saturday may 7th
10:05 a.m.
Sun shining like a big yellow shining…er, warmey planet on fire thing.
Yesssssssss!
I am quite literally not wandering lonely as a clud, in fact I am treading lightly in the Universe of the Very Nearly Quite Happy.
10:10 a.m.
Something full of miraculosity has happened. My vati, world-renowned fool and paid-up member of the Big Twit Club, has for once in his entire life accidentally done something good. We are going to Hamburger-a-gogo land! Honestly.
And guess who is there already? Besides a lot of people in huge psychedelic shorts and that bloke who is half chicken, half colonel. I’ll tell you who is there, the Luuurve God is there!!! Masimo, the Italian Stallion, has gone to visit his olds, leaving me, his new, lurker-free-almost-nearly girlfriend back here in Billy Shakespeare land. So he thinks! Imagine how thrilled he will be when I pop up and say “Howdy!” Or whatever it is they say over there.
Let the overseas Snog Fest begin!
10:15 a.m.
The only fly in the ointmosity of life is that Vati is making us go to some crap clown-car convention.
10:20 a.m.
And Uncle Eddie, the baldest man on the planet, is coming with us.
10:25 a.m.
Still, with a bit of luck they will both be arrested for indecent exposure when they don their leather motoring trousers.
10:30 a.m.
Filled with the joie de vivre that is so much a part of my attractive but modest personality, I phoned my bestest pally.
“Jas, it is mich, your sehr guttest pally; I am calling you mit wunderbar news!”
“Oh God. Look, it’s only a week till Tom leaves and we were just sorting out my—”
“Jas, I cannot waste time discussing your knicker collection; that is between you and Tom…quite literally…hahahahaha. Do you get it? Do you get it? Knickers…between you and Hunky…Do you…”
But as I should have known from long and tiring experience, it is useless to waste my wit on Jassy. So I cut to my nub and gist.
“I am going to Hamburger-a-gogo land to meet Masimo the Luuurve God of the Universe and Beyond. And back.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am.”
“How?”
I explained to Jas about the trip and the “Howdy!” business and everything, but as usual she displayed cold waterosity.
“Where is Masimo going to be in Hamburger-a-gogo land?”
“Ahaha!!!”
“You don’t know, do you?’
“Well, not yet, but—”
“He could be anywhere.”
“I know, but how big can America be???”
“It’s huge.”
I laughed. Nothing was going to spoil my peachy mood, let alone swotty nit-picking from Ms. Big Pantaloonies.
I said, “Is it as huge as your gym knickers?”
There was silence.
“Jas, come on, be happy for me.”
“It’s all very well for you, you can just fancy anyone, but it’s different with Tom and me—he’s off to Kiwi-a-gogo and I will be left here all on my owney.”
Oh good grief.
Hunky is only going to the Land of the Big White Clots for a couple of weeks, but I am still going to have to listen to her moaning and rambling on about the twig-collecting years. However, before she could start raving on about mollusks and cuckoo spit, I had a flash of inspirationosity.
“Jas, listen, I have a plan of such geniosity that I have even surprised myself, and might give myself some sort of award.”
She didn’t even say “What is it?” There was just silence.
I said, “Aren’t you even going to ask me what it is, Jas?”
“It’s bound to be stupid.”
“Oh cheers, thanks a lot. Well, I won’t bother you with it, then. Even though it involves you and your happiness and is très bon and also vair vair gut. Au revoir. Bonne chance.”
And I put the phone down. Even Jas cannot spoil my mood. Lalalalalalala.
11:00 a.m.
Better start planning my wardrobe for the Luuurve trail. What do the Hamburgese wear? Cowboy hats, I suppose.
11:10 a.m.
From what I hear, the Hamburgese are a bit strict hygiene-wise. They’re always in the shower and so on. It is to be hoped the customs man doesn’t glance inside Libby’s bag and find her nighttime blankie, otherwise we will all be buggered.
Oh, so many things to worry about, I think I will have a little zizz to relax myself and then plan my cosmetic routine.
11:11 a.m.
Fat chance.
“Gingey! Gingey, it’s meeeeeeee!!! I have just been to the lavatreeeeee!”
My darling sister has kicked open my bedroom door. Hurrah.
11:13 a.m.
Oh good, and she has her “fwends” with her, Scuba Diving Barbie, Charlie Horse, a parsnip and cross-eyed Gordy. Gordy is under house arrest because he has not had the immunization injections he needs before he is set loose into the wild jungle world of our street. I’d like to see the germ hard enough to take him on.
As they all snuggled comfortably into my bed the phone rang downstairs and Dad answered it.
Vati yelled up: “Georgia, quickly, one of your mates wants to talk rubbish with you for an hour or two on her father’s phone.”
He has not got the flare of charm, my vati; but on the other hand, what he has got are my tickets to paradise. I must remember that, however ludicrous he is, he has bought me a passage to the Luuurve Machine.
Masimo-a-gogo!!!
I shouted down: “Thank you, Papa, I’ll be down immediately and perhaps later I will entertain you with my piano playing.”
We haven’t got a piano, but it is the thought that counts.
11:15 a.m.
It was Jazzy Spazzy…tee-hee. I knew she would crumble and want to know my plan.
I said, “So, now do you want to know what my plan is?”
“If you like.”
“No, Jas, you are still not showing enthusiosity. Try harder.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can: gird your loins and so on, laugh and the world laughs at you. Come on, you do really want to know my plan, especially as it concerns you, my little hairy pally.”
“I’m not hairy.”
“Have it your own way, but don’t go near any circuses.”
“Shut up. Go on, then, tell me your plan. Although unless you are going to give me the money to go to Kiwi-a-gogo with Tom, I don’t—”
“Jas, forget about Hunky, he will be too busy lying around in streams with Robbie and hugging marsupials to get up to anything. This is about you and me on the road.”
“What road?”
“OK, this is it: when I go to Hamburger-a-gogo…you come with me! Do you see??? Driving across America, you and me. We will be like Thelma and Louise!!!”
“We’re not called Thelma and Louise.”
“I know that, I am just saying we will be LIKE THEM.”
“And we’re not American.”
“I know that, but I—”
“And neither of us can drive.”
Oh dear God.
I said, “Jas, your spaceship has arrived, please get in.”
12:00 p.m.
Aha, ha, ha. Jazzy Spazzy has finally come to her senses (ish). She has got the scent of funosity in her nostrils and wants to come to Hamburger-a-gogo land A LOT. So now all we have to do is get our parents to let us. We have a two-pronged plan.
Prong One is a charm offensive on our muttis and vatis to persuade them to let Jas come to America with me. (And also to give her squillions of squids for spenderoonies.) We are going to be really nice and sweet and listen to them ramble on about the Beatles. I’ve been practicing my pleading and they would have to be made of stone not to give me the entire contents of their wallets.
However, if that fails and they say no, we launch Prong Two: Relentless Moaning. You know the kind of thing.
“All my other friends are allowed to take a mate on holiday with them. How come I am the ONLY person in the universe who is not allowed to take a mate on holiday? Why is it just me? Why? Why oh why oh why?”
“Why?”
“It is sooo unfair.”
“Why?”
9:10 p.m.
Outside the front-room door.
Right, this is it. I’ve got my old Teletubbies jimjams on for maximosity on the lovablenosity front.
Mutti and Vati were on the sofa curled round each other; I could clearly see Mum’s knickers. Erlack. And the curtains were open; anyone could see in. A fat bloke passing by might think it was a brothel for the porkier gentleman. I was going to say that, but then I remembered my prongs. So I said, “Good evening, Mother, Father.”
Vati said, “How much?” without even looking at me. I laughed attractively.
“Oh, Papa, this is not a material matter, it is to do with friendship and love and—”
Mum said, “I don’t care how many of your friends have had their navels pierced; you are not.”
“But I—”
But she was still rambling on.
“Ditto tattoos.”
“But I—”
Vati joined in.
“And no, you cannot have a flat in Paris and a manservant to help with your homework.”
Oh, how I nearly laughed. Not. I thought about telling Dad that Rosie said he looked like a brothel madam in his flying helmet and leather jacket, but then I remembered my charm prong and forced a little grin to play around my mouth.
“You two!!! Always kidding about, you cheeky minxes! Anyway, all it is really is that, well, you know, Jas is all miz because of Tom going to Kiwi-a-gogo and, well…You know she is my pal, and…well, it would be nice for me if, you know…Anyway, can she?”
Vati said, “Can she what? Move in? Levitate? What?”
I bit the whatsit.
“Can she come with us to Hamburger-a-gogo land?”
10:00 p.m.
Both of our parents have said yes. Unbelievable. Actually, I am not that amazed that Jas’s parents said yes because they are on the whole not entirely mad. But my parents? Weird.
It is a miracle for which I would normally thank Jesus—he does seem to be coming up trumps lately. I lost Robbie to the snogging possums but then Jesus sent me a replacement Luuurve God. Hurray! As I say, I would normally thank Jesus personally by laying gifts at his feet—or foot, actually, because one of his feet snapped off—however, there is a bit of a problem. Libby has been rifling around in my room and she has nicked my statue of him. I’m afraid Jesus is not quite himself since. The last time I saw him he had a frock on and Libby was calling him Sandra, Barbie’s new bestest pal.
I don’t think God will hold it against us, as he is, after all, a merciful God.
10:10 p.m.
