sunday march 13th
I have accidentally come on a nature ramble with my “family.” That is how upset I am. And the nature ramble involved getting into the clown car in order to get into nature. This should give you some idea of my state of sheer desperadoes. Vati had his World War II flying helmet on and his goggles. It was vair vair sad and tragic.
I slumped down in the back of the Clown-mobile. I even let Libby make me look “niiiiice.” Her idea of looking nice is not the same as most other human beings’ (apart from pygmies). She tied my hair in little pigtails with bits of wool. But I don’t care. My life is over and I am a mad toddler’s playdough person.
Vati was in an appallingly good mood. When two women were walking along (practically at the same speed as the clown car), he wound down the window and shouted, “Your big day is here, ladies, the Sex Bomb is officially in his car.”
Oh God it was soo humiliating.
I said to Mum, “I don’t think Dad’s medication is working, Mum.”
2:00 p.m.
Eventually we arrived in “nature,” which to some might look like a boring old field in the middle of nowhere. I’d only come to get away from the tension of not answering the telephone. If I had stayed at home and the phone rang, I wouldn’t be able to answer it in case it was Dave the Laugh apologizing. But then if it didn’t ring, I would be indoors waiting all day knowing that he hadn’t rung and I hadn’t been able to ignore him.
2:20 p.m.
The only bright spot of the day was the sight of Vati jogging off into the fields like a fat mountain goat. I was just sitting in the back of the clown car waiting for my life to be over. Mum and Libby were eating a picnic, Libby in her attractive country costume of furry coat and rabbit hat. Unfortunately I am only too well aware that beneath the furry coat lurks her nuddy-pants outfit, pray God there will be no poo business in the car.
Dad was cavorting around looking interested in nature, yelling, “Oh my word, there is some cuckoo spit,” or “Voles!!” when suddenly he just disappeared from view. Completely gone. I thought about yelling “Thank you Baby Jesus, it’s a miracle!!” But I am still hoping for a bit of a result from the Lord, so I restrained my delight.
Mum got out of the car and tore off across the field, shouting “Bob, Bob, where are you, darling?”
I could hear a muffled yelling. I supposed I had better go and see what had happened to the Portly One. Libbs and I ambled over to where Mum was looking down. And there he was, up to his armpits in a hole.
Even though I am in the depths of despairiosity and so on, it did make me laugh. A LOT. Dad was all red and shoutey. “It’s a bloody badger hole!!”
That made me go uncontrollably spazoid.
As Mutti pulled him out, he was all grumpy, like the very psychotic get.
“They’re a bloody menace. Badgers. I am going to inform someone of this. I could have injured myself quite badly. It’s not funny.”
As Mutti helped him back to the clown car, I said, “I think you should write to someone, Vati, and have badgers banned. Whilst you are at it get beavers banned because they may have been in cahoots with the badgers; they may have encouraged them to dig that hole for a laugh, and—”
“Shut up, Georgia.”
Oh that’s nice, isn’t it. Mutti was inwardly laughing but restrained herself on the way home. She had to drive the clown car because Vati was incontinent. Or do I mean incompetent? Both I think.
At home she made him some tea whilst he lay groaning and moaning on the sofa.
5:00 p.m.
I was in the kitchen hanging around and Angus was doing his famous staring at the door trick. I’m not falling for it, though. He sits and looks all longingly at the door for ages. Just staring and staring at it. Eventually some poor fool gets up and goes to open it for him. Angus looks out and then he looks at you, then he looks back at the outside. And you can see him thinking, “Nah, I won’t bother now.”
It’s very annoying. Mum was cutting the crusts off toast for Dad. Which she never does for me. I said to her, “Hey Mutti, if someone discovers that Vati just floods people’s homes as a job, and he gets the sack from the Water Board, he could always get a job as a badger finder. Say you wanted to know where the badgers were in a field; well, you just set Vati off walking and when he disappears from view you know there is a badger there.”
still only 8:00 p.m.
It’s so dark and gloomy. Like life. No phone calls.
I HATE Dave the Laugh.
