Do you want to practice a sheepshank knot with me?”
I just looked at her. Jas adores doing sheepshank knots. Please make this camping trip go away, God!
4:15 p.m.
Detention! I can’t believe it!!! Hawkeye has only been back about five minutes from her girl-baiting course and she has given me detention.
I was three minutes late for her class because I had to go to the piddly diddly department after German and noticed a lurker situation that I had to deal with by squeezing the living daylights out of it and then covering it with soap. I don’t know why, it seemed a good idea at the time. Anyway, when I panted into class, Hawkeye said, “You should have been here at three o’clock.”
And I said, “Why? What happened?” in a tone of interest and curiosity. And the next thing you know I am in detention writing “Rudeness masquerading as wittiness results in detention.”
Unbelievable.
in my room
6:30 p.m.
Still thinking of ways to get to my beloved. I wonder if he will ring me from Pizza-a-gogo land? I would ring him if I were him. Well, you know what I mean. Mind you, I would have rung me on Monday.
five minutes later
I wonder—why he hasn’t phoned me?
I’d phone Jas and ask her what she thinks but she is in Twig land. If I hear one more thing about this bloody camping trip I will go insane. Also, and this is annoying, Jas would not do sharesies in her tent. She is dossing down with Ellen and Mabs, she says they are more “reliable.” What does that mean? I don’t care, I am sharing with Rosie and Jools which will be more fun anyway. Jas will have all these stupid “tent rules” like “Toothbrushes should be kept in the toothbrush jar” and “When you go to bed at night, check that your sleeping bag is not crushing some unusual wildlife.” Rubbish stuff.
What are you supposed to take clotheswise for a camping nightmare scenario?
We got a list somewhere from Miss Wilson. Where is it?
two minutes later
Warm evening clothing.
A rainproof.
Walking shoes.
Casual daywear.
Good lord. Oh and this is a terrifying bit: “Bring your bathing suits, girls, because there is a river nearby, and of course if you have any instruments that you play, bring those along to make the evenings lots of fun!”
It is going to be a cross between a “Call-Me-Arnold the Vicar guitar extravaganza and “carry on camping.” I can guarantee that the mountain rescue people will be called out. It will possibly be something to do with Melanie Griffiths running and her basoomas sending her out of control and into the river. That or Herr Kamyer will be savaged by sheep (with a bit of luck).
7:00 p.m.
Rosie rang.
“Gee, I am taking the horns with us on the camping trip. Pip pip.”
I said, “Why?”
She said, “So we can brush up on our Viking disco inferno dance and also we can don them if we are attacked by rampaging cows.”
Good grief.
ten minutes later
I suppose in some horrific way the camping fiasco will pass the time until I can figure out how to get to Masimo.
in my room
I wonder how Robbie is. Every time I can’t avoid going near Wet Lindsay she says something about him to one of her slimey mates, implying that they are an item. Maybe they are. Well if they are, it is a good way of curing me of him. Anyone who could choose someone as nobbly as her can’t be all good.
one minute later
But he did ask me if I wanted a lift home before she trapped him with her octopussy extensions.
one minute later
And Dave the Laugh said he thought Robbie liked me, but he was playing cool bananas because of the Masimo fandango.
one minute later
Oh no, I’ve been thinking about Dave the Laugh again. He somehow still pops up! Oo-er. If I think of anything funny, I always want to tell him about it. I don’t because, well, it seems a bit odd just being mates with him. It was cool on Saturday night when he saved the little titches.
I wonder if he laughs with his girlfriend Emma like he laughs with me?
I wonder what number on the snogging scale they have got up to. Shut up, brain.
Phone rang.
Maybe it’s Masimo! I ran down the stairs. No one is in because Mum said she’d decided I couldn’t be trusted to look after Libbs so she has taken her over to Grandad and his knitted live-in lover. Oh much more trustworthy. Not. I nearly said that to Mum, but it’s difficult when you are not speaking to someone. Why can’t I have normal parents who do stuff for me? Mum and Dad have gone to Uncle Eddie’s first booking as a baldy-o-gram.
And that in anybody’s language is not normal behavior.
I answered the phone.
It was Robbie.
Crikey.
three minutes later
I have agreed to meet him on Thursday for a “talk.”
Whatever that means.
Well, in my case it will mean me going, “Blah blah, rubbish, rubbish, dribble, dribble, arse.”
thursday july 28th
last day of term
Got the “whole school is looking to you for an example” speech from Slim about the camping trip. And she said, “We are all looking forward very much to the interesting stories and observations that Ten A will be coming back with.”
Oh yes, the merry hours we will have talking about the night we saw a badger scratch its bum-oley. And how many sausages we ate.
As we lurched along to Latin, I said to Rosie, “Why isn’t Slim coming with us, actually? I personally would give quite a lot of money to see her in a tent.”
Rosie said, “She was wearing one today.”
Jas was hysterical with twig madness. “Have you packed yet, Gee?”
“No.”
“I have.”
“Really, how many pairs of knickers are you bringing?”