Unless you happen to be that snake in the Garden of Eden. Snakey only asked “Anyone fancy a bit of apple?” and then God made him crawl around on his belly for eternity. Seems a bit harsh. (Although, as I pointed out to Miss Wilson in our interesting talks in R.E., if you were a snake in the first place, being made to crawl around on your belly for the rest of your days doesn’t actually seem that bad. Almost like being a snake in fact. I mean this with all reverencosity. I just have a lively mind.)
Oooohhhhh, I am so excited, I can’t wait to tell the ace gang.
I even kissed my own father AGAIN. This is twice in two days. I must be a bit feverish.
in my bedroom
Libby, Gordy, Sandra and Barbie are all snoozing. They look so lovely and cozy. Our Lord, now heavily rouged, is next to Libby’s feet. I don’t know why she likes to sleep upside down. Perhaps because it is very scary waking up to see Gordy looking cross-eyed at you.
I looked out the window as I did my alternate-nostril breathing.
It is vair vair calming. You pinch one nostril closed and then breathe in through the other one and then hold your breath and then let the pinched-up one go and breathe out of that. And then you…well, anyway, all I can say is that Lord Buddha did it and he didn’t just do it for nothing.
one minute later
I hope it is not like bodybuilding. I don’t want to be really calm and have massive nostrils.
two minutes later
For once Mr. Next Door has done something nice. He has built a sort of anti-cat fence out of barbed wire on the top of his wall. Angus will really like it. He gets a bit bored with leaping down onto the Prat Poodles and riding them round. He is the sort of cat who needs a bit of a challenge.
five minutes later
Oh, here comes Supercat with Naomi. As usual with his head up her bottom.
one minute later
Aha! He has removed his head and he has seen the new fencey. He luuurves the fencey.
four minutes later
Old Nimble Paws did this beyond-fabby thing. He did a vertical jump! From standing on the wall he just shot straight up in the air and over the fence.
five minutes later
Angus is really getting into it now. He leaps over the anti-cat fence and then comes back into our garden by hurling himself through Mr. Next Door’s rhododendron bush.
Excellent! He has made it into a track-and-field event. It is quite literally the Cat Olympics.
five minutes later
I would prefer it if Naomi stuck to the usual giving of medals ceremony rather than licking Angus’s trouser-snake area, but there you are—that is appalling furry tarts for you.
monday may 9th
Up at the crack of 8:00 A.M.
Crikey. I’d better not get carried away with happiness, otherwise I will be on time for Stalag 14.
Lolloping along to Jas’s place, I had to pass by Mark Big Gob smoking on the corner with his lardy mates. He is quite literally a mouth on legs. Sadly he seems to have recovered his former (crap) self after the minor duffing-up incident with Dave the Laugh.
He just can’t help himself, especially when, like now, he has the backup lardy lads with him. As I walked by in a dignified manner, trying not to let anything jiggle about, B.G. and the lard arses were just ogling my nungas like ogling oglers (if you can imagine the horror of that, and I think you can). Then he licked his lips! Erlack, he was licking his lips at me!
He is so très pathetico.
I may have to ask Dave to repeat the duffing-up incident.
five minutes later
Jas was on her wall. I don’t know what she had for breakfast, but she has put on about one hundred and fifty pounds. Either that or her knickers have reached elephantine size.
When she jumped down, I saw it was because she had her skirt rolled over so much that she looked like a melon with a head and an annoying fringe in a school uniform.
She said, “My mum and dad want to come round to yours soon to talk about the arrangements.”
“Oh, mon Dieu and also curses. I must rush home and make them normal. Your mum and dad will never let you come with us if Dad happens to be wearing his masonic apron…or his velvet loons that he wears for ‘grooving’ in. No one in their right mind would let a child of theirs anywhere near him.”
Hawkeye was on glaring duty at the school gates, so Jas had to do a quick dive behind me to let her skirt down. She was fiddling away as we walked along, so to distract Hawkeye with my youth and exuberance I started singing, “‘Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh, what a—’”
“Why are you shuffling along like idiots? Put a spring in your step!”
I started doing a bit of springing for a laugh but then she said, “Georgia, I have been glancing at your report card and it seems to me a bit of extra tutoring wouldn’t come amiss.”
Bloody sacré bleu! I scuttled off to the loos as fast as I could.
Jas was pouting at herself in the mirror as I grumbled on.
“‘Glancing at your report card.’ What kind of life is that? You might as well have a life ‘glancing at paint drying’ or ‘glancing at a cactus not doing anything’…or…anyway, it is no kind of a life for a human being. Which is why Hawkeye is so vair vair good at it.”
Jas was now upside down under the hand dryer getting maximum voluminosity into her fringe for the day ahead; but she nodded her head wisely, in an upside-down way.
assembly
Usual routine: Klingon salute to the ace gang, a quick burst of “The Lord is my shepherd.” And then some incomprehensible lecture from Slim, our huge headmistress. What is she rambling on about now? She has certainly excelled herself on the fashion front this morning. Polka-dot suit in a lovely subtle orange and black. And sling-back shoes. Parts of her feet have made a desperate bid for freedom out of the sling-back bit. I’ve never known anyone with fat feet. It’s fascinating watching her. When she loses her rag (i.e., every time she speaks to us), every bit of her quivers in a tip-top jelloid way.
“So to my point, girls: achievement. What does it mean today in the modern world? I want you all to consider what achievement really means.”
Then she stood there and looked at us. For ages. We stood looking back. She just stood there, we just stood there. Like a staring competition. Good Lord. It went on for ages and ages—you could practically see Miss Stamp’s beard growing. Two centuries later, Slim said, “How many of us could put our hands on our hearts and say “I have achieved something really worthwhile this term?”
Me and Rosie put our hands on our hearts.
corridor
9:30 a.m.
Oh bloody marvy. Wet Lindsay, who was stick-insecting around on snitcher duty, saw us with our hands on our hearts and gave us her world-famous “How Childish You Are” lecture. Ho hum, pig’s bum. Another fabulous opportunity to look at Ms. No Forehead.
9:36 a.m.
Hahahahaha! Whilst Wet Lindsay was telling us off, Rosie and I kept our eyes fixed on her forehead. She couldn’t say we were doing anything wrong, but afterward she scuttled off to the loos for forehead inspection.
The staring campaign continues!!!
And she doesn’t know I am off to America to a Snog Fest with the Luuurve God.
blodge
Miss Baldwin has got gigantic basoomas. Even bigger than my mutti’s and that is saying something. I was very much afraid that she would set fire to them with the Bunsen burner. Sadly there was no basooma incendiary action, so I couldn’t use the foam extinguisher, which would have topped the lesson off in my humble opinion.
on the knicker toaster
break
I told the ace gang about Operation Go to Hamburger-a-gogo land.
They were, as usual, agog as two gogs. Three gogs in Ellen’s case. Thank the Lord she seems to have dropped her infectious laugh. I was going to have to kill her if she kept it up.
As we crunched through our nutritious snacks of cheesy whatsits and chuddie I said, “It is going to be marv. As I said to Jas—even though she didn’t get it—we will be like the Thelma and Louise of England.”
Rosie said, “But you won’t have a gun.”
“I might.”
“No, you won’t. Your dad won’t let you go to an all-nighter, so he is definitely not going to get you a gun.”
“He is. He said I could have one when I got there.”
Rosie just looked at me.
“Just a small one for emergency shooting.”
They all just looked at me.
Ellen said (annoyingly), “Where…er…where is Masimo? I mean, where is he going to be in America?”
I said, “Well, you know, near where we are going to be.”
She went on in her vague, dumped-by-Dave-the-Laugh way. “Yes, but I mean, well…where are you going to be?”
I said, “At the clown-car convention in America.”
Rosie blew a big gob-stopper bubble and then sucked it back in again. Then she put her face right up close to mine and said slowly, “Yes, but Georgia, where is the clown-car convention?”
“Memphis.”
“And where is that?”
I laughed and said, “Good grief, I thought I was bad at geoggers. Don’t you know?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Of course I do. It’s…down…a bit from New York.”
“Down a bit from New York?”
“Yes.”
“Like you thought Hamburg was famous for its hamburgers?”
What has Rosie turned into? Memo the Memory Man? Honestly, just because I had been secretly exfoliating my legs under the desk in geoggers when we were doing the Rhine and Miss Simpson sprang a surprise question on me….
I changed the subject.
“So, what do you think I should pack for my trip?”
Jools said, “Well, not knickers, because they don’t wear them there.”
I said, “Wow, saucy minxes! You mean they go round in the nuddy-pants? They don’t mention that in geoggers, do they? It’s all boring stuff about wheat belts and the Atlantic drift.”
Jools said, “Panties.”
I said, “Oy, clear off with your panties talk. You are a nice-looking girl and everything, but I am just not interested.”
Jools said, “No, that is what the Hamburgese wear.”
The bell went.
Donner and Blitzen, how am I supposed to discuss my wardrobe if we keep having to go to lessons?
Oh, hang on though, it’s German next, so that’s OK. We can discuss it then without being disturbed.
german
Herr Kamyer was as usual rambling on about the Koch family going on one of their endless camping trips. Keeping in mind that Koch is pronounced “cock,” and keeping in mind that they are the family that star in our German textbooks, you have to ask yourself this: What sadist decided to feature a family called Koch in our textbooks?? They know that they are going to be read out by the naff and the sad (German teachers) to a load of giggling and hysterical girls obsessed with boys and rudey-dudeyness. The family could have been called anything, couldn’t they? Schwartz or Schmidt, for instance, but oh no, it had to be the Kochs and their spangleferkels. How many sausages can one family eat? In the Kochs’ case the answer is a lot.
