friday april 22nd
on the way to stalag 14
Despite my very wise trouser speech to Jas, she has decided to punish Tom by not seeing him or speaking to him.
I said, “How long has this been going on?”
And she said, “Well, I didn’t get home till quite late last night, so…”
“So…you haven’t actually been able to ignore him yet?”
“No, but when I see him I will.”
She is still very unstable and sniffly. I gave her my special Curlywhirly gift with its special Christmas gift wrapping. We were just walking up the hill when I handed it over. It didn’t have a very good effect on Jas—she looked at it and then flung her arms around me and started really blubbing and wailing; she was saying, “Oh Gee, you are such a good pal and I’ve been horrid to you…I am sooooo sorry, I really love you. I know you are always asking me to say so and I never will, but I do. I do love you.”
Crikey. She had gone bananas. I thought she would stop after a minute, but still she went on. I tried to walk on but I ended up sort of shuffling along with her hanging around my neck. I bet it looked like the lezzie version of Blithering Heights. All I needed now was for Masimo to come by. Or some notorious sadists like Wet Lindsay or Hawkeye. Then I thought of the worst-case scenario…Miss Stamp. If Miss Stamp came by now, she would be in Lesbian Heaven. She would ask us round to her place for “tea.” She would offer me extra coaching…oh my Giddy God…
I pushed Jas off me quite firmly and said sternly, “Jas, remember your Ramblers’ badge—don’t let yourself down, remember the Country Code.”
What on earth was I talking about?
It seemed to make some sort of sense to Jas, because she stopped sniffling and adjusted her beret.
I went on cheerily, “Six months isn’t long…is it? It’s only twenty-four weeks. You could do something really great in twenty-four weeks for when Tom comes back.”
She said, “Could I…like what?”
I said, “Well…you could…grow your fringe out and that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? A new you, Jas, imagine it. A new fringeless you.”
I could see I had got her attention, which is sad really.
break
We have had an extraordinary meeting of the ace gang on the blodge knickers toaster to discuss the Jastragedy. The nub and gist is that we have taken a sacred vow (you make the vow and then are given a Chinese burn by the person next to you). Anyway, the sacred vow that we will never break is, “We, the ace gang, will never let any boy come between us and the ace gang. We are one for one and one for all, once and for all.” Or whatever it is that the Three Musketeers say.
I have to say in principle I agree, but in practice I crossed my fingers whilst I made the vow because if I can snaffle Masimo, I’m afraid it is one for one.
english
I think everyone must have crossed their fingers, because our vow of sisterhood lasted about ten minutes. We’d just settled down for an hour of complete misery and bollocks (Blithering Heights) when two window cleaners bobbed up at the windows. They were not what you would call very fit-looking boys, but they were boys. And none of us had seen a boy for…er…about an hour and a half, if you don’t count Elvis Attwood, which we don’t.
The whole class had a massive dither attack; some girls dived under their desks and started applying lip gloss and some started flicking their hair around like loons.
Miss Wilson said, “Now, girls, settle down, it’s just a couple of window cleaners. You are all acting as if you have never seen a member—”
She was interrupted there by Rosie saying “Ooer.”
Miss Wilson went fantastically beetroot but carried on, “as if you have never seen a…a…person of the male…gender. Please show a bit of grown-up behavior and don’t let yourselves down.” Then she started tripping lightly in the valley of the prehistoric. “When I was a young lady, I—”
Jools said, “Did you meet the Swan of Avon, Miss?”
Miss Wilson rambled on, “No Julia, I did not meet the Swan of…er, it’s not the Swan, it is the Bard of Avon.”
Jools went on, “Oh so you knew him quite well then, if you knew his real name.”
By this time most of the class were pressing themselves up against the windows and Miss Wilson had to go for reinforcements. Hawkeye soon saw the lads off into a different part of the school.
Boo. Still, at least it had passed a pleasant half an hour, and we hadn’t been forced to wander round blasted heaths and so on.
lunchtime
Practically the whole school has been tracking the window cleaners like they are pop stars, chasing them about and screaming, it’s mad.
Wet Lindsay and her henchwomen no sooner hand out reprimands and beatings (not really, but they would obviously like to) than another group of girls creeps up.
Even the little first formers were prancing about, singing stupid songs like “Window cleaners, window cleaners, give us a wave, give us a wave.”
In the end Captain Mad (Elvis Attwood) set up a sort of armed guard to keep us at bay. Although, to be frank, I don’t think a garden hoe is going to frighten some of the Upper Fifth if they decided to have a go. Melanie Griffith could just send her nunga-nungas on a lone expedition and he would be on his back.
Even Jas is cheered up, and she is determined to come to the gig to show Tom how much she is ignoring him. As I left her at her gate, she said, “You have got to help me ignore him and make him jealous and so on.”
“Jas, I am not going to snog you for anything.”
1:00 a.m.
I have got everything ready for tomorrow night, even though I want to play it cool and just sort of remind Masimo who I am. I am not going to be throwing myself at him or anything. I am going to play the callous sophisticate.
The callous sophisticate with really groovy false eyelashes, or my boy entrancers, as I call them.
saturday april 23rd
It’s like a hobbit house. Vati has got himself and Uncle Eddie big false ears. You can imagine how attractive Uncle Eddie looks in his. Also I didn’t know there was a gay elf in The Hobbit but there is, and it is my dad. He is leaping around in his green tights going, “Oooohhh hello, I am Legalet!!”
Libby and Gordy have gone round to Grandad’s for the night. God help them one and all, the mad meet the very very mad.
The most appalling thing has happened. The woman in the next-door madhouse to Grandad thinks she is his girlfriend and keeps knitting things for him.
Double sadly, she can’t knit. As a lovely gift, she knitted him a jumper. It was only after ten minutes of him nearly suffocating that we discovered that she hadn’t knitted a neck hole.
11:30 a.m.