“Well I thought just in case of nippy noodles weather I would bring those thick long ones that—”
“Jas, I am not serious.”
She huffed off.
She is so self-obsessed it’s amazing. It’s all just me, me, me, Tom, me, stuffed owls, knickers and er…me with her. If you see what I mean and I think you do.
I told her on the way to Stalag 14 this morning that I was on the horns of a whatsit vis-á-vis the maybe-two-boyfriends situation. And I am. I am feeling quite weird about seeing Robbie this evening.
She gave me the usual Jas lecture. “Well, you have to choose and then stick with your decision. You can’t just do what you like, tart around all your life. Choosing new boyfriends at every wiff and woo.”
At every wiff and woo? What is she talking about? And “tarting around.” That’s nice talk, isn’t it?
I said, “Jas, I am not a tart, I am a teenager. Just because you have thrust aside your red bottom with a firm hand and are subscribing to Vole Weekly doesn’t make you right, you know.”
She said, “Yes it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“Jas, it doesn’t make it a debate when one person just keeps saying ‘yes it does.’”
That shut her up for a nanosecond, and then she said, “Yes it does.”
She is so annnnoyyyyiiing.
in my room
teatime
Robbie will be here in a minute. Blimey. I hope it doesn’t rain, it’s looking a bit overcast. Oh God, that has just reminded me when I first went round to Robbie’s house. The very first time, I can’t believe it’s only a few months ago. I have become a woman since then. I have lived, loved and suffered.
one minute later
Well I’ve suffered and my nungas have grown quite a lot.
two minutes later
When I first met him I didn’t even wear a bra. How weird is that? And stupid as it turns out, because it rained on my T-shirt and I got soaking wet when I was going round to his house. And when I looked down at my T-shirt there were two bobbles sticking out. And it was my nip nips and I couldn’t get them back in again. I had to keep my arms crossed over my nips for ages. Then he played me one of his songs and I sat there not knowing what to do, so I let an attractive (I like to think) half-smile play on my face. Unfortunately it was a long song and by the end of it my cheeks were aching quite a lot, and I was trying to keep my nose sucked in as well. I had to go to bed when I got home with face strain.
And then after all that effort the Sex God dumped me because I was too young for him and said that he knew someone that I might like called Dave the Laugh. And that is when Dave the Laugh entered stage right and I tried to use him as my decoy duck to make Robbie interested in me.
I still feel slightly bad about that bit, the decoy duck bit, especially as Dave spotted it. Actually it’s quite amazing that we are mates.
two minutes later
Because that is what we are. Tip-top mates. Which is good. And how it should be.
We would have been no good as a boyfriend and girlfriend because…erm…
Well, he’s not a Sex God or a Luuurve God. He’s just a sort of Dave God. And that is not on the God list. You don’t have Thor and Woden and Dave, do you?
two minutes later
He is funny, though.
Ten minutes and Robbie will be ringing the doorbell. I have tarted myself up to within an inch of my life. I don’t think I can stand being in the house just waiting. Maybe I will go and sit on the wall and wait for him there. Does that seem a bit keen? Yes, it does. I’ll just stay here and use disciplinosity and glaciosity.
sitting on the wall
Right. What am I going to say to him? What about the snogging question? What if he wants to snog me? I can’t really snog him when I am nearly officially the maybe girlfriend of a Luuurve God. Can I? We should have a snogging scale for exes. For the “once just for old time’s sake” type snogging.
Mind you, I’ve snogged Dave the Laugh a number of times since he has been my ex. So the “just for old time’s sake” rule seems to be “Yes, yes and three times yes.” Well, it used to be. Nothing has happened like that for ages. Maybe he has gone off me? I don’t know why he should unless he really really likes his “girlfriend.” Maybe he thinks she is nicer than I am. Maybe she is nicer than I am. But that is clearly not my fault; look at my parents.
Shutup about Dave, how did he get in here???
two minutes later
Then Robbie came round the corner and into my street. He looked very cool and sort of grown-up. I remembered all the months and months I had followed him around and dreamed of him, and gone to Stiff Dylans gigs hoping to bump into him. Or for him to talk to me. And then he had kissed me, and said we should see each other. And for a few days I had been soooooo happy. And an irresistible man magnet. And then he dumped me again! To go to Kiwi-a-gogo land and play guitar with wombats. Or was it the maracas? I didn’t know.
I was about to get off the wall and say something normal(ish) to Robbie, but then he completely surprised me by just bending down and kissing me on the mouth. And not just a soft friendy kiss. A proper kiss, quite hard that lasted for about thirty seconds. My brain was chatting on about, oooh I must get a watch because Jas is sure to ask me how long I think a proper kiss lasts, and how did I know it was thirty seconds, did I time it by the sun’s shadows, etc…. Shut up, brain, shut up.
And then just for a moment or two my brain did shut up and I just felt stuff.
Then he stopped kissing me and said, “Hi.”
And I went, “Hi.” Almost like a normal person.
He sat down on the wall next to me. I looked at him, and he smiled back at me.