I put my hand up because I am sehr interested in the Kochs.
Herr Kamyer said, “Jah, Georgia?”
I said, “Herr Kamyer, did all the Kochs go camping or was it just the little Kochs, and the big Kochs stayed behind? Or was it a mixture of little and big Kochs that came out?”
The whole class was in uproar. Herr Kamyer was, as usual, completely bewildered. He said, “Vat is zo funny about the Kochs? Do you not haf the Kochs in England?”
Happy days.
As we lolloped off I said, “German is such a restful and amusing, language isn’t it? Incomprehensible, obviously. As, indeed, are the lederhosen that the Germans go yodeling in.”
Jas was in Jasland and said, “You think The Sound of Music is what Germany is like, don’t you? That’s why you always rave on about singing nuns and yodeling?”
“Well, The Sound of Music is, of course, a documentary-style film. You can’t argue with facts, and I do know what I am talking about because Libby has made me watch it twelve times.”
“It was set in Austria.”
“Yes…and?”
“Last term you said that Germans were obsessed with goats and cheese.”
“Yes…and?”
“That was because you had read Heidi. And that was set in Switzerland.”
“Jas, what in the name of Beelzebub’s stamp collection are you going on about?”
“You are crap at geoggers.”
Oh rave on, fringy nitwit. (I didn’t say that bit aloud because I am grooming her to be my sidekick on the Road to Romance.)
Still, in the interests of world peace I might be forced to get the old atlas out and look at where Memphis is and so on.
Work work work, I’m so vair tired.
And I still have to walk all the way home.
I wonder if Jassy will give me a piggyback home.
4:30 p.m.
No.
5:00 p.m.
I’ll be bloody glad when Gordy is allowed out. When I arrived home he had the rubber plant on his head. I’ve put the stump back in the plant pot and superglued some of the leaves back on. With a bit of luck it will be alright till we go away and then I can blame it on whatever fool catsits for us.
in my bedroom
How can I find out exactly where Masimo is?
five minutes later
I can’t trust Radio Jas to ask Tom to find out where Masimo has gone in Hamburger-a-gogo land. Anytime I ask her anything private it’s usually on the Radio Jas airwaves in about two and a half minutes. Her idea of being subtle and finding out things is going out into the streets and shouting “Anyone know anything about this secret thing I am never going to mention?”
Hmmmmmmmm.
I hate to admit it, but I need the assistance of Dave the Laugh.
Donner and Blitzen!
If I could just accidentally bump into him on the way home then I wouldn’t have to phone him.
ten minutes later
Because if I phone him and Rachel is there I will feel like a facsimile of a sham. I mean, he is officially(ish) going out with her.
five minutes later
Even though he keeps snogging me.
ten minutes later
Anyway, how can I trust anything he says—it was he, after all, who said he fancied my mum!
But then, he is also my mate and official Hornmeister.
Also he said that I have accidentally done the right thing and become Mystery Girl with Masimo.
tuesday may 10th
on the way home
Me and Jas were ambushed by four Foxwood lads. Two of them deliberately ran into my legs on their bikes, fell off, got back on backwards and started circling us really fast yelling: “You slags!” Why? We were just looking at them and then they fell off their bikes again, this time down a ditch. Whilst they were climbing out, we set off walking. After a couple of minutes we noticed they were lurking along behind us, pretending not to follow us. Then Dave the Laugh and his mates appeared round the corner.
Dave smiled. He has a great smile and he looked as if he was really glad to see me. He has grown his hair a bit since I last saw him and it looked v. cool. Oh shutupshutup, Voice of the Horn.
He said, “Hello, Sex Kitty and pal.”
Then he saw the boy bloodhounds following us.
“Well, if it isn’t Tosser Thompson and his band of trainee tossers. On your way, kids.”
Dave really is quite well built and he was just standing looking at them.
One of the trainee tossers said, “Come on, it’s not worth it.”
And they shuffled off, shoving each other and making pretend farting noises.
Wow. It was a bit like Gladiator. But not set in Roman times, and Dave was wearing his school trousers and not a goatskin…. More’s the pity. Shutupshutup.
Dave put his arm around me.
“You entice them, you know, with your sparkling personality and magnificent nungas.”
He is soooo annoying. And rude. I tried to have a strop but he is notoriously difficult to do that with.
As we walked along Jas said, “S’later,” and went off home. Dave’s mates all said “S’later” until it was just me and Dave.
I don’t know if it’s because I am suppressing my red bottom, but he does seem to be getting better-looking all the time., But no, no, he is not the only one and only, he is yesterday’s news. Last week’s snog. Anyway, I said to Dave, “Aren’t you rushing to meet your GIRLFRIEND? Won’t your GIRLFRIEND be upset if she sees you with me?”
And he started that “Are you mad?” thing, but I managed to stop myself joining in; otherwise it would have developed into tickly bears and then possibly No. 6 on the snogging scale. Who knows?
Who knows what goes on in my mind? I will be the last to know.
Even when I am totally and without doubtosity in luuurve, absolutely wouldn’t dream of being with anyone else, etc. etc., still the Cosmic Horn rears its ugly head. And there is something about Dave and his special lip-nibbling technique. In fact he is one of the best snoggers I have come across and I haven’t even snogged Masimo yet. What if Italian boys are useless in the snoggosity department? What if Masimo looks cool but is a nunga pouncer like Mark Big Gob? Or kisses all wet and sucky like whelk boy?
Dave interrupted my brain, thank the Lord.
“So, how are you, chicklet?
I said, “Fab, fanks, I’m going to Hamburger-a-gogo land for a clown-car convention.”
Dave looked at me.
“YOU are going to a clown-car convention? Mad as a hen.”
I got quite huffy.
“I am very interested in old cars, as you know, and—”
Dave said, “You would rather snog Spotty Norman than go to a clown-car convention.”
Fair point, well made.
I said, “Well, there is another reason…”
Dave raised one of his eyebrows. Which was quite amusing.
We were passing Luigi’s and Dave said, “Come on, let’s do coffee, man.”
And we went in.
Oh, buggering bum’s buggering bum. Sitting down at one of the tables were Wet Lindsay and Astonishingly Dim Monica.
Sacré bloody bleu.
Perhaps they are doing reverse stalking.
Wet Lindsay almost threw up when she saw me with Dave. But she covered it quickly and was all dillydollyish with him. He said, “Hi,” and she batted her eyelashes and flicked her hair. She must have read How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You. If she tried toffee eyes on Dave, I would have to kill her. Even though Dave was slightly behind me, she looked straight through me and said to him, “Oh, Dave, it was really groovy at ‘Late and Live,’ wasn’t it? Mas and I had a great time. Did you and Rachel?”
I hate her double with knobs on.
Dave was coolosity personified.
“Yeah, it was cool.”
And then he deliberately pulled a chair out for me at a table not too near the grotesque twins. As I sat down he said loudly enough for them to hear, “Now then, even though you treat me bad, what would you like, Ms. Gorgeous?”
He is soooo nice. I really like the way he is, you know, so nice to me.
five minutes later
As Lindsay and ADM went out Lindsay gave Dave what she probably thinks (wrongly) is her attractive smile. She said, “’Bye, Dave, maybe see you when Mas gets back.”
Then she stick-insected out of the door. Without leaving a slimy trail on the floor, surprisingly.
I said to Dave, “I hate her, I hate her. She called him ‘Mas.’ How crap is that?”
Dave looked at me.
“You don’t like her, then?”
As we drank our coffee (me trying to avoid the foam mustache fandango) I wanted to ask Dave if he could find out where Masimo was. But I didn’t think I could just launch in, so I thought I would do some limbering-up questions first.
“Dave, you know those boys…Well, just before you got there, they ran into my legs on their bikes, then they rode off backward. Then they called us slags.”
Dave said, “Ah, the old running into your legs, riding off backward and calling you slags thing. Ah-hum. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“They fancy you.”
“Pardon me?”
“Uh-huh. Clear as daylight.”
“But why don’t they say ‘I fancy you’?”
“Because you might reject them in front of their mates.”
“So they think running into my legs on their bikes is better?”
“Yep.”
“And calling us slags?”
“Yep.”
“And they think that after they have done that, I will say, “Gosh, yes, I would love to go out with you. Once my legs heal up.”
“Yep.”
“But that is mad. Boys are mad.”
Dave looked all wise and did his eyebrow thing again.
We slurped a bit more, then I said, “But why? How does it work? You know at break at school, when you talk about personal stuff, well…”
Dave said, “Let me interrupt you there, kittykat. Lads don’t talk about ‘stuff’ at break. They play footie or that other well-known game ‘Do you know any good dentists?’”
I said, “What?”
“You know: ‘Do you know any good dentists? Because you are going to need one in a minute when I have to deck you.’”
Blimey.
Dave went on. “Of course we lads have the same feelings, we just communicate in a different way. Sometimes it does get personal, though.”
I looked at him. This was better.
“Yeah, for instance, yesterday one of the fifth form hung his girlfriend’s knickers out of the Science block window.”
5:30 p.m.
Walked home after my session with the Hornmeister still in a bit of a daze. When we said s’later he gave me a kiss on the cheek and didn’t attempt tickly bears or anything. Perhaps he is going straight. Who knows? But on the plus side he has said he will find out all he can about Masimo for me. He is such a good boy-type pal. He didn’t mention Rachel, which is a bit odd, as she’s supposed to be his girlfriend.
5:35 p.m.