I have got my bedroom to myself as makeup headquarters. Even Angus is out. He is defending his love for Naomi against her new suitor, Manky. If Mr. Across the Road thought that Angus was Naomi’s bit of rough he should see Manky, who is definitely her bit of rougher. Manky and Angus have already had a duel at dawn—Angus came home with a bit of Manky’s tail as a victory souvenir. I may frame it.
4:00 p.m.
Now then, I’ve written a list of hit points for my plan.
OK, I’ve done all that, now to point four.
As I was trying to see the back of my legs in my hand mirror, Legalet came prancing in. “Hello, I’m Legalet and…bloody hell, Georgia, what in the name of your grandad’s outsize cycling shorts have you done with yourself—you look like a ghost.”
I leapt into my wardrobe and said from in there, “DAD, how DARE you look at me, I’ve only got my foundation coat on. And this is my bedroom. I don’t come snooping around in your room—in fact I have the good manners to ignore you.”
As he went out, Legalet said, “Oh the joy of fatherhood, it never fades…by the way, what time do you want me to pick you up?”
What?????? He was dressed as an elf. An elf picking me up in a Robinmobile. Nooooooooo.
I said, “Hahahhhahah, er, don’t you remember? Jas’s dad is picking us up.”
Fortunately he is too excited to question me closely about Jas’s dad, who is in fact in Birmingham tonight.
7:00 p.m.
I don’t ever remember being this jelloid before, not even when I had Terminal Horn syndrome for the Sex God. I can hardly move my eyelids for mascara and false eyelashes. I wonder if they look natural? I didn’t get the ones with the false diamonds in them. I just got the thick long ones.
Oh I can’t take them off now, it took me about a million years to put the glue on and stick them on. It is not as easy as it sounds on the packet. What I go through for luuuurve.
stiff dylans gig
8:15 p.m.
We all got massive Giggling Gertie syndrome on the way to the gig. Even Jas joined in with the jollity; she is determined to let Tom know that she has a life of her own. I didn’t point out the obvious fact that she hasn’t, because I am full of sympatheti-cositisnosity. Which is not an easy thing to say.
Anyway, she is letting Tom know that he is not the only codpiece in the sea. Going along High Street clattering along on our high heels, we sang “The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town.” We were doing the linking up thing. We all link arms and are not allowed to break the chain for any reason. It makes getting round corners or crossing roads practically impossible. God help any poor person coming the other way; they could be dragged along with us for hours. Strangely, people seemed to cross to the other side of the road when they saw us coming.
We were allowed to break armsies at the entrance to the Phoenix. I was soooo excited, and sort of frightened too. Ellen, Mabs, Rosie and Jas hadn’t even seen Masimo yet.
In the tarting-up area (loos) we reapplied lip gloss for maximum snoggosity.
Rosie said, “What is your cunning plan, Georgia? Full frontal or glaciosity with just a hint of promise?”
I said, “Deffo glaciosity with a hint of p.”
“Is that why you are wearing furry eyelashes?”
I gave her my special cross-eyed Klingon look. “These, Rosie, are not false eyelashes. They are boy entrancers. They hint at a sophisticosity beyond my years.”
The ace gang went out into the club and I had one last check in the mirror. I practiced my “sticky eye” technique. God, I was good—I practically got off with myself.
Out in the club it was really kicking, quite dark and groovy. In fact when I first came out of the tarting-up area, I couldn’t see anything for a minute until my peepers got used to the lack of light. I don’t think the boy entrancers help.
The ace gang had formed a posse around Jas at a table near the front. Tom, the official ostracized leper, was at the bar with a couple of mates. I could see no one else of any interest apart from loads of lardy blokes and some girls from our school.
9:35 p.m.
My nerves are shot to pieces. I can’t stand the tension of this—I have to go to the piddly diddly department every five minutes. Jas was making me worse; she was Ditherqueen and a half. Going on and on about Tom.
“Is Tom looking at me? Don’t look.”
“Jas, I can’t see if I don’t look. But don’t worry; I will be very casual. I will startle you with my casualosity. I will sip your drink and look through the bottom of the glass and see if he is looking.”
I lifted up the glass and looked.
“He’s not looking at the moment—oh yes, hang on, hang on…yes, he’s looking now.”
Jas said, “How does he look, does he look upset?”
“Er. Hang on, there is a bit of ice cube in the way, I’ll just eat it…er, he’s talking to Matt, oh oh now he’s looking over here.”
Jas said, “How is he looking—is it just like looking looking, or is it like, you know, looking like he’s made a big mistake wanting to go and snog sheep instead of staying with me?”
I said, “Jas, it’s a bit difficult to tell looking through the bottom of a glass, also I am getting neck spasm. Have I smeared my lip gloss?”
I am truly a bloody great pal.
10:00 p.m.
I hadn’t even seen Masimo yet. I can hardly remember what he looks like; maybe I had imagined he was groovy. I hadn’t actually stood right next to him. Perhaps he was a bit of shortarse, or maybe he had an irritating laugh. Or he had grown a goatee. Or he liked elfs…or…
Then the DJ said, “And now it’s time for The…Stiff Dylans!!!”
And they came onstage. Everyone except Masimo. Dom said into his mike above the whooping and clapping, “Cheers, thanks a lot, we’re back! And tonight we would like you to go wild for our new lead singer. He’s not entirely an English person but someone with a touch of Latin blood—calm down, girls…I give you…Masimo. Ciao, Masimo.”
And Masimo came onstage. Oh crumbly knees extraordinaire. He is, as I may have mentioned before, the Cosmic Horn personified. The girls at the front were going bananas jumping up and down. (Which is not something I would try, even with my extra-firm nunga-nunga holders.)
I said to Jools, “How very little pridosity they have got.”
Jools said, “I know. The next thing you know they’ll be creeping around backstage getting up on boxes and stalking him.”
I said kindly, “Quiet now, Jools. I am concentrating.”