He said, “Shall we amble down to the park, like we used to?”
in the park
It was lovely in the park. The light was filtering through the trees and making leaf shapes on the ground and there were the sounds of children laughing. I mean proper children’s laughing, not like the mad heggy heggy heg heg that my sister did. Just merry little friends playing together. And a few couples holding hands and wandering about or sitting on the grass. We hadn’t been talking much. I didn’t mind because, to be frank, there wasn’t much in my head that I wanted to let people know about. For instance I found out today in history that Shackleton, so-called hero and explorer, got stuck in the ice on his ship and so he shot his cat Mr. Chippy to make more room or make the boat lighter or something, and then they got rescued anyway! And Mr. Chippy had been the ship’s cat for years and years and years. Why didn’t he shoot himself if he wanted to make more room? Historical people are vair vair selfish. I must tell Dave about Mr. Chippy when I see him.
I came out of my little cat tragedy to hear Robbie saying, “Do you remember this tree, I think it was here that I sang you the song I wrote for you, do you remember?”
Yes I did, actually. And if I am honest it wasn’t altogether a vair fond memory because Robbie had sort of encouraged me to put my head in his lap whilst he…
Robbie said, “Let’s sit down for a bit, I think I can remember the words more or less…”
Oh no. It was all happening again. Well this time I was definitely not going to put my head on his lap.
one minute later
Oh dear God I had my head on his lap and I was once again glancing up his nostrils whilst he sang me a song about a dolphin.
in bed
10:00 p.m.
Blubbing.
I thought I had plumbed the depths of tragicosity, boywise, but I was wrong. I don’t even know why I am crying really, it’s just so sad. Robbie was my very first one and only Sex God and he still is, but…oh I don’t know. He sang me the song and I did the avoiding the nostrils scenario and also I had to keep an eye on any undue nunga jiggling AND try not to let my brain run wild and free. So in the end I was all sort of tensoid and not really myself. Which of course Jas would say was a good thing.
Robbie and me snogged and did a bit of No. 6, and he is very good at it. No one can deny he is good-looking in the top-twenty sort of way. His clothes are nice. (Apart, it has to be said, from the rubber shoes from the vegetarian shop) and he did say that he and Lindsay are absolutely not an item.
And he walked me home holding my hand and when we got to my gate he kissed me really hard and long. I don’t think there was any sign of virtual No. 7, but you never know.
Then he was looking at me in the moonlight (so were five other eyes until I threw my shoe at the wall and Angus, Naomi and Gordy took off). I looked at him and he had a lovely face, really lovely. And he was lovely. But…oh I don’t know. I felt my eyes suddenly fill with tears. I couldn’t help it. Everything seemed so sad, and sort of not quite right. I looked down so that he wouldn’t see my blubbing.
And he stroked my hair and said, “Gee, what are you thinking?”
Oh no, what was I thinking?
I just blurted out, “Well, you left me and you have been gone so long, and the wombats and so on and then I, well, I started liking Masimo and he…”
Robbie looked really sad, and then he sat down next to me on the wall and was quiet. I didn’t know what to say.
After a minute he said, “So you really like him, then?”
I couldn’t make my voice work, I just nodded.
He still didn’t say anything. I looked sideways at him. He was looking straight ahead, and as I looked a little tear came out of his eye and slipped slowly down his face. Ohhhhhhhh this was unbearable.
I was going to say, No, no, don’t cry, I’ll go out with you. Anything, but don’t cry…. But I still couldn’t make my voice work.
And then he sort of cleared his throat and said, “Georgia, don’t feel bad. It’s always tough to hurt someone and tell them the truth. I know that. You’re a really lovely girl. Lovely…mad…but lovely. I’ll always like you. Don’t worry.”
There was another little pause. And then he stood up and said, “Anyway, I suppose you’d better be off, you’ve probably got a train to catch.”
At least he smiled when he said that. Which was good because I could feel the old waterworks coming on big-time.
midnight
The long and the long of it is that he is going back to New Zealand. He says there is a girl that likes him there. I stopped myself from saying “Is it Wilma the Wombat,” but it did make me feel a bit funny to think of him with someone else. And also him going away again.
Oh I don’t know. Would I want to go out with him if he was staying?
It’s all very well writing books about how to make any twit fall in love with you, but what do you do when you have got them? That should be book two, What to Do with a Collection of Twits When You Have Accidentally Done What Some Fool in a Book Told You to Do and Now They Are All Hanging About with You.
12:05 a.m.
Rosie and Sven seem happy together. And they are, as we know, planning to marry in eighteen years’ time. But will they? They quite clearly have nothing in common, besides snogging, snogging, snacks, mad dancing and snogging. But perhaps that is a good relationship.
Who knows?
And then there is Jas’n’Tom. They have far far too much in common, but they seem happy.
one minute later
The only thing is, to be happy like Jas I would actually have to be Jas.
No, I just cannot go there.
I have to be me.
And I have to face the fact that I have sounded my cosmic horn and therefore my red bottomosity has led me into the oven of luuurve, onto the rack of pain and out again onto the horns of a whatsit.
Oowwwww.
Well I have made my decision, now I will have to lie on it.