Crossing into High Street I bumped into Tom. I like Tom, even though I think he is mad to go to Kiwi-a-gogo land. And go out with Jas. And go on camping fiascos. And go on about food produce. Other than that, I like him.
He seemed to have a touch of sadnosity about him when he said, “Alright, Gee?”
“Yes, fanks, alright as an…alright thing. And you?”
He was unusually silent for him and eventually just said, “You’ll look after Jas for me, won’t you?”
I said, “You bet your gol’darn bottom dollar, mister. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
He just looked at me.
Like I was talking complete rubbish or something.
6:00 p.m.
Home in my room, covered in ungents for tip-top beautosity.
I will say this, mashed banana is vair vair good for the luuurve complexion, which is not easy to say when you have a face full of mashed banana.
I wish I had a photo of Masimo. I hope I don’t forget what he looks like. I’ll just lie down in my (unusually empty) bed and have a mental snog with him.
6:25 p.m.
Oh, buggering God’s bum. Angus and Gordy have come in and started playing the “mouse disguised as a foot” game. They attack my feet for a bit really viciously until I pull my feet up under my bum, then they lie down and go to sleep. But they are not really asleep, they are just pretending to be asleep. As soon as I snuggle down to snooze off into Masimo land they leap on my foot underneath the blankets and wrestle it. Then they “go to sleep” again. They don’t really think that my foot is a mouse and that it will creep out when it sees they are asleep, do they?
6:40 p.m.
How did Ms. Furry Tart, aka Naomi, get past the armed warden (Vati) and into my bed?
Blimey, I am quite literally lying in a cat basket.
6:45 p.m.
I wish she wouldn’t do that lying on her back with her legs spread open thing on my bed.
6:50 p.m.
Gordy is sniffing her bottom. This is disgusting!!! In front of his dad. This is kitty porn—surely there must be some sort of helpline for this. A kittykat helpline.
It could be called Paws for Thought.
7:30 p.m.
Oh, Masimo, soon we will be together and you can tell me all about Pizza-a-gogo land. The music. The art. The snogging. I wonder if they have special techniques that go with their passionate Mediterranean temperament? I hope he doesn’t get carried away and nibble my lips off.
7:35 p.m.
No, I hope he does!!! Nibble away, Luuurve God!!!
wednesday may 11th
in my bedroom
7:07 p.m.
How many hours is it till we go to Hamburger-a-gogo? Jas will know. I’m not phoning her though.
Doorbell.
I went quietly to the top of the stairs and looked down. Crikey Loon Alert! It was my grandad and he was wearing shorts! Not his huge, all-encompassing grandad shorts that he wore during the Boer War, but bicycle shorts. In Lycra. Good grief.
Please, please tell me he has not taken up cycling. Please.
I went back to my room quietly. Maybe if I hide behind the door they will think I am out and JUST GO AWAY.
one minute later
Oh, yeah. Dream on.
Mutti called up, “Georgie, Grandad’s here!”
I kept silent behind the door. Naomi, Angus and Gordy were all in my bed—again—doing their idiot cat staring at me. They had better not give my position away. It would be alright if it was just Gordon—because of his cross-eyedness you would have a one in two chance of not being caught because although one of his eyes is fixed on me, the other is glancing out the window. The advance loon party came clanking up the stairs.
“Gingey, Gingey, it’s meeeeeeee, Libbbb-eeeeee…. Where is you?”
I heard her huffing and puffing outside my door and doing her alarming laugh. “Hoggyhoggy. Here I come, reggy or nut.”
Then she kicked my door and it burst open, very nearly flattening my nose.
“Owwwwww.”
She put her mad little face around the door and smiled at me. When, and how, did she lose her front teeth? And why did she think it was attractive to push her tongue through the gap?
“Gingey, there you is! Cheeky monkey.”
She threw all the cats off the bed and started tucking Scuba Diving Barbie and Jesus/Sandra up nice and comfy under the duvet. I tried to reason with her.
“Bibsy, that’s not really Barbie and, er…Sandra’s bed, is it? It’s my bed and there is no room for—”
She put her arms up to me and said, “Kiss.”
Oh, blimey. She is cute, though. I picked her up to give her a little cuddle and she put her hand on my nose and was sort of squeezing it and twirling it around. It’s quite painful, actually—dear God, I hope it doesn’t swell up.
Grandad was the next to arrive at the open bedroom loon party. He popped his head around the door and said, “Hello love, I've just been to the doctor because I've got a steering wheel down my shorts. I said to him, 'Doctor will you do something about this steering wheel down my shorts, it's driving me nuts!!!' Do you see? Steering wheel, driving me nuts!!! Do you get it? Do you?”
How DISGUSTING!
He's an octogenarian.
My ears feel like prostitutes.
8:00 p.m.
Thank the Lord, Grandad has gone, unfortunately not before giving me a present from his “girlfriend” Maisie. I am sorry I ever suggested that Grandad was mad. His girlfriend has reached new and giddy heights of bonkerosity. Have you ever been given knitted toeless socks? In green, yellow and purple?
No, I thought not.
Grandad is going to house-sit the kittykats for the week we are away. I said to Mutti, “Let’s just burn the house to the ground before we go. Because that is what it will be like when we get back. Face it.”
Mum said, “You are so rude, Georgia, you’ll be old one day yourself.”
I was going to go put my toeless socks on to give her the gist of what I was saying about the elderly insane, but then I realized I was on a charm mission. Also, Jas’s parents were coming round in half an hour. So I said, “Shall I make some snacks for when Jas’s M and D come round?”
She looked at me like I had just suddenly turned into a talking egg.
Even Gordy stopped eating Mum’s mules and looked at me with one eye.
9:30 p.m.
Phew. Me and Jas did secret thumbsie upsies as she and her mutti and vati left. Yessssss! And thrice yesss! We are off to Hamburger-a-gogo land!!
Jas has got one hundred squids for spendies. It turns out that we are going to Memphis. I don’t know where that is exactly, but how far can that be from where Masimo is? Wherever that is.
11:00 p.m.
All’s well that ends well. Libby is in her own bed with Barbie and Our Lord Sandra, and the big cats have been thrown outside to lay waste to the vole population. Gordy is in his basket in the kitchen. So I can get some well-earned beauty sleep. My nose doesn’t seem any more swollen than normal.
11:15 p.m.
Dad says that Elvis Presley lived in Memphis and he was a musician (not that you would know that from the crap songs that Dad sings). Anyway, he was a musician and Masimo is a musician, ergo Memphis must be somewhere that musicians hang out.
midnight
Pray God that Dad doesn’t take his Elvis Presley quiff with him. Sometimes for a “joke” he sticks the quiff on and starts shaking his hips about—it’s disgusting. And also probably very dangerous hipwise for a man of his years.
He and his lardy mates, the “lads,” think it is hilarious.
It isn’t.
12:05 a.m.
Anyway, what do I care, I am on Cloud Nine in Luuurve Heaven.
We go on May 22nd, which is eleven days away. I am sooooo excited.
12:10 a.m.
In the past Hawkeye has called me a ninny and has said that I “had the attention span of a pea,” but what she doesn’t know is that I have powers of discipline that would surprise a lot of people who accuse me of laziosity.
When I put my mind to it I can do stuff. For instance, even though I am tired now and it is midnight, it is imperative that I get up and go to the bathroom and cleanse and tone my…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
thursday may 12th
on the way to school
ten days to hamburger-a-gogo land
“Jas, I am so vair vair full to the brim with excitementosity. Aren’t you?”
“Hmmm.”
“Yes, so am I. Let’s sing ‘New York, New York’ to get us in the mood.”
“No.”
“That’s the spirit. You see, that is why coming to Hamburger-a-gogo is sooo good for you—it will broaden what there is of your mind.”
I started to sing, “‘I want to be a part of it, New York, New YORK!!!!!’”
I stopped because of intense pensioner glaring when we passed the post office.
Jas was slouching along by my side like a trusty…badger.
“Jas, why do they call it that? New York, New York? We don’t say London, London, do we?”
“Hmmm.”
“Perhaps it is because Hamburgese people are a bit on the slow side and don’t get it immediately, so they have to say it twice.”
9:30 p.m.
Vati made us watch a really old film tonight with John Wayne in it.
midnight
I was right to be worried about them being a bit on the slow side. Crikey, John Waaaaaaayne speaks slowly. If all Americans speak so slowly I’ll be there all day queuing up behind people as they ask for a cup of “caaaaaawwwwwfffeeeee.” (And I don’t even know why I am in the queue, as I don’t even like caawwfffee.)
Also, if Dad doesn’t stop singing Elvis songs I may go insane.
friday may 13th
dawn
nine days to hamburger-a-gogo land
Dad burst into my room in his pajamas and Elvis quiff, singing “Heartbreak Hotel.”
Now that I am up I will make a list of stuff to take to the States.
7:25 a.m.
This is my packing list.
I’ve gathered my makeup essentials together and they fill a suitcase.
I wonder if I can get Jassy to put some of my makeup in her bag. Mind you, knowing her, she’s already filled her bag with her ginormous knickers—or big “panties,” as we must learn to call them now.
Although “big panties” reminds me of incontinent knickers.
Still, let the Americans have it their way. I love them all. And I mean that most sincerely.
Even though I have never met them.
chaos headquarters
8:00 a.m.
Mutti was dragging Gordy out of Libby’s haversack. And Libby was hitting Mum on the head with her spoon.
“Bad Mummy, bad.”
Libby had hidden Gordy in her havvy because she wants to take him to kindy with her. But even Mum noticed the haversack walking around by itself.