The hard thing to do is to be noticed but not to be noticed being noticed, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
He was so gorgey and a fantasadosy singer and soooooo sexy. When he was singing you felt like he was really looking at you; he would have had a hard time, though, because I was practically under the table—I didn’t want to reveal myself too soon…ooer.
The joint was really rocking and we had to dance. It was like being at the sheepdog trials and dancing, because Jas was so paranoid about Tom getting to her we had to circle round her dancing. When any one of us wanted to go to the piddly diddly department, we all had to shuffle and dance off together and then shuffle and dance back to our place.
I was exhausted and managed to have a bit of a breather by the stairs and it was there that Tom got me.
“Georgia, why were you looking at me through a glass for ages?”
“I…er…well…”
“Did Jas tell you to, does she want to, you know, sort of make up? I mean, it’s only six months and it’s such a great opportunity. Can’t you make her see?”
“Tom, I have to tell you this, I am Jas’s friend and we are officially ignorezing you, you are a mirage to me, I can’t even see you actually.”
He said, “And nothing would make you help me.”
“Non, and also we have taken an oath involving torture.”
He just looked at me.
“What if I could help you really casually bump into Masimo?”
“Pardon?”
“I met him the other night at snooker.”
“You met him…he met you…you he…”
“Yes. And he will come and say hello to me in the break and I could be casually talking to you.”
I said with all the dignosity I could, given that my skirt was so tight, “And you think that I would betray my bestest pal Jas just for some bloke I hardly know? When I have taken a solemn vow with Chinese burns and everything?”
Tom looked at me. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you are quite literally criminally insane.”
11:00 p.m.
In the loos, Jas was sitting on the sink going on and on about her heartbreakosity. “He’s a cad and a…user. He went out with me to fill in time until he could go snog sheep.”
Rosie, Ellen, Jools and Mabs were going “Yeah, you’re so right. Creep.”
And “Yeah, never have anything to do with him again.”
Then they lost interest. Who wouldn’t? And they all went back in to do mad dancing. It was just Jas and me. My little upset pally and me.
And only two minutes until the band had a break.
Jas was raving on and fiddling around with her fringe; I resisted slapping her hand because of her condition. Tempting, though.
She said, “I just can’t believe him, all those weekends trailing badgers and mushroom hunting, I can’t believe they just meant nothing to him. It’s as if we never found that skylarks’ nest…”
“Jas.”
“Or that vole nest in the banks of the river…”
“Jas.”
“I may as well never have learned how to make a fire without matches.”
I got hold of her.
“Jas, I think you should speak to him.”
“What??”
“I think you should, you know, talk it over with him.”
She stood in front of me really red-faced. Bit scary actually.
“Georgia, are you saying that after all this, after all I have been through, I should TALK it over with him?”
I said, “Er…yes.”
And she said, “Oh, OK then.”
She is unbelievably weedy, but I didn’t say so because I wanted to check my boy entrancers before I went outside.
I said, “I’ll go and talk to Tom first so that you don’t lose your pridosity. I’ll go and tell him that you might think about letting him explain himself. Then I’ll come back to you and you can look like you are shaking your head and so on and I am trying to persuade you. Then eventually I will tell him that he has four minutes and thirty seconds of your time. And I’ll stand behind you with a watch.”
11:07 p.m.
The band had left the stage by the time I went over to Tom. I said to him, “Mission accomplished. She will talk to you, but I have to go over and try to persuade her, but you will know that we are acting.”
Tom gave me a hug. As he was hugging me (and I have to say that even though I blame him for being the brother of a Sex God who left me for wombats, I do like him)—anyway, as he was hugging me, Masimo came from the dressing room. As he walked through the crowd it sort of parted before him. There was an awful lot of flicking of hair and smiling going on. And that was just the boys!!! No really, it was the girls, especially that trollopy Sharon Davies; she’s had blond streaks put in her hair. I don’t think they look very natural. Not like my boy entrancers. I put an extra slurp of glue on them when I was in the loo just now so there is no chance of them coming off. I was just watching Masimo. Not directly. I was looking over Tom’s shoulder. As I was being Miss Cool I saw Wet Lindsay walk in with her sad mates. She had a ludicrously short skirt on. If I had legs as thin as hers, I would wear big inflatable trousers so that I didn’t startle anyone. But she is too selfish to bother.
Ohmygiddygod Masimo was coming our way. Tom winked at me. Then he called over to Masimo, “Hey Masimo, ciao.”
Masimo heard him and smiled and came over. Oh please please don’t let me go to the piddly diddly department in the middle of the dance floor. When he reached us I could feel the heat of him being near me. Good grief and jelloid knickers akimbo. He said, “Hey Tom, ciao—and it’s you. Let me see…the lovely Ginger.”
I went, “Hahahahahahahahahahaha” until Tom hit me on the back.
Tom said, “No, this is Georgia.”
I said, even though I knew I should shut up—but you know when you should shut up but you go on and on—well I had that, “Ah well, you see, Libby thinks I am half cat, half sister, and she…er…calls me Ginger sometimes.”
Tom went on trying to rescue me. “Georgia went out with Robbie for a bit before he went to Whakatane.”
Masimo looked me right in the eyes. “Robbie is, how you say in English, not in his right brains to leave you behind.” And he smiled again. Phwoar. I had to look down because I couldn’t trust myself not to leap on him. I looked down and then I was intending to look up and do that looking up and looking away thing, and also possibly a bit of flicky hair. Unfortunately when I tried to look up again, I couldn’t because my boy entrancers had stuck to my bottom lashes. So my eyes stayed shut. They were glued together. I kept trying to open my eyes but I couldn’t. In sheer desperadoes I said, “Oh I love this one.” And started wobbling my head around to the music.
The tune was Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys,” the naffest record known to humanity. Ohmygiddygod what should I do? I kept up the head waggling and I was raising my eyebrows up and down to pull my eyelashes apart. I bet that looked attractive. I thought I’d better do some humming. I started humming along to the tune.
Masimo said, “Would you like to have a drink?”