Even though it is very nippy noodles, I can’t bear being cooped up in the house. I thought I’d go sit on the garden wall and try to calm down.
I was just sitting there in my big coat and scarf and hat in the streetlight, looking at all the houses where other people were doing stuff. Roasting chestnuts, snogging, etc., when Oscar, Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road’s son, came out onto his driveway on his bike. He was doing wheelies and all that pointless boy stuff that they do. Making the bike hop along, braking really suddenly, sitting on the seat backward and steering it behind his back. All boys are mad as snakes—which is why I must train myself up for lesbianism, even if it involves growing a mustache. If it involved growing a beard under each arm, I was practically home and dry. The orangutan gene is not having a winter vacation.
Anyway, Oscar saw me watching him and he winked at me. I just looked at him. What is he winking for? Then he winked again. Is he in training for owldom? He shouted over, “Do you fancy it then?”
Pardon? I said, “What?”
What is he talking about?
He leant back against his bike and crossed one leg over the other in what I imagine he thinks is a casual way.
He said, “Me and you.”
“Me and you what?”
“You know…getting it on.”
“Pardon?”
“You know, letting the monster out of the bag, setting free the trouser snake.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I said, “Oscar, forgive me if I’m right but you are twelve.”
“I know, but I like older women.”
Unbelievable. Now I am being propositioned by toddlers—soon it will be Josh, Libby’s little mate from nursery school.
Oscar was still winking at me whilst I was staring at him when Mark Big Gob came by on his way out. Oh brilliant. He said, “Clear off, Oscar, bedtime.” Oscar looked hard, but he cleared off all the same, saying, “Yeah, well, I was going to go in, I’ve got a chick phoning me. Dig you later.”
Has he gone completely mad?
Mark Big Gob looked at me—or rather, he looked at my nungas.
“You’re looking cool, Georgia. Why don’t you come for a walk with me Tuesday? I’ll be out by the back field at eight o’clock. See you then.”
I was just going “What??? What???” in my mind, but nothing was coming out of my mouth.
As if!!! Meet him in the back field???? As if!!!!!
What had happened to his tiny girlfriend??
Anyway, it didn’t matter what happened to her, as if I would meet him by the back field or anywhere.
Boys are truly unbelievable.
monday march 14th
break
All huddled up in our Antarctic weatherproof tepee behind the five’s court. (The ace gang get all our coats and button them to each other around us, like a coat tepee.) Mmmm, nice and snug, but it does mean you can’t use your arms. We put the snacks in the middle of us inside the coat tepee. You have to eat them blind, grabbing stuff from any bag you can feel and forcing two fingers with the snack in them through the communal neck hole. Tricky if you all try to do it at the same time.
Rosie said, “That was a vair vair good party. I didn’t get to bed until eight A.M. and then I had to get up at ten because of my olds coming back.”
Ellen said, “I thought your olds were, you know, cool with you having parties.”
Rosie said, “Oh they are, it’s just that there were a lot of rogue sausage snacks to round up after Sven did his famous ‘Let’s go down the disco’ dance on the cocktail cabinet.”
Jools said, “Leslie Andrews is covered in lovebites, she is six inches deep in panstick and she still looks like she has been attacked by lemmings. She tried to wear a polo neck sweater in games, but Miss Stamp made her take it off and then tutted for England when she saw the state of her neck.”
Oh rave on, who cares about the stupid party? I don’t want to talk about it. In a fit of subtlosity I said, “What shall we get as a thoughtful leaving gift for Elvis? Handcuffs? A straitjacket? A T-shirt with ‘I am a complete and utter tosser’ written on it?”
However, I was ignorez-voused and Jools said, “You left early, Gee. Why…did you have the painters in?”
Jas looked at me. She is still not officially talking to me since the hat over the stupid head scenario.
Everyone looked at me.
Stop looking at me in that lookingy way.
Ellen said, “I am soo upset about Dave the Laugh. I thought he might have got over the thingy, you know, Horn stuff, but then he…you know, brought that girl, you know…er…”
Rosie said, “Rachel.”
Ellen said, “No, I’m, I mean I’m Ellen I you…”
Rosie said, “Ellen, get a grip…the girl, Dave’s Horn mate, she is called Rachel.”
Ellen went dithering on, “Yes, I mean Rachel, I couldn’t believe it when he turned up with her.”
I said, “I know.”
Ellen was rambling on for England (taking over from Jas, all-time world rambling champion). “I mean, you know, he’s supposed to be like a great guy…”
I said, “Yeah…he’s supposed to be a great guy but actually he’s a sniveling wormy-type guy who leads people on and he…then he…”
Everyone was looking at me (a bit cross-eyed because our heads were so close together). Oh dear, I have slightly blown my glacial disinterest in Dave. I thought quickly; “I mean, it’s not fair…on Ellen, is it?”
I said it like I was a great pal. Jas said in her mind, “You skunk girl.” So I said telepathically back to her, “Shut up, Wilderness Woman.”
home
6:38 p.m.
The kittykats are going to be sent away!! Mr. Across the Road came round partly to talk about the Lord of the Rings party they are going to have. He said, “I’m going as Gandalf and Oscar is thinking about going as a hobbit.” Hmm, that’s attractive in a twelve-year-old nymphomaniac. I let a smile play around my lips at the thought of my dad in green tights. However, Mr. Across the Road—who has taken an unfair dislike to me for some reason—said viciously, “I’ve found homes for six of those monstrous things, God help the people they are going to, but I can’t find anyone stupid enough to have the seventh, so it’ll have to go to the vets.”
Go to the vets??? I knew what that meant. One of the kittykats was headed for the big cat basket in the sky…. After he had lumbered off, Dad settled down on the sofa to read his newspaper. Angus was snoozing in front of the fire.
I said to Dad, “Dad, did you hear that??? Please, please can we save the kittykat, think how upset Angus will be. In fact I think he understands every word we say and he knows what Mr. Across the Road the kittykat abuser said. Look, look, Dad, I think he’s crying.”
Unfortunately at that moment Angus woke up and leapt straight through the newspaper Dad was reading, tearing it completely in half. Dad got hold of Angus, who also had surprised himself with his insane leap, and flung him across the room. Of course, old nimble paws landed on his feet and ambled off.
Dad was full of lividosity. He said, “Absolutely not in a million years, never, ever, not ever, do you get it, Georgia, NO.”
7:00 p.m.
In the kitchen Mutti was pretending to iron something. I said, “Mutti, that’s an iron, you know, they can get quite hot.”
She said, “Shut up.”
in my bedroom
7:15 p.m.
Libby was just doing a spot of housework; she has a handbrush and she brushes and mutters to herself; she was saying “Bloody thing, bloody thing” as she worked. Obviously gaining her knowledge from my parents. When I lay down on my bed of pain she came and nuzzled me; “Georgia, Georgie Porgy…I LOBE you, kissy kiss kiss.”
I wish she had more snot control. I told her, “Angus’s kittykats have to go away.”
She said, “NO.”
I said, “Maybe Mummy will let you have one if you ask her.”
Libby gave me a very very scary smile and toddled off with her brush.
I heard her clanking down the stairs singing, “Mummy, Muuuummmmmmeeeeee.”
ten minutes later
I can hear mumbling going on in the kitchen. Libby said, “Nice Muummmeee.”
I couldn’t hear what Mum was saying but I could tell she was using a reasoning sort of voice.
Then there was banging and shouting. Mutti yelled, “No Libby. Stop that!! No biting and not on my best…oh hellfire!!”
10:00 p.m.
Our new kittykat is called Gordon. Libby LOBES Gordon very much. She has put him in his pajamas and tucked him up with me and her other toys. He is very very gorgey but he is a bit on the cross-eyed side.
Gordy is happily sucking on Libby’s dodie and all is quiet.
tuesday march 15th
Gordy woke up at six A.M. and crawled under my chin like a little ginger beard. He is so adorable.
7:00 p.m.
Stalag 14 was indescribably boring today. We had Blithering Heights followed by double French. I told the ace gang about the absolute cheek of Oscar and Mark Big Gob.
Jas pretended to be giving me her icy shoulders, but even she got interested when I described Oscar looning around trying to get off with me. She said, “Were you wiggling your hips like in the book?”
“Jas, I was sitting down on the wall; anyway, he’s twelve.”
She looked all Wise Woman of the Forestish (i.e., stupid).
“Perhaps you were doing internal hip wiggling.”
What is she raving on about?
Still, she is talking to me by mistake and so I win the glaciosity game hahahaha.
7:45 p.m.
I don’t know why I have applied makeup to stay in my room.
Mutti and Vati have got Uncle Eddie round and a few of their crap mates. Uncle Eddie popped his head round my door almost blinding me with the glare from his baldiness.
I began to say, “Er, Uncle Eddie, this is a loon-free zone…” but he said, “What has a hundred legs and can’t walk?”
“Uncle Eddie, I am sixteen years old, I—”
“Fifty pairs of trousers…hahahahah it’s the way I tell ’em!”
And he looned off to the loon gathering.
I cannot have any peace. I am forced out of my own home because of the high loon count.
7:59 p.m.
I crept out of the house into the back garden. I would just see if Mark Big Gob has the audacity to turn up for our “date.” And I can tell him to bugger off.
8:00 p.m.
He’s not there. God, even someone I was going to stand up has stood me up before I had a chance to stand them up.
8:02 p.m.
Mark Big Gob came out of the shadows smoking a fag. He really has got the biggest gob known to humanity. He said, “You’re keen.”
How annoying is that. I was going to say, well, actually I was just here to tell you to bugger off, when he said, “Fancy a fag?”
Er…
I said, “No thanks, I only smoke cigars.”
What am I talking about?
He held out his hand.
“Come on then.”
I honestly have no control over any part of my body, because even though I had no intention of doing it, I took his hand. Which was a mistake in very many ways, mostly because I had forgotten that I am taller than him and I have long arms. So I had to do the crouchy orangutan thing to keep at the same height as him.
Anyway, we loped off up the hill, it was bloody dark and extremely nippy noodles. I had worn my big cardigan, but I still felt a bit chilly because it only buttoned up halfway. Mark is not a big talker and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. We got up to the bit at the top we call the bushes; it’s really snog headquarters. There was no one there tonight, though. Mark let go of my hand and put his fag out. Then he alarmed me by putting his hand round the back of my neck and pulling me to him quite roughly. Blimey. Just as I was deciding what to do he shoved his tongue in my mouth. No warmsy upsies, not even “My your skin is looking nice,” or “What a lovely blouse.” Not even a nodding acquaintance with one two three four on the snogging scale.
It wasn’t that nice actually. His tongue had more than a passing similarity to Angus’s. Not that I have snogged Angus, but there has been the odd occasion when he has licked my face and the tongue has inadvertently slipped into my gob. I didn’t quite know what to do with my tongue or my teeth. My tongue was sort of being forced back to keep out of the way of his. For one horrible moment I wondered if there was something called “tonsil snogging” that no one had told me about. Mark seemed to be enjoying it even if I wasn’t. He was sort of groaning and holding me really close. I was just thinking I might try and get my hands free (they were sort of trapped in between us) when Mark did this thing. He stuck his hand (which was freezing) down the front of my T-shirt and into my nunga-nunga holder. Number eight, upper-body fondling!! Actually it gave me such a shock that I jumped back and Mark was left off balance; he stumbled into the bushes. He came out a minute later covered in twigs. He didn’t look pleased.
He said, “What did you do that for?”
I said, “Well. Er, it was all a bit…I don’t know that I want you to…”
He lit a fag and said, “What did you come here for…a chat?”
I said, “Well…I…”
What did I come here for? Very good question. Excellent point, well made. Boredom mostly, I suppose. I didn’t think I should say that. Mark seemed really angry. He said, “Do you go all the way or not?”
I said, “Well, no I…”
Mark started walking off. “Girls like you make me sick.”
And he was gone. I was left at the top of the hill alone. What had I done now? I felt really weird. And lonely.
I walked back down the hill. When I went through our gate, Angus was lying in wait and pounced on my trousers round the ankle. With a heavy heart and even heavier trousers I dragged him indoors.
midnight
What does Mark mean, “girls like me”?
wednesday march 16th
Walking to school with Jas.
“Jas, what number have you got up to with Hunky?”
She went all red and girlish. “Er…”
“Come on, Jas, I tell you everything.”
Jas said, “I know and I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Jas.”
“Well. Er, when we went camping we, you know, had a bit of quality time together.”
“Snogging time you mean?”
“Well yes.. we, er, got up to six and a half.”
“Ear snogging…is that all?”
She got huffy then and started adjusting her knickers. “There is more to life than snogging, you know.”
I said, “Oh yeah like what, going off into the forest snuffling out truffles?”
“Pigs do that.”
“Yeah, and your point is?”
Jas said I am being all mean and moody because of Dave the Laugh, but what she doesn’t know is that it’s not just Dave the Laugh, it’s Oscar, and now Mark Big Gob as well. I feel all ashamed somehow. Like I am tainted love.
break
Rosie and I managed to escape the storm troopers (Wet Lindsay and her pathetico pals). Jas wants to read her book about twig houses, so she has gone off to the five’s court with the other girlie swots. Hawkeye insists that we have windows open, even in Antarctic conditions. She says it is good for us but she also says reading absolute bollocks is good for us, so I don’t trust her. It is, after all, she who thinks that Blithering Heights, as we call it, is a “classic.” When in fact it is a load of Yorkshire people hurling themselves around a moor in the wind singing “Heathcliff, it’s me Katheeee come home again.” And so on. We’ve only read three pages and already I want to slit my wrists. Anyway, where was I before I so rudely interrupted myself? Oh yes, so because Hawkeye has windows open all over the school, we could get in through the Science block window.
Once we got in, we lit a few Bunsen burners for warmth. Voley is still here in his little pickling jar forever waving at us. I said, “Hello, Voley, my dad fell down a badger hole.”
I thought he would like to know the news from the forest, even though he has been pickled for years.
Rosie was trying to toast a bit of banana over the naked flame of a Bunsen burner. I sensed a burning-down-the-Science-block situation but I didn’t want to spoil her girlish high spirits by saying anything. Also I had just got myself all snuggled up in some science overalls. I decided to tell Rosie about Mark Big Gob.
She listened and said, “He is clearly a knob head, but you knew that. Forget it; we have more important things to think about. There is a lot of work to do at school, and this is a very important term.”
I looked at her in amazement. “Rosie, please tell me you are not talking about exams and it’s not the way you run the race but the winning that counts.”
She gave me the famous cross-eyed look. “Do not be a twit and a fool and a prat. I’m talking about our plans for Mr. Attwood’s leaving do.”
hockey
I did actually cheer up in games. There is nothing like socking a bit of concrete about a pitch and smacking shins with my hockey stick to get the juices flowing. Additionally, Nauseating P. Green was goalie, which is a guaranteed laugh. It is funny enough seeing her lumbering around in huge pads picking the ball out of the back of the net but the pièce de résistance was when she fell over on her back and couldn’t get up. Like a big tortoise waving her shin pads about. She finally managed to get up after about ten minutes and just as she was on her feet a ball whizzed in and hit her in the tummy and down she went again.
Cruel, but funny.
jas’s place
5:00 p.m.
Jas and Hunky are going on this wilderness thing this weekend, so Jas made me go up to her room and look at the stuff she is taking with her. Good grief, the things I do for friendship.
Her room is ludicrously tidy, all her soft toys arranged in size order. Very sad. I said that as I looked around. “Very very sad.”
But the Wild Woman of the Forest was too busy rooting around in her wardrobe. She was all enthusiastic.
“Look at these. They are my special army-issue waterproof trousers; even if I like, accidentally fell into a swamp I would still have dry legs.”
I looked at the hideous yellow things. “Are you sure those are not just massive incontinence knickers, Jas?”
She was just rambling on as if I wasn’t there, which actually in my mind I wasn’t.
On and on, completely gone off to Jas land.
“You should get yourself a hobby, Gee, and then you wouldn’t end up throwing yourself at boys and losing your dignity.”
How annoying is she?
Vair vair and thrice vair annoying.
6:00 p.m.
After about a million years of looking at really dull bits of Wellington boot, etc., I slouched off home.
I am so sick of walking. Walk, walk, walk that’s all I ever do. I’ll wear my legs out at this rate. To pass the time I did what I used to do as a kid. I pretended to be riding a horse. I galloped along tossing my head about and saying “Giddyup” and flicking a pretend whip. The bit between the bottom of Jas’s road and my house was very quiet, so I really let my horse (Dark Star) have his head. I flicked at his haunches with my whip and felt the wind on my face and the freedom of the hills. “Yes, yes, ride on my beauty!” I pulled Dark Star to a halt so that we could cross the road, which was just as well, as across the road was Cad of the Universe. Dave the Laugh. Oh brilliant. Thank you, God. My head was practically dropping off from redness and I hadn’t any lip gloss on because I had given up on boys.
I crossed the road and walked past him. I treated him with total glaciosity. He said, “Come on, Georgia, talk to me.”
“What can you possibly have to say to me?”
I walked on. At least I haven’t got ginger hair. Although with my luck, I probably have hair that is sticking out at right angles after my galloping fiasco. As usual, though, Dave kept on. He tends to ignore me ignoring him, which is annoying. He put his arm through mine.
“Georgia, look at me, come on, Sex Kitty, don’t get the megahump. We weren’t going out officially, were we? You couldn’t make your mind up, then I met Rachel and she was keen…well, she is after all only human…”
I looked at him with a “don’t even bother” look. He smiled.
“Can’t we be friends? We’ve always had a laugh together.”
I felt my heart melting. He was right really, we hadn’t been officially a couple, and he was a laugh to have around. I found myself going for a coffee with him and telling him all about Mark Big Gob. Dave the Laugh said, “He really is an enormous twit of the first water.”
It sort of made it better when he said it. I know that Rosie had said the same, but it seemed different when a boy-type person said it. As we left the coffee bar and walked along arm in arm, he stopped and took my chin in his hand. (I don’t mean he snapped it off my face and held it.) He just sort of lifted my face up to his and gave me a little kiss really gently on the lips. I could feel the jelloid knees coming on. Damn!
As I walked off, he called back to me, “Don’t worry about Mark Big Gob. I’ll have a word.”
home
Oh joy unbounded, Cousin James is coming to stay overnight. I said to Mutti, “Why?”
And she said, “He’s family.”
I said reasonably, “Mutti, what does that mean—does it mean that if Hitler was my cousin we would have to have him around?”
She got all parenty. “Now you are being ridiculous. Go and do your homework. Oh, and don’t have a bath—Gordy has done a cat poo in there. I’ll have to clean it up.”
Gordy has done a cat poo in the bath??!! Why would he scramble all the way up the sides of the bath just to do a poo, when he has his own personal cat poo tray in the outhouse? Anyway, how could he get up the sides of the bath? Either Libby gave him a leg up, or Angus helped him. I bet it was Angus. When I went into my bedroom Angus was curled up on my cardigan cleaning himself. I wish he wouldn’t do botty grooming on my things. I said to him, “You are quite literally a crap dad, Angus. You wait until Gordy starts staying out all night creating mayhem; you’ll be sorry.”
Angus fell into a light doze as I was telling him off. Anyway, why would he be worried about Gordy staying out all night creating mayhem? That’s what he does himself. It’s his job.
9:00 p.m.
Doorbell rang.
No one answered it, of course. Mum and Libby (and I think from the yowling, Angus and Gordy) are all in the bath. I don’t know how they can bear to go in there. I personally will never be having another bath in this lifetime, not even if Mum has cleaned it with nitroglycerin.
Ring, ring on the bell.
9:10 p.m.
I shouted out.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it, I’ve only got exams in two weeks, but you just lie around and relax.”
Tramp tramp.
If I get all the way down and it’s Cousin James and I have to speak to him I will have a nervy spaz.
9:11 p.m.
I opened the door and it was Mark Big Gob. Crikey. He looked a bit shifty and nervous.
“Georgia, I’ve got something to say about the other night.”
He wasn’t going to have another attempt at storming my nunga-nunga holders, was he?
I said warily, “Oh yes, what is it?”
“Well, I’m, I’m…”
I’m what? The Count of Monte Cristo? Stupid? Wearing false lips? What???
Mark said, “I’m sorry, I apologize.”
Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers. Then I noticed he had a swelling on his mouth and a split lip. Cripes, was his mouth expanding even more, like the Incredible Hulk?
He said, “Do you accept my apology?”
How weird was this? I felt like I was in a film. One of those really old-fashioned films where everyone wears pantaloons. Like Gone with the Wind. Maybe I should say, “Why sir, thank you kindly for apprising me of your feelings. I do declare I have never seen tighter pantaloons!!”
But I didn’t get into the film thing because Mark is not the brightest button on the cardigan. I said, “Er…yes, well yes.”
As he shuffled off, Mark turned round and said, “Will you let your mate know I’ve been round?”
“What mate?”
“You know, Dave.”
Then he went off.
Wow!
And three times wow. In fact wowzee wowzee wow.
What had Dave the Laugh done?
9:15 p.m.
Phoned Rosie and told her.
She was very impressed; she loves the smack of violence.
She said, “Hmmm, my kind of guy. It’s a good job Sven wasn’t involved; a boy at a party I went to pushed into the loo line ahead of me and Sven threw his trousers into next door’s garden.”
“Why would Sven chuck his trousers into next door’s garden? Was it a fit of pique?”
“Georgia, he threw the boy’s trousers into next door’s garden…and the boy was still wearing them.”
“Sacré bleu.”
“Mais oui.”
9:35 p.m.
In theory and especially given my special relationship with Jesus I am against violence. However, there is a time and place for everything, and I think Dave biffing Mark is one of those exceptions that make the rule.
9:40 p.m.
It slightly gives me the Horn, actually.
Unlike Cousin James, who unfortunately has arrived. He is reading Tolkien’s The Hobbit and goes on and on about it.
He said, “It’s very interesting, but did you know that even now people go on a pilgrimage to Tolkien’s grave and they speak in Elfin.”
James has a bit of trouble with the word “interesting.” In fact sad sacks chatting in Elfin over some dead bloke’s grave is not “interesting,” it is “stupid.”
Still, at least he is reading rubbish and not trying to play tickly bears with me.
midnight
What is it with boys and elfs?
thursday march 17th
Phoned Dave the Laugh and thanked him vis-à-vis the duffing-up incident. He said, “It’s a pleasure, gorgeous.”
But he didn’t say “see you later” or anything.
saturday march 19th
At one time I had boys snogging my ears and so on, and now I am alone for the rest of my life. How did that happen? How come I have peaked already?
11:00 p.m.
Started a letter to SG.
Dear Robbie,
It’s raining here and we are doing a crap play about some Scottish fools who…
11:30 p.m.
I can’t talk about school to him, otherwise he will remember that I am still at school.
friday april 1st
all fools day
You are not kidding.
friday april 8th
I have tried to write to Robbie so many times, but the sadness is that I don’t have anything to say to him. He doesn’t want to be my boyfriend and I just have to accept it.
I am going to take down my shrine to him.
11:00 p.m.
Mum came in after I had taken down my shrine and she caught me crying.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked my hair, which is normally a killing offence but it’s all scrubbled up and greasy anyway. She said, “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry you are so upset, but you will have fun again and you will have nice boyfriends because you are lovely and funny and my darling daughter.”
That made me cry more.
Then Libby toddled in and came up on the bed beside me.
“Look, Ginger, nice.”
She had what I think was probably once a biscuit in one hand and Gordy by the neck in the other. She put him on my bed and he started attacking my knees under the bedclothes.
midnight
Mum made me a milky pops drink like she did when I was little and ill. Which was nice. Except that I put it down on my bedside table and Gordy plunged his head in it. He has been having a sneezing attack for about ten minutes.