Then the phone rang.
Mutti yelled at me, “Get that, Georgia, its bound to be one of your daft friends.”
Oh, that is nice, isn’t it? It is much more likely to be one of her daft friends.
I answered it and said, “Yes, hello. Reception speaking, Hotel Insane.”
It was Dave the Laugh. Oh my giddygod, and I hadn’t even got any lip gloss on.
He said, “Hi, Sex Kitty, Hornmeister here. I’m in a hurry but thought you would like to know that the extremely flash Masimo, who I personally feel might be on the gay side handbagwise—”
“Dave…”
“OK, OK. All I can find out is that he is staying in Manhattan and his surname is Scarlotti.”
I said, “Oh, thank you thank you, Dave.”
“It’s cool. I’m sure we can think of some way you can repay me—it may involve heavy snogging. ’Bye.”
And he put the phone down.
Yipppppeeeee!!!
Manhattan, here I come.
8:30 a.m.
Ran to meet Jas.
She was all flustered like a fringy loon.
I said, “Howdy.”
“Come on, Georgia, we’ll be late.”
As we galloped along I said, “I am going to speak American all day today.”
Jas went pant pant. “They speak English.”
I said, “Don’t be mad.”
Pant pant. We arrived on time, but only just. Wet Lindsay was on sadist duty. She looked at us as we panted by her like we were a couple of turds in uniform.
“Can’t you two grow up and be on time for once?”
I gave her a big smile whilst gazing at her ear.
I said, “Howdy. Now you all have a nice day. You hear?”
She stomped off to terrorize some first formers, but she was fingering her lug holes. Hahahahahaha. And also hasta la vista, baby. Possibly.
maths
God, maths is boring. And complete bollocks.
When I marry Masimo I will have manservants to do my adding up for me.
And my quadratics equations, which I will never use.
lunchtime
Operation Track Down the Luuuuuuuuuurve God.
Made Jas come to the library with me.
Miss Wilson almost fell off her stool when we came in.
I calmed her by saying, “Alrighty? Now you all have a nice day.”
We lugged the big atlas to a table and I leafed through the maps until I got to America and found New York, New York.
I said to Jas, “Now, where is Memphis, Memphis?”
Jas found it and said, “It looks a bit far down.”
For once she is not wrong. On the plus side, Manhattan is only about an eighth of an inch long.
But it is about two feet from Memphis.
Still, there must be buses surely.
4:30 p.m.
On the way home I was singing “Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play.” To Jazzy. She loves a bit of a singsong.
I said that. I said, “You love a bit of a singsong don’t you, Jazzy.”
“No.”
“See, I knew you did. You do a little dance whilst I sing the chorus. You could do a dance based on a deer. Go on, do the little deer dance, make your feet like—”
And that is when she kicked me. She can be very violent.
She said, “I haven’t told him yet.”
“What? Who?”
“Hunk—er, I mean Tom, about Hamburger-a-gogo land.”
I looked at her in amazednosity. Radio Jas, the voice of the nation, had not told Hunky something?
She said, “I can be just as independent and adventurous as him.”
I didn’t laugh, even though I have seen the amount of knickers that Jas thinks she will need for seven days.
I MUST sort out my clothes this weekend.
le weekend
11:00 a.m.
Now then, I am going to take a “capsule” wardrobe. It’s what Naomi Campbell and all the top models do. They just take the absolute essentials with them when they travel.
12:00 p.m.
I’m exhausted, but I have managed to whittle my capsule wardrobe down to six cases.
12:01 p.m.
And a rucksack.
12:03 p.m.
Apart from my shoes, which I can’t get in, but Mum will probably put them in her case.
12:30 p.m.
Nobody has yet told Libby that Angus and Gordy are not coming with us on our holidays.
12:35 p.m.
When someone does tell her, I will tell you one thing for free: it will not be me. I need all my limbs for my Luuurve quest.
12:40 p.m.
Libby has made Gordy a paper bikini for his holidays, which might come in handy if he were coming on holiday.
And cats wore bikinis.
And if he hadn’t immediately destroyed it and then buried it in the rubber plant.
sunday may 15th
midday
seven days to hamburger-a-gogo land
I hate my dad. He is so unreasonable it’s like dealing with a spoiled child. I asked Mum if she would be so kind as to slip my shoes in her case and all hell broke loose. Dad said, “Why don’t you put them in your case?”
And I said, “Because, Father, all of my cases are full.”
Vati came stropping into my bedroom, saw my cases, and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, you can take one case. That is it.”
I said, “Excuse me if I am right, Dad, but do you want me to look like a poor person in front of the Hamburgese? I am representing the English nation abroad.”
But you might as well be talking to yourself.
2:00 p.m.
I’ve repacked, but it is still three cases of essentials. Sacré bloody bleu.
Jas phoned to tell me that she told Hunky about her trip and he has had the boy version of a nervy spaz. He phoned her eighteen times in two hours.
“He was so upset.”
“Yes, you said.”
“Really really upset. He phoned me eighteen times in two hours.”
“Er…I know.”
“Eighteen times.”
“Wow…how many times did you say he phoned?”
I said it ironically, but Jas didn’t get it. She just went on and on.
“Eighteen times, and then he came round this morning really early and posted a love-poem song-type thing through my door.”
Oh, no. Not a love poem.
“Do you want to hear it?”
“No.”
“It’s called ‘You are the only fish in my sea.’”
Good Lord, the whole family is obsessed with livestock.
To cheer her up and to get me out of my packing nightmare scenario I called a gang meeting.
in the park sitting on the swings
4:30 p.m.
Jas has read her poem to everyone, so I hope she has got it out of her system now. It is truly crap. That is a fact, but I didn’t say so. I wanted Jas to perk up for our big adventure. I was soooo excited, and I was standing up swinging on a swing, singing, “‘I want to be in America! Everything free in America!!!’”
Then Ellen said, “Georgia, have you actually snogged Masimo yet?”
I laughed in a sultry way.
“Have I snogged Masimo? Have I—”
Jas said, “No, she hasn’t. Well, not unless you count two seconds, which I don’t, and anyway it’s not on the list, so it’s not…on the…list.”
Oh thanks, bestest pally NOT. I wish I had told her what I thought about Fish Boy’s poem now.
Jools said, “Do you think that Wet Lindsay has snogged him? You know when they went to ‘Late and Live,’ she must have, you know, wanted to.”
Ohhhnooo. Get out of my head.
I said, “Who in their right mind would snog Wet Lindsay?”
Jools said, “Well, actually, Robbie must have snogged her because they went out together and—”
I started humming in my head so I didn’t have to listen to this; it was making me feel quite sick.
Jas said, “Perhaps some kind of boys like tiny foreheads. Tom said that he knows a boy who is mad for girls who wear really thick glasses.”
Good grief. Still, at least, there was a chance for Nauseating P. Green.
Ellen was obviously in her own dream world.
“That mate of Tom’s—Speedy—asked me out when I was down the square, but, oh, I don’t know. It’s just, there is something. I mean, he’s nice but I still, you know, have feelings for…well, you know. Do you think?”
I said, “Can I ask you something, Ellen? What are you raving on about?”
I wished I hadn’t asked.
“I mean Dave the Laugh. Is he going out with Rachel still…or…er…what?”
Jas said, “He wasn’t with her when we saw him the other day, was he, Gee? Did he mention her when you went for a coffee?”
Oh shutupshutup about Dave the sodding Laugh.
Ellen was just about to start the “I didn’t know that you saw Dave the Laugh, what did you talk about, did he mention me? How come you went for a coffee with him?” scenario when Mabs saved my bacon(ish).
Mabs said, “How do you know that Masimo wants to see you?”
“Well, he asked me for my telephone number and I couldn’t give it to him because my head was about to drop off from redness. So he said ‘OK, Miss Hard to Get, I will see you later when I get back from America.’”
Ellen was looking at me. “So he said ‘see you later’ then?”
I said, “No, not just ‘see you later’ like in ‘see you later,’ but more—”
But Ellen was locked into her own ramblosity.
“Dave the Laugh said ‘see you later’ to me and I did the flicky hair and everything and dancing by myself and so on…and then he went off with Rachel.”
The gang started nodding wisely (not).
I said, “Yes, but Masimo said ‘see you later’ after I had become Mystery Woman.”
Rosie said, “‘Mystery Woman?’”
“Yes, after I had accidentally treated him to my glaciosity.”
Rosie had her face really close to mine.
“You are Mystery Woman?”
All the gang looked at me.
Jools said, “You are MYSTERY Woman?”
Then Mabs said, “YOU are Mystery Woman?”
What is this, a parrots’ convention?
Rosie said, “Mystery Woman. You are Mystery Woman. At least he doesn’t still think you’re Oooooooh My Boy Entrancers Have Stuck Together Woman?”
home
5:30 p.m.
Oh, boo. Now I have got the screaming heebie-jeebies and doubtosity all rolled into one. Perhaps Masimo says “See you when I get back, Miss Hard to Get” to everyone.
5:45 p.m.
Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, they take a turn for the worserer.
Grandad has canceled his cat duties because he is going on a bicycling tour to the Lake District. He says he has heard the call of the wild and is setting out tonight with his backpack.
I cannot believe the utter selfishosity of the elderly.
5:50 p.m.
Family “conference” (aka Dad shouting a lot).
We can’t think of anyone stupid…er…kind enough to look after Angus and Gordy.
6:15 p.m.