Hummmmmmm hummmmmmm…
“No thanks, non grazie, I must groove to this one.”
I must get away. I turned and head-wobbled off. I couldn’t see a thing obviously, so to stop myself from crashing into anything I put my hands out in front of me, but then I thought that would look odd so I tried to fit it into my dancing. I put one hand out in front and waved the other above my head like disco dancing. I knew the loos were sort of to my right and if I could just get there I could rip my boy entrancers off.
My “grooving” arm banged into something soft and someone said, “Oy, mind my basoomas, you cream-faced loon!”
It was Rosie, thank God. I said to her, “Rosie, lead me to the loos.”
She said, “Clear off, you lezzie.”
I was still madly flinging my arms around. Hopefully Masimo would think it was the eccentric English way of having a good time. Either that or he would be phoning for the emergency services.
I said to Rosie, “My boy entrancers have stuck together. I can’t open my eyes. Do something.”
She said, “Quick, put your hands on my shoulders and we’ll conga dance over to the loos.”
“Rosie, I don’t think that’s a very good—”
Before I knew it, she had forced my hands onto her shoulders and we were doing the conga. Fifty-five million years later I broke free from the conga line—once we had started doing it, the whole club had joined in. I yelled at Rosie to stop and take me to the loos, but she was having too much of a laugh. I got my hand to my eyes and tried to pry the lashes apart, and that is when one of them fell off in my hand—the boy entrancer I mean, not my eye.
I could see! I could see! I ran into the loos and ripped off the other one.
11:30 p.m.
I took a big breath and went into the club again. He had said I was lovely, and that Robbie had lost his brains to have left me. Which I think is a plus.
Tom and Jas were snugged up in a corner talking and the rest of the so-called sheepdogs were all smooching with lads. That’s when I saw Masimo. He was talking to Wet Lindsay, she had her stupid head really close to his.
in bed
1:00 a.m.
Raining.
Thundering.
Lightning.
Triple merde.
And a half.
1:05 a.m.
This is my unbelievable life, I am home in bed on Saturday. And my parents aren’t even in yet.
How cruel is life.
If I had a Yorkshire accent and ate cow nipples, I would be an exact facsimile of Emily Brontë. I’ve probably contracted consumption by being out in the wind and rain.
Good.
1:30 a.m.
Ohhhh.
What a crap night.
I didn’t see Masimo again except onstage and he ignored me. I looked at him and I’m sure he saw me but he didn’t smile or anything. Jas and Tom left early; so much for her strict four minutes and thirty seconds rule. At the end of the gig it was pouring down. Fabulous. Rosie, Jools, Ellen and I hovered about near the door waiting for the rain to ease off a bit. For once in my entire life I would have been glad to see Legalet drive up in the Robinmobile.
In fact as an ace gang we were quite literally hoisted by our own petards (which can be quite painful). Every single one of us had said that someone else’s dad was definitely going to pick us up.
In the end we made a mad dash for a big tree across from the Phoenix and we were planning what our next shelter would be when we saw Dom and the rest of the band come out and load up the van. It was raining so hard it was splashing up from the ground. Masimo wasn’t anywhere around.
Then Wet Lindsay came out in her stupid leather coat with a stupid umbrella. All by herself, even deserted by her saddo mates. Teehee. I said to the gang, “Oh how thrice pathetico, she has to wait for her vati!!! Hahahaha.”
Ellen said, “Still, she hasn’t got two gallons of water down her neck like I have.”
I said, “Look, she’s all shuffly. I bet her thong is killing her. I hope so.”
I was just thinking that we could button our coats together and make a sort of tent over our heads when I heard a scooter revving up.
And Masimo appeared on his cool scooter with his parka on. I had a heart lurch. Then he pulled up to say good-night to the rest of the lads. And then—and I can hardly bring myself to think about this—Wet Lindsay got on the back of his scooter. I thought he would kind of shove her off, but he didn’t, he took her umbrella and held it over her whilst she put on a spare helmet, then he tucked the umbrella away and they motored off.
Rosie said, “Bugger me.”
I got absolutely soaked on the way home but I didn’t even notice. I was wet inside.
1:40 a.m.
Mutti and Vati are back, going “ShhhhhhSSSSSSHHHHH” really loudly. They’ve brought Libby and Gordy with them.
1:45 a.m
At last they are quiet and have gone into their bedroom.
1:48 a.m.
Vati has just farted “God save our gracious queen” and Mutti and he are apoplectic with laughter. Mutti stopped for a bit and then Vati said, “Now for verse two.” And they started laughing again.
They are sad.
But at least they have each other. I haven’t even got my little sister in bed with me. I have no one who loves me.
And I never will have.
I really like him.
Once more in my bed of pain, crying.
2:01 a.m.
I think I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew I got a big soggy cat bottom in my face. I opened my eyes to find four eyes staring back at me. Well, three eyes looking at me actually, and one was looking at the wardrobe…Angus and Gordy are absolutely soaking. They are doing shivering and cat sneezing. I said, “Go away into your baskets AT ONCE.”
Angus rolled over and started rubbing himself dry on my duvet. At first Gordy attacked Angus in between sneezing and then he started wiggling and diving into my duvet and burrowing under it near me. Urgh. I fished him out and lifted him up until we were eyeballs to eyeball and said, “Gordon, you are a very very bad kittykat—go into your kittykat basket.”
And he did that half-wit cat thing, he just let the tip of his tongue loll out of his mouth and left it there. Looking at me with the tip of his tongue sticking out.
Why do they do that?
Once they had both got nice and dry, they started scampering and crashing around in the dark in my room.
I put my head under the pillow.
sunday april 24th
I went for a long moody walk across the fields. I didn’t want to be in to answer questions about last night. I didn’t even want to talk to my mates.
That is really it for me now, I have endured too much heartbreakiosity for one lifetime. I am going to concentrate on getting good exam results and then maybe going off to the Congo (wherever that is) as a doctor to help sick people.