Mum has tried all her so-called aerobics friends and none of them will come over. I said to her, “Did you tell them about the mice cream incident?”
Of course she has, so she has only herself to blame.
6:30 p.m.
Sadly, I have also shown off about Angus and Gordy’s “adventures” and alluring little habits vis-à-vis woodland animals, pooing, etc. So none of my friends will have anything to do with them. Rosie said that Sven said he would look after Angus and Gordy in a cave he has found. But the whole idea of that is far, far too weird.
Vati said, “What about a cattery, then?”
That is when Angus came in with a spade. We all just looked at one another.
Vati said, “Well, there is only one thing for it. I am going to have to ask for a bit of neighborly support.”
7:15 p.m.
Dad went to Mr. Next Door first. As he went through the door he said, “Alfred and I have always had a bit of a understanding. I know we’ve had our differences vis-à-vis the damage Angus has done to his rhododendrons but—”
I said, “And when he rounded the Prat Poodles up and trapped them in the greenhouse.”
“Yes, well…”
“And then rode them round like little horsies.”
“Yes, well…”
“And the dog psychiatrist having to come in…”
Dad took his coat off.
7:25 p.m.
Dad said, “I’ll just pop across the road to Colin and, you know, see if maybe he could just keep an eye on feeding them.”
7:28 p.m.
Dad’s back. He said, “He laughed.”
Dad has slammed off to the pub to talk to Uncle Eddie and see if he knows any fools who might help us out.
7:33 p.m.
Doorbell rang. I looked down the stairs from the safety of my bedroom.
Mutti answered. Uh-oh. It was one of our beloved boys in blue. And as policemen go, he didn’t look pleased.
Now what? I scampered down the stairs next to my mutti to give her moral support. Although, as it happens, basooma support would have been more appropriate. Hasn’t she got one single piece of clothing that doesn’t reveal far too much flesh?
I put an interested look on my face. It’s the one I use when Hawkeye asks me where my homework is. It usually results in double detention, but you can’t have everything.
The constable looked at me, and it wasn’t his “guardian of the community and servant of the people” look. He said to Mum, “Good evening, madam, can you tell me if you know this person?”
And he held up Grandad’s O.A.P. card, the one with the photo of him with the earring in. Don’t ask.
Mum said, “Yes, it’s my father…. Oh my God, is he alright?”
The officer said, “Yes, he is, madam, but he is a danger to himself and others.”
I said, “You can say that again, Officer. I don’t need a helmet and truncheon to figure that out.”
Mum said, “Shut up, Georgia.”
Which I think is probably abusive behavior, but I let it go.
It turns out that for once, the officer was the bearer of glad tidings. Grandad had set out on his six-hundred-mile bike ride to the Lake District and fell off at the end of his street. But not before he knocked the policeman off his new community bike.
“I’d had it for only a week, madam.”
I tried to look concerned.
The policeman opened his notebook. “The gentleman we have now positively identified as your father was wearing Lycra shorts and kept falling off his bike. I asked him to walk a straight line.”
Mutti said, “Oh my goodness, had he been drinking?”
The officer said, “I don’t know, madam, but he refused to walk the line on account of an old war wound. Then he said”—the officer looked down at his notes again—“‘Do you want to come back to my place, Constable, and have one for the road?’”
You have to give Grandad full marks on the lunacy scale.
8:00 p.m.
The policeman radioed in to his station and Grandad was released from chokey after being charged with careless biking and not having a bell. Apparently the budgie bell he had sellotaped onto the handlebar doesn’t count.
He now has a criminal record.
Mum was all flustered and apologizing to the policeman as he went off.
“I am so sorry, Officer, I hope you can mend your bike and you haven’t been hurt at all.”
The policeman said, “No, well, I’m quite tough, madam.”
“Yes, well, you do seem very fit. I do a bit of aerobics myself, it’s awfully good for keeping in shape.”
The policeman winked at her—honestly!—and he said, “Yes, I can see that. Anyway, madam, I’d better be on my way.”
And then he said that classic thing that you only see on TV. He said, “Mind how you go, it’s a jungle out there.”
Mum practically wet herself with laughing; she is so so sad and embarrassing. After the policeman had gone I just looked at her and she said, “What? What?”
I said, “You know what. You were practically slavering over him.”
“Well, he was a nice young man—of course, far too young for me.”
Unbelievable!!!
in my bedroom
How very embarrassing my family is.
midnight
Still, on the plus side, Grandad’s cycling days are over and he can now be on house-burning-down duties for when we go to Hamburger-a-gogo land. Hurrah!!! And also zippety do dah!!!
tuesday may 17th
five days to hamburger-a-gogo land
evening
Oh, I just can’t stand this hanging around waiting to go on the Luuurve plane.
Come on come on!!!
I’ve been trying out arrival outfits. Boots or shoes? It’s hard to know what to do weatherwise. Also I may have to go from day wear to evening wear, depending on the time zone business. I am practicing speaking Hamburgese, even in my own head. The key seems to be to add stuff, so instead of weather you say weatherwise. Timewise. Day-wise. Luuurvewise, etc.
But on a more seriouswise note, this time business is v. v. aggravating fashionwise.
I said to Jas on the phone (she is opting for sensible sports casual for traveling), I said to her (Mistress of the Time Lords): “Are we flying backward in time or what?”
“Yeah, they are five hours behind us.”
“Why are they? Why can’t they just keep up with us? Didn’t we invent time?”
“What?”
“You know, Greenwich mean time—didn’t we invent it? So why don’t they just be the same as us?”
“Because they would be getting up in the middle of the night.”
“So?”
But you can’t reason with Jas.
wednesday may 18th
four days to hamburger-a-gogo land
evening
I am still in a ditherspaz about what to wear. I’ve been through all of my clothes about a million times.
Still, on the plus side I have definitely decided what to wear nailwise. I have chosen Pouting Pink.
I am absolutely full of exhaustosity.
Dragged myself downstairs for a reviving snack.
Grandad has come round for instructions about looking after the house and cats.
in the front room
Grandad started fiddling about in his pockets.
“I’ve got something for you.”
Oh joy unbounded. A boiled sweet.
I love him and everything, but why does he have to be so, you know, so grandad-ish?
The TV was on, with my extremely unfit vati lolling around in front of it. As I sat down to try and get my tights away from Gordy, Vati said, “Now then, Georgia, why don’t you tell me how much spending money you expect for the holiday. Then we’ll have a good laugh and go from there.”
Vair vair amusing. Sadly, I have to humor him though. I said, “Well, it’s only for a week, isn’t it? And we’ve got the hotel rooms and food and so on, so actually, all in all, I think a thousand quid would just about cover it if I don’t buy anything extravagant.”
Mum said, “Don't be silly, Georgia.”
Grandad said, “Do you remember when you took Georgia to the doctor's surgery when she was a couple of weeks old?”
Mum ruffled my hair (very annoying) and looked all nostalgic. “I remember every single thing about your life, darling girl. You've been a pleasure and joy to me from the moment you were born.”
Dad said, “Bloody hell, Connie, calm down.”
But Mum had gone off into mumland. “Do you know you had no hair when you were born, all baldy, like Uncle Eddie? So sweet.”
Oh God.
Grandad was still rambling on. “Yes, and there was that woman in the waiting room.”
Mum went, “Oooh yes, I'd forgotten her.”
Grandad said, “And she was looking in all the prams and going, 'Oooh, what a lovely baby,' and then she looked in at Georgia and said, 'Christ, look at the conk on this baldy one! Come and look!'”
What???
All the “grown-ups” were laughing.
Mum said, “Well, that's why I always used to stroke your nose every time I fed you so that I could sort of squeeze it into shape a bit.”
in my bedroom
I looked in the mirror. My nose had been fondled from birth and it was still like it was.
2:00 a.m.
Woke up from a dream where a customs official at the airport charged me excess baggage for my nose.
thursday may 19th
three days to hamburger-a-gogo land
in bed
I am sleeping on my back, and I have made a sort of splint for my nose out of elastoplasts and matchsticks so at least it can't grow anymore.
friday may 20th
8:00 a.m.
two days to hamburger-a-gogo land
Tore off the elastoplasts, ow bugger and ow and buggery ow. I hope Masimo appreciates what a lot of trouble I am going to, beautywise. Although unless my brain drops out I will not be telling him that I sleep in a nose splint.
Went down into the kitchen for brekky. Yip yip and three times yip, in fact yipyipyip!! Last day at Stalag 14 and then I set off on the grand adventure de LUUURVE.
bathroom
8:05 a.m.
I have been keeping up a daily plucking plan to keep the orangutan gene at bay. However, I may get Jas to do an impartial inspection of the backs of my legs, as it is useless being smoothy smooth on the front if you are chimpish at the back.
Lalala.
Massage in exfoliating products (Mum’s) and make small circles to slough off naughty old cells and leave skin like baby’s botty (without the poo).
The flight is eight hours so I should have just about enough time to apply my makeup, do my nails and then be ready to bump into Masimo in a casual and natural way.
lunchtime
As it is raining quite hard, for once we are allowed to loll around in the canteen. Sadly, that means we have spectacular sad sacks as company. The rest of the ace gang went to the loo to redo their hair—they are so vain, they are like a bunch of Chelsea footballers. I bagsied a table by putting all my things on five chairs and then pretended to be learning my part as MacDuff in MacUseless, just in case Nauseating P. Green saw me by myself and came to tell me about her hamsters. Or her new enormous glasses. Her being cast as Lady MacDuff is the worst thing that has happened. I think she thinks that we are actually man and wife. I was so busy pretending to read that I didn’t notice the whiff of tiny foreheadedness until it was too late. I looked up to see Wet Lindsay sitting down with her skungy mates at the table next to me.
She said, “Georgia, normal people need only one chair to sit on. Clear those bags up.”
I looked at her, and I was going to say something like “Normal people have a bit of skull between their eyebrows and their fringe,” but she was quite likely to give me detention even on the last day of term. So I let a small smile play around my lips and imagined her in her thong crashing into the sanitary towel dispenser like she did last term. Happy memories.
As I didn’t respond, she went back to talking absolute bollocks to her sad mates. I don’t know what was keeping the ace gang, unless Ellen had had another dither attack and fallen down in the lavatory. Or maybe Jas was chatting about her fringe.
I was unwrapping my lunchtime jammy dodger when I nearly fell off my chair. I could hear Lindsay whining on, whiney whine, and then she said, “Mas is having a great time in the States, he’s been gigging with a group in New York and—”
What? What??
I was interrupted by the gang arriving. They were all singing “My gosh I’m fit, but don’t I know it!” so loudly that I couldn’t hear anything else Wet Lindsay said.
4:15 p.m.
On the way home with Jas.
“Jas, HOW could he be in touch with her? Did he phone her? Why? Why?”
“Well, I don’t know, but he’s not…he’s not like your boyfriend, is he? And…”
“Jas, I hope you are not going to try and be reasonable, because then I really will have to kill you.”
bedroom
Oh, no, I am once more on the rack of love.
I must speak to the Hornmeister.
Even if I show no pridenosity, I must know what he thinks.
I can’t phone him now, though, in front of Mum. Why can’t I have a mobile phone???
Oh goddy god god.
5:00 p.m.
Libby has got her “boyfwen” Josh with her. Even my little sister has got a boyfriend. She and Joshy went off into her room and I could hear them murmuring and singing together.
Oh, I am so fed up.
5:15 p.m.
Mum is still pratting about; for once, when I wish she was out, she is in. Typico.
She said, “Why are you mooning around? What are you up to?”
Honestly.
5:20 p.m.
I can’t bear this tensionosity.
Libby came in to my room to sing me a new song that she has learnt at kindy. I notice that Josh has quite a lot of lipstick on. She cleared her throat and then began singing in her little but very piercing voice; the tune is the same one as for “Sex Bum.”
Quite quite delightful. She sang:
“Bum oley, bum oley, arsey
arsey bum bum.
Poopoo and bummy bum
bum arse!!”
Yes, that is what my little sister is learning at her kindy.
Songs about bottoms.
5:30 p.m.
I must speak to Dave.
Libby’s back in for another round of “Sex Bum.”
Oh good, Josh knows the words too.
6:00 p.m.
Mum had to quickly scrub Josh so that his mummy will let him play with Libby again. I don’t think Josh’s mum suspected anything when she collected him. But she hasn’t heard his lovely song yet.
7:00 p.m.
I HAVE to speak to Dave.
Crept downstairs. Mutti and Vati and Uncle Eddie are in the front room discussing the clown-car convention. When I listened at the door I could hear them raving on.
Vati was saying, “Apparently there is a Robin Reliant from the sixties that has its original wheel hubs.”
And Uncle Eddie said, “I’ve packed my special comedy underpants.”
Good grief.
I girded up my loins and dialed Dave’s number. What if he was with Rachel? That would be the coup de poo.
Oh, it’s ringing…maybe I should just…Then he answered the phone.
“Dave?”
“Bonsoir, it is he.”
“I must ask you something.”
“Is that you, Georgia? I’m afraid I never do phone sex. I think it cheapens things.”
“Dave, please…”
later
Feel a bit better. Dave can be really nice in an annoying way. He is off to a club night tonight and Dom from the Stiff Dylans will be there, so he’s going to find out what he can about Masimo and Wet Lindsay.
in my bedroom of pain
9:30 p.m.
Why can’t my life be simple?
And happy.
Tell me that, Jesus.
I have rescued Jesus from Libby and replaced him on my dressing table. I’ve taken off the frock that Libby put on but I can’t get the rouge off. He looks like he has a bit of a holiday tan. When was the last time I had fun?
Never, that’s when.
I don’t think I will ever laugh again.
in bed looking at the moon
11:00 p.m.
I wonder if Masimo is looking at the same moon as I am. Probably too busy thinking about Wet Lindsay to look at the moon.
I read one of the many many books that Mum buys to try and make herself a better person—I think it was called I’m OK, You’re OK, But What If We Only Think We Are OK But We Are Not Really OK? Anyway, whatever it was called, it said in the book that men like blond girls with sort of baby faces because they think they are babies and want to look after them.
Have I got a baby face?
Looking in the mirror.
Even when I was officially a baby and I did have a baby face you wouldn’t have known because my nose covered most of it.
I pushed the tip of it back with my finger.
Would boys like me better if I looked like a small pig with a bob?
Who knows?
Who cares?
11:20 p.m.
The fact is that Wet Lindsay has heard from Masimo and I haven’t.
And not one single person on the planet cares. That is the point, really—who does care?
If I just disappeared from the planet, who would really care?
11:25 p.m.
I bet if I committed suicide no one would notice for days. And then when I did get found they’d all be going: “Why did she do such a stupid thing? She was always so happy and cheerful and brave. She never complained.”
They would never suspect the deep sadnosity that had tainted my life.
11:30 p.m.
They might if I wrote a note spelling it out even for the very very dim. I got a piece of paper and started a suicide note.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I can’t go on any longer. Some people just cannot see beyond the superficial.
Maybe noses shouldn’t count, but they do. It is tragic that you cannot pick your own nose.
[Hang on a minute, that sounds a bit wrong, I’ll cross that out.]
People may say I am a crazy mixed-up confused teenager. Maybe they are right. Maybe they are wrong. Who are they, anyway?
I realize I am an embarrassment to you all. Grandad in particular has said this many times. But the fact is I am too sensitive for this life.
Good-bye, I love you all.
Georgia
P.S.
Don’t blame yourself, Dad. You have learned to live with your nose; I can’t.
I could imagine them all at my funeral. People crying, looking at the photos I had enclosed in the suicide note envelope. In particular that really nice one that Jas took of me in my groovy leather skirt and boots. My mum gazing at the photo and crying and saying, “But she was BEAUTIFUL. So beautiful, why didn’t she realize it??” A woman coming up and saying, “I am from a modeling agency…. Why, oh why did no one tell me about this girl? She is the most photogenic girl I have come across in all my long years of talent hunting.”
Them gazing at me in my coffin and crying…as they tried to force the coffin lid down over my nose!
Merde.
saturday may 21st
9:30 a.m.
Rereading my suicide note. I could kill myself now so as not to waste the note.
I can’t really be bothered, though. I’d have to get out of bed.
What is the point of going to Hamburger-a-gogo land? Or even thinking about Masimo if he isn’t interested in me and likes Old Thongy?
Anyway, what could I commit suicide with?
There aren’t any pills lying around the place because Mum and Dad are just too cheerful to bother getting any. And I’m not trying anything else, because it might hurt.
I could play really really sad music to get me in the mood.
Mozart or something.
I haven’t got any of that.
Vati has got some old Elvis records that might count.
10:00 a.m.
Cor. Shut up, Elvis, going on about not having a wooden heart.
10:30 a.m.
Anyway, there is so much noise coming from the bathroom, how I am supposed to concentrate on being depressed?
Vati is giving Angus a bath in preparation for our holidays.
I can hear him yelling, “Right, that’s it, it’s no use struggling, Angus my friend. You are going in that bath for a good scrub. You smell like a dustbin.”
The phone rang but no one answered it, of course, so I dragged myself downstairs.
It was Dave. Ohmygiddygod.
He said, “OK, this is the deal.”
At which point there was an enormous splash from the bathroom and my vati started shouting and swearing like the lunatic he is. “Buggering bastard bollocking bloody…bugger!!!”
Dave said, “What in the name of arse is going on?”
I was just about to apologize for my father, when he appeared at the bathroom door absolutely soaking. He had obviously fallen in the bath.
He looked at me and said, “Don’t say a bloody word.”
It was vair and thrice times vair amusant. I didn’t laugh, though, because a) I might be heartbroken and b) if I am not I might still want to go to Hamburger-a-gogo.
I whispered to Dave, “My vati has just been bathing Angus with a firm hand, but sadly he has fallen in the bath himself.”
Dave said, “I love your house. Anyway this is the deal. Masimo, the well known Italian homosexualist—”
“Dave…”
“Anyway, he sent a postcard to Dom and a couple to the other lads in the Stiff Dylans, and they all seem to have the same theme—you know, like, ‘I am a flash Italian git on my holidays’ type scenarios. Dom told Lindsay about the gigging in New York and so on. In my Hornmeister opinion you are in exactly the same position as you were yesterday.”
Thank you, thank you, God.
I said to Dave, “Oh, fanks, Dave. You are indeedy a pal of the first water.”
“And sexy beyond words.”
“And…sexy beyond words.”
11:15 a.m.
Phoned Jas.
“Jas, he didn’t get in touch with Thongy, he just sent a postcard to Dom, and Wet Lindsay pretended that he had got in touch with her!!! Hahahahaha, how pathetico she is. Hasta la vista, baby!!!”
I slammed down the phone so that Jas couldn’t spoil my mood by rambling on about Hunky.
Oh, I luuurve life!
And the Italian Stallion.
And I quite like Dave the Laugh.