Even though sick people get on my nerves. I am at Dr. Clooney’s on Tuesday, so I may pick up a few hints about not letting moaning minnies get on my nerves. Surely there are no Mr. Next Doors in the Congo?
I am sooooo depressed.
4:30 p.m.
About eighty messages from Jas. I suppose I should phone her.
5:00 p.m.
“Jas, it’s me.”
“Hi, Georgia. Tom told me how weird you were with Masimo. I thought you really rated him.”
“I do.”
“Well, why did you just go off waggling your head to a Rolf Harris song?”
Before I could explain, she started her famous rambling.
“Tom and I have come to an agreement, we’re going to swap rings—when Tom goes off to Kiwi-a-gogo our rings will mean that we will stay true to each other until he comes back.”
I didn’t have the energy to stop her raving on.
“Also as he says, it is a great opportunity to collect loads of data and stuff that he can bring back and that we could, you know…look at.”
Old Rambley knickers is back then. I think I preferred her when she was all upset and clinging round my neck.
Still, at least someone is happy.
I said to her, “You know, after you left, Masimo took Wet Lindsay home on his scooter.”
Even Jas paid attention then.
“Non.”
“Oui.”
“Georgia, that is très très merde. Why did he do that?”
“I really don’t know, boys are a bloody mystery to me.”
Jas said, “Shall I ask Tom to find out? He’s a boy.”
“I don’t know, Jas, I don’t want any more pain and…”
“Well, if I just casually ask him and don’t make a big deal about it.”
“Well, I suppose if it was a little secret…”
Then I heard her going, “TOM!! TOM!! GEORGIA WANTS TO KNOW WHY MASIMO WENT OFF WITH WET LINDSAY LAST NIGHT.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I tried to get her to shut up. Then I heard her mum shouting from somewhere, “Jas? I thought that you said that Georgia liked Masimo. Why has he gone off with Lindsay?”
Jas said, “I don’t know. That’s why I asked Tom.”
Jas’s mum shouted, “What do you think, Tom?”
When Jas’s dad joined in the conversation I put the phone down.
9:30 p.m.
Ring on the doorbell. Oh now what? Everyone is at grandad’s. It might be kitty trouble, because I don’t know where the furry psychopath twins are (Angus and Gordy).
I could just ignore the bell. No one would know anyone was in.
Except all the lights are on.
Oh God, if it is the cat vigilante group bringing the lads home on an assault charge, I’ll go ballisticisimus, if I have the energy.
It can’t be anything to do with the furry hooligans, because they are in the lavatory drinking out of the lavatory bowl. Erlack.
Opened the door in my jimmyjams, which I put on for comfort; they are a bit like Jas’s knickers on the large and shapeless front, but who cares, nobody is going to see me in them.
Crikey!!! Dave the Laugh. He leant against the door. “Hi gorgeous, blimey, HUGE pajamas.”
I went into the goldfish routine. “I…well…I…”
He said, “Can I come in? I bring you tidings of great joy, and it’s not even Christmas.”
I said, “Er, well…come in and er put the kettle on…”
“Do you think it will suit me?”
I dashed upstairs when Dave went into the kitchen and I did a rapid lip gloss, blusher, mascara fandango and pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt. No time for nunga-nunga holders, I would just have to move very slowly with my arms crossed. Pant pant. I went into the kitchen.
Dave was wrestling with Gordy on the kitchen floor and when he stood up Gordy was attached to his sleeve and just dangled there, like a tiny ginger loon, which he is.
“Speaking as your Horn advisor, I’ve come to tell you I’ve just seen Masimo.”
I went even more lurgified. Gordy crashed to the floor.
I managed to stutter, “Did, he say…was he, did he, was I…you know.”
“I still say he’s flash, but anyway, what in the name of arse made you walk off on Saturday? He thought you were very up yourself.”
I said, “My boy entrancers got stuck together and then one fell off.”
Dave said, “Your boy entrancers stuck together and then one fell off.” And he was looking at my nungas to see if I still had two.
I said, “No, no, I mean my false eyelashes. First of all, I looked down and they got glued together and I was blind. So I sort of shuffled off to the music to try and unglue them, and then one fell off, so I had to go to the tarts’ wardrobe.”
Dave said, “Tarts’ wardrobe?”
“Loos.”
Dave said with sort of admirationosity in his voice, “Outstanding”
midnight
As my official Horn advisor, Dave says I must be friendly and smiley but play hard to get and not give up if I really like Masimo. Dave also said that because Masimo is so flash and Italian, even if he does quite rate me—even after the Rolf Harris fiasco—that will not stop him falling for flattery from other girls. Even Wet Lindsay. Dave also said that Masimo does not know anyone in town or any history, so he wouldn’t know that Lindsay was wet and a worm and a thong wearer.
12:10 a.m.
Anyone would know that Lindsay was wet and a worm; just look at her legs for God’s sake.
Anyway, if he falls for old knobbly knees, why should I want him? Mind you, the ex-Sex God went out with her for a bit. Hmmm.
Dave says that boys fall for that useless obvious stuff because they have boy insecuriosity different from girl insecuriosity. It’s because they are knob centered, allegedly. Although I think that Dave just likes to talk dirty.
1:00 a.m.
Dave says you can’t drop hints with boys because they don’t get it.
1:10 a.m.
In my How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You it says,
It is vair vair tiring, this boy bananas.
2:00 a.m.
Also why does my Horn advisor always snog me?
2:05 a.m.
More to the point, why do I always snog him?
I suppose in the Land of Cosmic Horn everything is fair.
monday april 25th
german
Tried out my flattery technique on the dithering champion for the German nation. Herr Kamyer was wearing a pair of tartan socks, clearly visible beneath his shin-length leisure slacks. He was telling us about his riveting childhood in the Bavarian Alps. His childhood mostly consisted of camping and clapping games interspersed with two tons of sausages. And the volk of Lederhosen land wonder why they have a reputation for total crapness.
At the end of the lesson I went up to Herr Kamyer as he was packing up his books; I startled him a bit by coming up quietly behind him and there was a minor ditherspaz incident. As he was picking his books up from the floor, I said, “That was really sehr interestink, Herr Kamyer, and may I compliment you on your attractive socks.”
To my absolute amazement, he said, “Ach, thank you very much, Georgia. Der socks are from my mother and are a personal favorite of mine. I also have a matching tie.”
I said, “Oh, I’d love to see that.”
Herr Kamyer adjusted his glasses. “Vell, I vill wear it to show you.”
I said, “That would be marv.”
He went off all smiley and twitchy. Surely it can’t be this easy. It must be because I have chosen quite literally a soft option.
break
knicker toaster headquarters
I told Rosie and Jools my news and the advice from Horn Headquarters (Dave the Laugh).
Rosie said, “I believe Dave, but Herr Kamyer is not really a bloke, is he? He is a German teacher. I bet you can’t make it work on Elvis.”
lunchtime
The ultimate test.
Elvis Attwood, the grumpiest bonkerist man in the universe.
Rosie and Jools insisted on being witnesses to what they said would be an abysmal failure. They hid behind the Science block loos.
Elvis was as usual prodding around (ooer) pretending to do gardening. It is, as we all know, just a perving tactic so that he can try and see girls in their sports knickers. He should become a gym mistress, he easily could. If he grew his hair and wore a gym skirt, he would be Miss Stamp’s double.
I approached Elvis casually.
“Afternoon, Mr. Attwood. I’m sorry to hear that you will be leaving us.” (I could hear Rosie practically exploding behind the loos.)
Mr. Attwood looked up with that incredibly attractive grimace he keeps especially for me. I gave him a beaming smile, letting my nostrils flow free and wild for once.
He said, “What do you want? Have you been messing around in the Science block? I found a drawing that was supposed to be me on the blackboard.”
I said, “Oh, that’s nice.”
He said, “No it is not bloody nice, it was disgusting.”
I said, “Was it the one of you in the nuddypants with an enormous pipe?”
He said, “Yes, that’s it.”
I said, “No, I haven’t seen that one.”
He grumbled on. “It’s a scandal the way you lot carry on, call yourselves young ladies. In my day you would have had your ears boxed.”
I said, “Well, I agree with you, Mr. Attwood. I think discipline has gone right out of the window. I mentioned it to Miss Heaton in detention but she wasn’t interested. Do you know that in the Isle of Man they still beat people with twigs if they do wrong.”
He drew himself up to his full height (two and a half feet). “Yes well, it would make you think twice if you got some twigs across your derriere instead of all this talking.”
I said, “Yes, I do so agree talking is crap, Mr. Attwood, ’scuse my language. I have often said in R.E. I would rather be beaten by twigs, but you can’t tell people, can you?”
Mr. Attwood looked a bit puzzled at the turn of events.
I said, “I don’t know if you know this, but us girls all sort of look to you for a firm lead, Mr. Attwood. I know you think we mess about, but actually we have a deep respect for you. You are a sort of father figure and naturally we rebel a bit, but at the end of the day we respect you.”
You could see Mr. Attwood squaring his shoulders. “When I was a lad we were given a decent set of rules. I was in bed by eight thirty and up by six thirty to do my chores.”
I said, “Actually my parents are much the same with me: early to bed, early to rise and so on.”
There was a crash from behind the loos, as if someone had fallen over.
I said, “Well, thank you very much for your time, Mr. Attwood. It’s very good to have someone who is like a father figure.”
Mr. Attwood lit his pipe. “Well…yes, well, anytime. Do you know you’ve made me go back a bit to when we had simple pleasures, for instance, I’ve got a train set I had as a lad, in perfect condition, still in its box…”
“Gosh is that the bell!! I must get along to English, we are doing Blithering Heights.”
When I got behind the loos Rosie had her coat buttoned over her head to stop her laughing.
on the way home
4:15 p.m.
Lolloping along with Jas, I said, “It can’t be this easy. It just can’t be.”
Jas said, “I know, it just can’t be.”
Four boys from Foxwood came by doing their usual orangutan walk and shouting rubbish at us.
“Come on, girls, get them out for the lads.”
I said to the one with terminal acne, “Hey, you’re really nice-looking, would you like to see my nunga-nungas?”
He stopped doing his orangutan impression. They all stopped.
He said, “Er…yes.”
And I said, “Well, I wouldn’t just for anyone, but, well, I’ve noticed you before…meet me by the park loos at seven thirty.”
And he straightened his tie and said, “Oh yeah, I think I can make that.”
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unbloodybelievable.
Me and Jas just looked at each other.
tuesday april 26th
Today is my work experience day at Dr. Clooney’s, so up at the crack of nine.
Quite groovy to put on makeup and ordinary clothes on a school day.
Mmmm, I wonder what is suitable wear for a doctor’s surgery.
Black?
Yes, I think so.
Boy entrancers?
Oh yes, I think so. Even though there will most definitely be no boys to entrance, apart from Dr. Gorgeous, it means I can get my staying-on technique right in the safety of the Valley of the Unwell.
5:10 p.m.
Good grief. Said good-bye to Dr. Gorgeous. God Bless Him and all who sail in him, but I will never, ever, be returning to his surgery except on a stretcher and unconscious. It is Hell on Wheels in there.
Just a load of sick people moaning and sneezing. If I haven’t got scarlet fever or Old Person’s Lurgy, I will be amazed.
Moaning and moaning on for hours. How can Dr. Gorgeous stand it? And such a terrible pingy pongoes smell. It’s the old men, mostly. I wonder if they get mixed up with their aftershave and mothball liquid. Or Bovril.
Perhaps there is a perfume called “Old Bloke” that is a big hit with the elderly and sends all the older ladies wild, knitting neckless jumpers and so on.
Anyway, that is it, there is a career I will never be having. I will not be going to the Congo. Which is just as well, as I haven’t been able to find it on the map.
5:40 p.m.
Oh I am soooo happy to be alive and free. Free, free. I felt like scampering and skipping down the road. Plus my boy entrancers had stayed on all day with no suggestion of glue eye.
I was singing a song in my head and moving my hips in time to the music. Like it said in the book. A car honked its horn as it went by and some boys shouted out to me. Probably moron boys, but it’s a start. Now if I could just add the flicky hair I would be laughing.
So let’s see…hip, hip, flickyflick, hip, hip flickyflick. Excellent!!! Now for the pièce de whatsit…downy eyes and upsy eyes.
Hip, hip, flickyflick, uppy, downy, hip, hip.
Yessssss!!!! Got it. I am a Sex Kitty.
Once more, with feeling.
Hip, hip, flickyflick, upsy, downsy eyes…
“Ciao.”
Ohgreatballsofordure, Masimo!!!! On his scooter. Saying ciao.
I looked up. Yes, there he was.
I said, “Oh, ciao.”
How cool was that? Very very cool, cooler than that, it was vair vair vair…shut up brain, shut up.
Masimo was still looking at me, like he thought that at any time I would start closing my eyes and dance off. I said, “How are you?”
Excellent, normal as Norman Normal. Normaler.
He looked at me with his fab eyes. It would have been weird if he’d looked at me with anything else, with his ears for instance. Hahahahahahahaha. Oh God, I was doing out of control laughing in my head!!! This was a new and scary development on the nincompoop scale.
Masimo said, “I am cool.”
I thought, You can say that again, mister.
Masimo revved up his engine. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
Blimey.
“I am going to rehearsal. Maybe I could drop you at your home.”
Oh yes that would be groovy, him dropping me at my house and seeing the Robinmobile, and maybe my mum in her aerobic outfit…or Libby in no outfit…
I said, “Well, I’m going to my mate’s house. We are hanging out before we go clubbing.”
What am I talking about??? Clubbing? I will be going clubbing—clubbing myself to death if I keep talking absolute arse-blithering rubbish. Then Masimo smiled at me and I got chocolate body syndrome, which is jelloid knickers with knobs. He gave me his spare helmet; great news, I would have pancake hair when I got to Jas’s and took it off. But I don’t really care.
I climbed on the back of the seat seat. It felt really groovy, but I would have to think of a good way to get off that didn’t involve a knickers extravaganza. I wasn’t exactly dressed for bike work, as I had my very very short black kilt on. Maybe if I shuffled over and put one foot on the floor and then bent the other knee up and sort of slid…Masimo said, “Hold on to me.”
And accelerated off quite fast. I put my hands on his waist. He had his parka on and everything, but it was like I got an electric shock touching him. The wind was blowing in my face and making my eyes water. Please don’t let my boy entrancers blow off.
We sped along. It was really fab and I was feeling full of happiosity and bliss. I couldn’t believe I was actually on the back of a scooter holding on to the Sex Meister.
Masimo shouted to me, “Please, tell me how to get to your friend’s house.”
Actually Jas’s house was about five minutes away, but I directed Masimo to go down the High Street even though that is not on the way. When we stopped at the lights I saw Dave the Laugh’s Rachel and a few of the Upper Sixth going to Luigi’s. They all waved like mad when they saw Masimo, even Rachel…Masimo just raised a gloved hand and we whirled off. I hope everyone recognized me under my helmet.
I could have stayed holding on to Masimo and riding round forever, round and round, like that bloke on that doomed phantom boat, The Flying Dutchman. Of course there are differences—he was not on a scooter, and I don’t have a beard and I am not Dutch.
Eventually I had to point out Jas’s house to Masimo and we pulled up outside. I got off without a police incident but Masimo didn’t turn his engine off. I didn’t think that was a good sign. It meant he wasn’t going to hang around and chat.
I tried to remember some Italian and said, “Well thanks, er grazias a lot. Thank you a lottio. Thank youio a lottio.”
Masimo smiled, “I am glad for doing of it. I am, how you say, full of sorrows for my English.”
I said, “Oh don’t worry, I hardly speakio any myselfio.”
He laughed and said, “You are funny.”
Oh brilliant, he thinks I am funny. Not groovy or a Sex Kitty that he must spend the rest of his life worshiping and adoring, but funny.
Then he said, “I must go to my rehearsal.”
And he revved up. I said, “Oh yeah, well ciao.” Then I remembered my Horn teacher’s advice so I put on my biggest smile. “It’s really nice that you have come to town and…I…thought you sang très bon.”
He smiled again. “Good. Thank you. I will see you. Ciao.”
And he went off. I turned to go into Jas’s gate feeling a bit flat and in the Valley of the Terminally Confused again. Had he just given me a lift out of politeness? Oh damn, damn and damnity damn damn. I hate all this.
I looked at him as he reached the end of Jas’s street. He could be going to see Wet Lindsay after rehearsals for all I knew. How did she get boys to like her…it was a bloody mystery. Maybe she slipped horse tranquilizer into their Coke? As I was watching him indicating right, he did a big wheelie and curved back up the street very fast toward me. He slowed down in front of me and shouted, “Georgia, do you want to come with me to the cinema?”
I did my world-famous impression of a cod in a kilt. He turned the bike round again and said, “If you do, I will see you at seven thirty on Friday at the clock tower. Ciao, va bene.”
Then he sped off.
I rang on Jas’s bell and eventually she answered it.
“Have you come to test me on my Froggy assignment?”
Is she really truly mad? I said, “Jas, be sensible. Let me in, and give me something.”
“Like what?”
“Sugar. I’ve had a shock. Get your secret chocolate stash out and I’ll tell you.”
As we were munching away in her bedroom, I told her all about it.
She said, “Blimey. So he’s actually sort of asked you out.”
“I know, fab isn’t it?”
“But is he seeing Wet Lindsay as well? Maybe it’s a double date thing and she will come to the cinema as well, and you will have one of those French things.”
“What French things?”
“You know, ménage à trois.”
“Jas, he’s Italian.”
“Oh well, menagio à trios.”
8:00 p.m.
I had to leave because sometimes Jas is so sensationally mad that I feel violence coming on.
But nothing can alter this fact. Masimo, the best-looking bloke in the universe, a Dream God, has asked me—Georgia Nicolson—to go out to the cinema with him.
8:30 p.m.
I might have known there would be a couple of flies in the ointment, one of them quite porky. Mutti and Vati were in a real strop and a half when I got in. Vati started, “Where have you been? And before you start, don’t give me any nonsense about homework club. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”
I felt like saying, “Not unless yesterday was eighty-five years ago.”
But I didn’t because I love everyone.
Then Mutti joined in. “You have got be straight with us, Georgia. If you want to be treated like a grown-up, then you have to show us you deserve to be.”
Vati was still grumbling on, “It’s not like we’ve never been young, but I at least treated my parents with respect and told them the truth.”
I said to him, “Are you suggesting you want me to tell you the truth at all times?”
Mutti said, “Of course my darling, we are your parents.”
I said reasonably, just to clear things up, “Ah yes, but when I said how crap the Robinmobile was and why did we have to have a clown car, Vati went ballisticisimus.”
They both just looked at me in that sighing looking-at-me way. Still, I was in Cloud Nine land and maybe I would make a point of telling the truth from now on.
I took a deep breath and said, “OK then I will tell you, I was walking home from Dr. Clooney’s after a hard day with the elderly mad when the new singer with The Stiff Dylans came along and gave me a lift to Jas’s on his scooter.”
Vati was already a bit huffy. “How old is this ‘lead singer’?”
I said patiently, “He’s Italian.”
Vati said, “What?”
I said, “He’s Italian, isn’t he, Mum?”
Vati looked at Mum. “So you know all about this then, Connie? What is it with you two? I’m always the last to know anything in this house. I slave away all day and then when I come back…”
I slipped out whilst he was raving on and went to my room. It doesn’t matter what happens, divorce, orphanosity, it doesn’t mean anything when you have a Sex Meister as your plaything.
9:00 p.m.
Libby has made Gordy a pair of cardboard glasses at nursery school. And a hat to hold them on.
Actually it’s not a hat, it’s a rubber glove, but it holds them on nicely.
11:00 p.m.
I haven’t got long to plan my outfit for Friday.
Should I try to get Mum to buy me something new? Knowing her, she will probably count the new kitten-heeled boots and two skirts and trousers she bought me on Saturday.
I wonder if I should consult with Dave the Laugh before I go on my date? No, because I don’t want any chance of rogue snogging.
I’m so excited I am never going to go to sleep again.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
wednesday april 27th
breakfast
Vati gave me a squeeze on the shoulder as I was eating my frosties. And he and Mum seem to be speaking. What fresh hell?
He said, “Georgia, thank you for telling us the truth. Here is a fiver to get yourself something. Remember, it’s always worth telling the truth to people.”
I said, “Oh, well; if fivers are involved, I should tell you that I am going to the cinema with Masimo on Friday night.”
I thought Vati might explode, but sadly he didn’t. He tried to go on being reasonable, which was scary to witness. He was mumbling as he got his flying helmet on, “Right. Good. Right. That’s the sort of thing we mean. Good, right.”
And then he went off to Flood Headquarters.
Honesty is definitely going to be my policy from now on.
break, on the knickers toaster
I had been going through with the ace gang what I could wear on my date. And also showing them a new celebration dance I had made up for the occasion. There was, I must admit, quite a lot of finger pointing and hip waggling in it, but that is the way with celebration dances.
Rosie said, “Georgia, you know that you are one of my bestest pals and that the ace gang is one for one and all the way to Tipperary and so on.”
I said, “Oui.”
“However, if you go on being such a prat and a fool for much longer, I am afraid I am going to have to kill you.”
games
The Upper Sixth were getting changed when we came in to the changing rooms. We are being forced to do a cross-country run by Adolfa. But I don’t mind because it means I will be in tip-top physical condition for my love date on Friday. (Of course it will also mean that tonight I will be in bed by five thirty with severe exhaustion and bottom strain, but c’est la vie.)
Then I saw Wet Lindsay eyeing me like a Seeing Eye dog and also talking to her astonishingly dim and limp mates about me. I wonder if she knows anything about me and Masimo. Why should she? Still, it gives me the creeps. I feel that we have shared past lives together, and they have all been crap.
4:20 p.m.
detention
Oh God and Gott in Himmel and also Mon Dieu. What is the matter with Hawkeye? She is so unreasonably surly. I went to the loos before Latin and I was just sort of dollydaydreaming about Masimo, so I was a tiny bit late for class.
Herr Oberführer Grupmeister of the Universe (Hawkeye) said, “You should have been here at three P.M.” and I in a fit of spontaneous combustion and honestosity said, “Why, did something really good happen?”
I have to write out eight hundred times “Rudeness is a poor substitute for wit.”
Which is quite literally a pain in the arse. I mean it, I can hardly sit down after our cross-country run. At least I can walk, which is more than can be said for Nauseating P Green. She should never have attempted the water jump in her condition (i.e., very fat).
4:25 p.m.
Hurrah, I have perfected a way of doing lines quickly. I have Sellotaped five pens to a ruler so I can do five lines at once.
The fifth line looks like a mad woman’s knitting, but you can’t have everything.
thursday evening april 28th
Jas is staying behind after school. Hard to believe that a human being can be interested in going around the sports field with the blodge teacher looking for vole droppings, but that’s old Jazzy Knickers for you. The most interesting person since…er…Quasimodo.
I must say, though, I am relatively impressed vis-à-vis her glaciosity and independentology toward Tom. I think he’s definitely very puzzled about how calm she is being, and he’s not talking so keenly about going anymore.