In a laughy way.
If I have time in between snogging I may send him a postcard.
12:10 p.m.
Ditherspaz attack on the clothes front.
I said to Mum as she came in to hand me some clean “panties”: “I have not got one single thing to wear.”
She didn’t even bother to reply, she just looked meaningfully at my two cases, one of which I was sitting on to try and make shut.
12:20 p.m.
Maybe one set of boy entrancers will be enough to last me the week? That would save a bit of space.
12:24 p.m.
Nope, I still can’t shut the lid of one of my suitcases. Vati has relented and let me take two cases, but he will have a nervy b. if I ask for another one.
Maybe I can make do with just eight pairs of shoes?
Oh, the tension, the tension.
12:30 p.m.
There’s a horrible scratching and banging against my bedroom door. Angus is doing his paws thing under the door. Oh God.
I said, “Go away, Angus, this is a cat-free zone.”
I’m not having him in here dropping his bat ears and so on on my clean things.
12:45 p.m.
He will not go away. If I didn’t know better I would say that he sensed we are going away. This is driving me insane. Now Gordy is putting his paws under the door as well.
I got up and opened the door. Gordy was on his back wriggling around with his pretend mouse pal, but Angus was just sitting there looking at me with his tongue lolling out.
And foam coming out of his mouth.
Honestly.
The foam was frothing all over his face and dripping onto the carpet.
My God, he has got rabies!
1:00 p.m.
It turns out that Angus has eaten his bath-soap.
2:00 p.m.
Hurrah hurrah and total result, Grandvati has given me twenty squids for my holidays.
Vati said, “Oh well, that is a score less I have to give you.”
Is he mad?
I said to Mum, “Mum, that’s not fair, is it? I mean…it means that Grandvati hasn’t really given me twenty squids. No, what it means is this: Grandvati HAS given me twenty squids out of his little tiny tiny pension-type money and Dad has STOLEN it from him. And another thing…”
2:15 p.m.
Relentless moaning strikes again!!!
Vati yelled at me, “Go on, then. Go and waste the money, just don’t give a second thought to the hours it takes me to make the stuff.”
I said, “Okeydokey, I won’t.”
As I went out of the door to go and spendies my squids I said, “S’later, Mum. I don’t know whether to get another mood ring or a piercing.”
I slammed the door before my father could explode.
6:30 p.m.
Two new eyeshadows and a flavored lip gloss. I wonder if Masimo likes strawberry flavor. I’ve got raspberry as well. Maybe I should mix them for that fruit cocktail–type snogging experience. Perhaps I should have got some custard flavor lip gloss as well. Shutup, brain.
7:00 p.m.
Loon village at my house.
Jas has come round to stay overnight. Her eyes are like little piggie eyes because of the “Bye-bye, Hunky” scenario. What a great laugh NOT she is going to be. I’m sure she will perk up, though, when we are driving through Hamburger-a-gogo and she gets the smell of bucking broncos and beans in her nostrils.
Jas’s dad actually said something when he dropped her off. He said, “Take care, my little love. Have a great time.”
And then he said this really really touching thing to Jas that nearly made me weep. He said, “Here’s a bit of extra cash, get something nice.”
7:10 p.m.
It was Hug City when Mr. and Mrs. Jas left. Unfortunately it started Jas on an uncontrollable crying jag AGAIN. She is going to have to be more rufty tufty if she wants to survive this Vale of Tears we call life.
7:30 p.m.
Mutti has made us an unusually normal and nutritious meal, and Jas managed to stop sniffling enough to stuff down forty-five pounds of shepherd’s pie.
my bedroom
8:30 p.m.
We are doing our last-minute emergency packing check. It is not made very easy by Gordy pouncing on my hand every time I move it. I will be glad when Gordy can run free and wild. He will be allowed out when we get back and he can get rid of his pent-up kittykat aggression on the Prat Poodles and voles and so on.
As I predicted, Jas has got an insane amount of “panties” with her. I said, “Are you expecting a worldwide famine on the botty hugger front?”
But she was rambling on about Hunky again.
“What if he meets someone else in Kiwi-a-gogo land? A Maori or something?”
Before I could join in she went raving on.
“He has given me a love token. Do you want to see it?”
“Jas, if it’s some sort of secret tattoo thing like last time, I don’t really want to see—”
I might just as well be speaking to myself.
“It’s a sort of secret tattoo thing. Like last time. Look.”
Is it normal to have a secret tattoo of two voles kissing? “No” is the answer you are looking for. Jas has one, though.
On her bottom. Suddenly, the enormous botty huggers make all kinds of sense to me.
“Tom made the tracing in technical drawing and then he inked it in. He’s got a similar one on his—”
“Jas, Jas…please leave it out. I am trying to make sure I have not forgotten anything essential like something to kill you with.”
But secretly I am vair vair happy because I am almost on the LUUURVE trail and nothing Jas does can upset me.
I said, “Stop thinking about Hunky now. We must have a plan. As soon as we land we will get a bus timetable to see what bus we must catch for Manhattan.”
“You have to catch a Greyhound.”
“Jas, I am not riding a dog all the way to New York.”
“It’s an American bus-type thingy, and anyway, I am not going to Manhattan.”
“Yes you are, Jazzy Spazzy.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Jas, if you go on being so vair vair silly I will have to confiscate some of your botty huggers.”
She got the mega hump then and wouldn’t even cheer up when I made an amusing hat out of her pink-spotted panties.
8:45 p.m.
There was a mad ringing at the door.
Grandvati and his “girlfriend” Maisie are here. I said hello to the elderly loons, and when they went off into the front room to talk to Dad about their cat duties I followed Mum into her bedroom.
She said, “I’m really looking forward to this trip, aren’t you? I wonder if we will bump into George Clooney. I hope we do! He’s so…woof woof.”
I said, “Mum, excuse me if I am right, but did you just bark like a dog?”
She laughed. “Well, you know, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? And he might really like English women.”
“Mum, do you really think it is likely that George Clooney is going to be at a clown-car convention?”
Mum said, “Well, he’s got lots of hobbies; he’s got a pet pig.”
I despair for her sanity.
To bring her back down to real life I asked her something that had been bothering me a lot.
“I hope that you will tell Grandad that Maisie cannot stay overnight. We don’t want our reputation tarnished.”
Mum laughed but not in an amused way.
I said, “Well, at least hide the matches.”
She ignored me as she zipped up her suitcase, singing the theme to ER. She clearly is dreaming about driving around with George in a clown car. Possibly with his pet pig as chauffeur.
9:00 p.m.
Next to arrive was Uncle Eddie. Joy unbounded. Uncle Eddie has a Hawaiian shirt like Dad’s. Hurrah! I am going on holiday with two porky surfers.
Uncle Eddie gave Dad a high five and said, “Hello hello hello, big up for the lads.”
Oh lordy lordy.
I went to the loo, and when I came back into the room, Dad and Uncle Eddie and Grandad were wearing blond Afro wigs.
Why?
It all became hideously clear when Dad said, “Let the ‘Hello America’ Abba tribute begin.”
Oh nooo.
9:15 p.m.
Me and Jas are holed up in my room whilst the grown-ups are singing “Waterloo.” I said to her, “This is a good opportunity for you to nip downstairs and start ringing people in New York, New York called Scarlotti.”
She didn’t even bother to stop straightening her fringe.
9:28 p.m.
Another ring of the doorbell.
Sound out the bells of England: it was the ace gang. Yesssss!!! Even Jas forgot she was having a grumpathon.
Jools, Rosie, Mabs and Ellen all gave the time-honored Klingon salute. Rosie said, “We’re not staying, because we are going to the Catfish for a bop, but we have come with a message of wisdomosity.”
Oooohhh, how sweet.
They said all together: “Have a good time ALL of the time.”
And then Rosie said, “Bon voyage and also Bon Jovi. See you in the next life, don’t be late.”
One farewell burst of disco inferno and they were gone.
in the hall
9:30 p.m.
Jas went back to her fringe-straightening duties in my bedroom, but as the olds were singing along to “Dancing Queen” I quickly phoned international directory enquiries. The lady operator had not been facilitated into the mystery of helpfulnosity, because when I politely said, “Good evening, would you connect me to anyone in New York, New York, who has the surname Scarlotti?” she said, “Don’t be so bloody silly.” And put the phone down.
This is what the British empire has come to.
in bed
11:05 p.m.
Jas needn’t have gone to all the trouble of making a lesbian barrier of pillows, because Libby has come into the bed in the middle of us.
Uncle Eddie has taken Maisie home on his motorbike and Grandvati is sleeping in Libby’s bedroom.
11:10 p.m.
Libby is in the middle of Jas and me. She is looking from one to the other of us. Smiling. With no front teeth.
I don’t trust this smiling business.
Libby was turning her head from side to side, looking at Jas and then looking at me.
I must make her go to sleep. I said, “Night-night then, Bibsy; time for boboland. Shall I sing you a little nighttime song?”
“No.”
ten minutes later
She won’t stop turning her head from side to side, saying, “Naaaiiice, naaiiice.”
It’s very unnerving.
Then she just suddenly fell asleep. Just kajonk. Asleep. No yawning, just unconscious. How strange is that? How do they do that, the toddly-type people, the instant-falling-asleep thing?
Jas whispered to me, “I will never get to sleep. I’m just thinking and thinking about Tom.”
Then she just went kajonk asleep. She is vair vair superficial.
Oh God. Anyway, I am never going to get to sleep either, as I am so excited beyond the valley of the excited and into the…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz