return of the loonleader
thursday october 21st
my room
1:00 p.m.
Looking out of my bedroom window, counting my un blessings. Raining. A lot. It’s like living fully dressed in a pond.
And I am the prisoner of whatsit.
I have to stay in my room pretending to have tummy lurgy so that Dad will not know I am an ostracized leper banned from Stalag 14 (i.e., suspended from school). I’m not alone in my room, though, because my cat, Angus, is also under house arrest for his love romps with Naomi the Burmese sex kitten.
2:00 p.m.
They’ll be doing P.E. now.
I never thought the day would come when I would long to hear Miss Stamp (Sports Oberführer and part-time lesbian) say, “Right, girls, into your P.E. knickers!”
But it has.
3:30 p.m.
All the ace gang will be thinking about the walk home from school. Applying a touch of lippy. A hint of nail polish. Maybe even mascara because it is R.E. and Miss Wilson can’t even control her tragic seventies hairdo let alone a class. Rosie said she was going to test Miss Wilson’s sanity by giving herself a face mask in class and seeing if Miss Wilson had a nervy spaz.
Jas will be practicing her pouting in case she bumps into Tom.
3:50 p.m.
How come Jas got off with cloakroom duty and I got banned? I am a whatsit…a scapethingy.
4:10 p.m.
Robbie the Sex God (MY NEW BOYFRIEND!!! Yesss and three times yesss!!!!!) will be going home now. Walking along in a Sex Goddy sort of way. A walking snogging machine.
4:30 p.m.
Mutti came in. “Right, you can start making your startling recovery now, Georgia.”
Oh cheers. Thanks a lot. Good night.
Just because Elvis Attwood, school caretaker from the Planet of the Loons, tripped over his own wheelbarrow (when I told him Jas was on fire), I am banned from school.
Mutti rambled on, although she makes very little sense since Vati got home. “It’s your own fault. You antagonize him and now you are paying the price.”
Yeah, yeah, rave on.
4:45 p.m.
Phoned Jas.
“Jas.”
“Oh hi, Gee.”
“Why didn’t you phone me?”
“You’re phoning me. I would have got the engaged tone.”
“Jas, please don’t annoy me. I’ve only been speaking to you for two seconds.”
“I’m not annoying you.”
“Wrong.”
“Well, I’ve only said about two words to you.”
“That’s enough.”
Silence.
“Jas.”
Silence.
“Jas, what are you doing?”
“I’m not annoying you.”
She drives me to the brink of madnosity. Still, I really needed to speak to her so I went on, “It’s really crap at home. I almost wish I hadn’t been banned from school. How was Stalag fourteen? Any goss?”
“No, just the usual. Nauseating P. Green smashed a chair to smithereens and back.”
“Really?! Was she fighting with it?”
“No, she was sitting on it having her lunch. It was the jumbo-sized Mars bar that did it. Everyone was killing themselves laughing. The Bummer Twins started singing ‘Who ate all the pies’ to her, but Slim, our beloved headmistress, heard them and gave us a lecture about mocking the unfortunate.”
“Were her chins going all jelloid?”
“Yeah. In fact, it was Chin City.”
“Fantastic. Are you all missing me? Did anyone talk about me or anything?”
“No, not really.”
Charming. Jas has a lot of good qualities though, qualities you need in a bestest pal. Qualities like, for instance, going out with the brother of a Sex God. I said, “Has Hunky, I mean, Tom, mentioned anything that Robbie has said about me?”
“Erm…let me think.”
Then there was this slurp-slurp noise.
She was making slurping noises.
“Jas, what are you eating?”
“I’m sucking my pen top so I can think better.”
Sacré bloody bleu, I have got le idiot for a pal. Forty-nine centuries of pen sucking later she said, “No, he hasn’t said anything.”
7:00 p.m.
Why hasn’t Robbie mentioned me? Hasn’t he got snogging withdrawal?
8:00 p.m.
I can hear Vati singing “If I Ruled the World.” Good Lord. I have only just recovered from a very bad bout of pretend lurgy. He has no consideration for others.
8:05 p.m.
The worsterosity of it is that the Loonleader (my vati) has returned from Kiwi-a-gogo land and I thought he would be there for ages. But sadly life was against me and he has returned. Not content with that, he has insisted we all go to Och Aye land to “bond” on a family holiday.
However…nananana and who-gives-two-short-flying-pigs’-botties? Because I live in Love Heaven.
Lalalalalalala.
I am the girlfriend of a Sex God!!
8:15 p.m.
The Sex God said I should phone him when I get back from Scotland. But there is a fly in his ointment…I am not going to Scotland!!! My plan is this, everyone else goes to Scotland and…I don’t! Simple enough, I think, for anyone to understand.
operation explain-brilliant-not-going-to-scotland plan to mutti and vati
8:30 p.m.
The olds were slumped in front of the TV canoodling and drinking wine. They are so childish. I had to leave the room in the end because Dad did this really disgusting thing. They were laughing and grappling about on the sofa and they did number five on the snogging scale (open-mouth kissing). Honestly. I mean it. There might even have been a suggestion of six (tongues). Erlack a pongoes!!!! Libby was there as well. Laughing along. It can’t be healthy for a toddler to be exposed to porn.
I’m sure other people’s parents don’t do this sort of thing. In fact, some of my mates are lucky enough to have parents that are split up. I’ve never really seen Jas’s dad. He is usually upstairs or in his shed doing some DIY. He just appears now and again to give Jas her pocket money.
That is a proper dad.
11:00 p.m.
Before I went to bed I explained to the elderly snoggers (from outside the door just in case they were touching each other) that I will not in a zillion years be going on the family excursion to Scotland tomorrow and said good night.
friday october 22nd
scotland
raining
10:30 p.m.
I have come on holiday by mistake.
This is the gorgeous diary of my fantastic family holiday in Och Aye land. Five hundred years driving with a madman at the wheel (Dad) and another two mad things in a basket (Angus and Libby). After two hours of trying to find the cottage and listening to Vati ramble on about the “wonderful countryside,” I was ready to pull his head off, steal the car and drive, drive like the wind. The fact that I can’t drive stopped me, but actually I’m sure that once behind the wheel I could pick it up. How difficult can it be anyway? All Dad does is swear at other cars and put his foot down on some pedal thing.
Finally arrived at some crap cottage in the middle of nowhere. The nearest shop is twelve hundred miles away (well, a fifteen-minute walk). The only person younger than one hundred and eighty is a half-witted boy (Jock McThick) who hangs around the village on his pushbike (!)
In the end out of sheer desperadoes I went outside after supper and asked Jock McThick what him and his mates did at nights. (Even though I couldn’t give two short flying sporrans.) He said, “Och.” (Honestly he said that.) “We go awa’ doon to Alldays, you ken.” (I don’t know why he called me Ken but that is the mystery of the Scottish folk.) It was like being in that film Braveheart. In fact, in order to inject a bit of hilariosity into an otherwise tragic situation I said when we first saw the cottage, “You can tak our lives, but you cannae tak our freedom!!”
1:15 a.m.
It’s a nightmare of noise in this place, hooting, yowling, snuffling…and that’s just Vati! No, it’s the great Scottish wildlife. Bats and badgers and so on…Haven’t they got homes to go to? Why do creatures wake up at night? Do they do it deliberately to annoy me? At least Angus is happy here, now that he is not under house arrest. It was about one A.M. before he came in and curled up in his luxurious cat headquarters (my bed).
saturday october 23rd
10:30 a.m.
Vati back as Loonleader with a vengeance. He came barging into “my” (hahahahahaha) room at pre-dawn, waggling his new beard about. I was sleeping with cucumber slices on my eyes for beau tosity purposes so at first I thought I had gone blind in the night. I nearly did go blind when he ripped open my curtains and said, “Gidday, gidday, me little darlin’” in a ludicrous Kiwi-a-gogo twang.
I wonder if he has finally snapped? He was very nearly bonkers before he went to Kiwi-a-gogo land and having his shoes blown off by a rogue bore can’t have helped. But hey, El Beardo is, after all, my vati and that also makes him vati of the girlfriend of a Sex God. So I said quite kindly, “Guten morgen, vati. Could you please go away now? Thank you.”
I think his beard may have grown into his ears however, because he ignored me and opened the window. He was leaning out, breathing in and out and flapping his arms round like a loon. His bottom is not tiny. If a very small pensioner was accidentally walking along behind him they might think there had been an eclipse of the sun.
“Aahh, smell that air, Georgie. Makes you feel good to be alive, doesn’t it?”
I pulled my duvet round me. “I won’t be alive for much longer if that freezing air gets into my lungs.”
He came and sat on the bed. Oh God, he wasn’t going to hug me, was he? Fortunately Mutti yelled up the stairs, “Bob, breakfast is ready!” and he lumbered off. Breakfast is ready? Has everyone gone mad? When was the last time Mum made breakfast?
Anyway, ho hum pig’s bum, I could snuggle down in my comfy holiday bed and do dreamy-dreamy about snogging the Sex God in peace now.
10:32 a.m.
Wrong.
Clank, clank. “Gergy! Gingey!! It’s me!!”
Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers, it was Libby, mad toddler from the Planet of the Loons. When my adorable little sister came in I couldn’t help noticing that although she was wearing her holiday sunglasses she wasn’t wearing anything else. She was also carrying a pan. I said, “Libby, don’t bring the pan into…”
But she ignored me and clambered up into my bed, shoving me aside to make room. She has got hefty little arms for a child of four. She said, “Move up, bad boy. Mr. Pan tired.”
Then she and Mr. Pan snuggled up against me. I almost shot out of bed, her bottom was so cold…and sticky…urghh.
What is it with my room? You would think that at least on holiday I might be able to close my door and have a bit of privacy to do my holiday project (fantasy snogging), but oh no. There will probably be a coachload of German tourists in lederhosen looking round my room in a minute.
I’m going to go and find the local locksmith (Hamish McLocksmith) and get two huge bolts for my door and you can only get in by appointment.
Which I will never make.
11:00 a.m.
Libby has clanked off with Mr. Pan, thank the Lord. I don’t like to be near her naked botty for long, as something always lurks out of it.
I think Mum and Dad are playing catch downstairs. I can hear them running up and down and giggling, “Gotcha,” and so on. Sacré bloody bleu.
Très pathetico. Vati’s only been back for eighty-nine hours and I feel more than a touch of the sheer desperadoes coming on.
11:10 a.m.
Still, who cares about his parentosity and beardiness? Who cares about being dragged to the crappest, most freezing place known to humanity? I, Georgia Nicolson, offspring of loons, am, in fact, the GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD. Yessssss!!!! Fab and treble marvelloso. I have finally trapped a Sex God. He is mine, miney, mine, mine. There is a song in my heart and do you know what it is? It is that well-known chart topper “Robbie, oh Robbie, I…er…Lobbie You!!! I Do I Do!!!”
1:00 p.m.
Hung around sitting on the gate watching the world go by. Unfortunately, it didn’t. All that went by were some loons talking gibberish (Scottish) and a ferret.
Then Jock McThick or whatever his name is loomed up on his bike. He has an unfortunate similarity to Spotty Norman, i.e., acne of the head.
This is not enhanced by him being a ginger nob. Jock said, “Me and the other lads meet oop at aboot nine just ootside Alldays. Mebbe see you later.”
Yeah right, see you in the next life, don’t be late. Nothing is going to make me sadly go and hang out with Jock and his mates.
8:59 p.m.
Vati suggested we have a singsong round the piano tonight and started off with “New York, New York.”
9:00 p.m.
I took Angus for a walk to check out the nightlife that Jock McThick told me about. Angus is the only good thing about this trip. He’s really perked up. I know he longs for Naomi the sex kitten in his furry inside brain, but he is putting a brave face on it. In fact, he is strutting around like he owns Scotland. This is, after all, his birthplace. He can probably hear the call of the Scottish Highlands quite clearly here. The call that says, “Kill everything that moves.” There were four voles all lined up on the doorstep this morning. Mum said she found a dead mouse in her tights. I didn’t ask where she had left them. If I ask her anything she just giggles and goes stupid. Since Dad came home her brain has fallen out.
Angus has made a new furry chum. None of the other local cats will come near our cottage. I think there was a duffing-up challenge last night. The black-and-white cat I saw in the lane yesterday has quite a bit of its ears missing now. Angus’s new mate is a retired sheepdog called Arrow. I say he is retired, but sadly he is too barmy and old to know that he is retired, so he keeps rounding things up anyway. Not usually sheep though…things like chickens, passing cars…old Scottish people doing their haggis shopping. Angus hangs out with Arrow and they generally terrorize the neighborhood and lay waste to the wildlife.
9:30 p.m.
It’s quite sweet and groovy walking along with Angus and Arrow. They pad along behind me. At least I have got some intelligent company in this lonely Sex Godless hellhole.
When the three of us got to Alldays, Scotland’s premier nightspot, I couldn’t believe it.
Alldays turns out to be a tiny twenty-four-hour supermarket.
Not a club or anything.
A bloody shop.
And all the “youth” (four Jock McThicks on bikes) just go WILD there. They hang around in the aisles in the shop, listening to the piped music! Or hang about outside on their pushbikes and go in the shop now and again to buy Coca-Cola or “Irn-bru”!
Sacré bloody bleu and quel dommage.
midnight
That was it. The premier nightspot of Scotland.
I said to Mutti, “Have you noticed how exceptionally crap it is here?”
And she said, “You have to make your own fun in places like this. You have to make things happen. Anyway, you do exaggerate.”
12:30 a.m.
Hoot hoot. Scuffle scuffle. Root root. Hey, Mutti is right, it is FANTASTIC fun here!! There’s an all-night party going on right outside my window!!! I would join in, but sadly I am not a badger.
sunday october 24th
10:20 a.m.
Still in Och Aye land. Tartan trousers for as far as the eye can see.
10:31 a.m.
How many hours has it been since I saw Robbie now? Hmmm, ninety hours and thirty-six minutes.
11:00 a.m.
How many minutes is that?
11:34 a.m.
Oh God, I don’t know. I can’t do multiplication very well: it’s too jangly for my brain. I’ve tried to explain this to Miss Stamp, our maths Oberführer (and part-time lesbian). It is not, as she stupidly suggests, that I am too busy writing notes to my mates or polishing my nails to concentrate. It is just that some numbers give me the mental droop.
Eight, for instance.
It’s the same in German. As I pointed out to Herr Kamyer, there are too many letters in German words. The German types say goosegott in the morning: how normal is that? In fact, how can you take a language like that seriously? Well, you can’t, which is why I only got sixty percent on my last German exam.
11:50 a.m.
I’m just going to lie in bed conserving my strength for a snogging extravaganza when I get home.
midday
Mutti came into my room with a tray of sandwiches. I said, “Goosegott in Himmel, Mutti, have you gone mad? Food? For me? No, no, I’ll just have my usual bit of old sausage.”
She still kept smiling. It was a bit eerie actually. She was all dreamy. Wafting around in a see-through nightie. Good Lord.
“Are you having a nice time, Gee? It’s gorgeous here, isn’t it?”
I looked at her ironically.
She raved on, “It’s fun though, isn’t it?”
“Mum, it’s the best fun I’ve had since…er…since Libby dropped my makeup into the loo.”
She tutted, but not even in her usual violent tutting way. Just like, nice tutting.
Even though I started reading my Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff for Teens book she still kept raving on. About how great it was to be a “family” again. I wish she would cover herself up a bit more. Other people’s mothers wear nice elegant old-peoples’ wear, and she just lets her basoomas and so on poke out willy-nilly. And they certainly do poke out willy-nilly. They are GIGANTIC.
She said, “We thought we might go to the pencil-making factory this afternoon.”
I didn’t even bother saying anything to that.
“It will be a laugh.”
“No, it won’t, when did we last have a laugh as a family? Apart from when Grandad’s false teeth went down that woman’s bra?”
1:00 p.m.
The lovebirds went off to the pencil factory. They only got Libby to go with them because she thinks they are going to go see the pencil people. And I do mean pencil people. Not people who make pencils. Pencil people. People who are pencils. She’ll go ballistic when she finds out it’s just some Scottish blokes making pencils.
Oh, I am SO bored. Hours and hours of wasted snogging opportunities.
1:20 p.m.
I’d go out but there is nothing to look at. It just goes trees, trees, water, hill, trees, trees, Jock McTavish, Jock McTavish. What is the point of that?
On the plus side, I am going out with a SEX GOD!
1:36 p.m.
Oh Gott in Himmel! What is the point of going out with a Sex God if no one knows?
4:00 p.m.
I wonder if I should phone him.
4:05 p.m.
Not to speak to him as such. Just to remind him that I am his girlfriend.
4:10 p.m.
No one here knows that I am the secret girlfriend of a Sex God.
5:00 p.m.
No one at home knows I am the secret girlfriend of a Sex God.
5:15 p.m.
I am like a mirage. In a frock.
7:00 p.m.
Forced to go and sit in the pub with the elderly loons to “celebrate.” Libby is being baby-sat by Jock McThick’s parents. I hope they have fastened her nighttime nappy securely; otherwise their cottage will not be a poo-free zone. The pub was full of Ye Olde Scottish People (i.e., loads of loonies like my grandad, only wearing kilts). Yippeee. This is the life (not). I asked Vati for a Tía María on the rocks with just a hint of crème de menthe, but he pretended not to hear me. Typico. On the way home M and D were linked up, singing “Donald, Where’s Your Trousers?” whilst I skulked along behind them. It was incredibly dark, no streetlamps or anything. As we tramped along the “grown-ups” were laughing and crashing about (and in Dad’s case farting) when this awful thing happened.
I felt something touch my basooma. I thought it was the Old Man of the Loch and I leapt back like a leaping banana. Jock McThick spoke from out of the darkness, “Och, I’m sorry. I couldnae see a thing in the dark. I was just like…you know…feeling my way hame.” And he scuttled off.
Hame? Why was he calling me Hame? He used to call me Ken.
11:30 p.m.
Feeling his way? Feeling his way to where? My other basooma?
This was disgusting.
11:45 p.m.
Molesting my nunga-nungas.
Nunga-nunga molester.
11:48 p.m.
Despite the incredible crapness of my life, my nunga-nungas have made me laugh. Nunga-nungas is what Ellen’s brother and his mates call girls’ basoomas. He says it is because if you pull out a girl’s breast and let it go…it goes nunga-nunga-nunga. He is obviously a touch on the mental side.
11:50 p.m.
But quite funny though.
11:55 p.m.
Perhaps I could make some nunga-nunga protectors by electrifying my sports bra with a battery type thing. That would give Jock McThick or any other nunga-nunga marauders a shock.
midnight
But it would also give me a shock, which is la mouche in the ointment.
12:10 a.m.
Angus has rediscovered his Scottish roots. Apparently they are in the middle of some bog because he had bits of horrible slimy stuff in his whiskers. He came into my bed purring and all damp and muddy. He soon got nice and dry by wiping himself on my T-shirt.
God, he smells disgusting. I think he’s been rolling in fox poo again. He thinks it’s like a sort of really attractive aftershave.
1:00 a.m.
It isn’t.
monday october 25th
10:10 a.m.
Why oh why oh why has the SG not called me? Oh hang on, I know why he hasn’t. It’s because we haven’t got a phone in our fantastic cottage. I couldn’t believe it when we first arrived. I said to Mutti, “There has been some mistake. I’m afraid we must go back to civilization immediately. I’ll drive.”
Dad raved on about “tranquility” and the simple life.
I said, “Vati, you can be as simple as you like, but I want to talk to my mates.”
He grumbled on about my constant demands. As I pointed out to him, if he would buy me a mobile phone like everyone else on the planet I wouldn’t have to bother speaking to him at all.
2:00 p.m.
I can’t stand much more of this. The rest of my “family” has gone on a forced march. Well, Vati called it “a little walk in the woods.” But I know about his little walks. It will end in tears, but this time they will not be mine. I know exactly what will happen. The Loonleader will be all bossy and “interested” in stuff like cuckoo spit. Then he’ll lose the way and argue with Mutti about the right way home, fall over something and be attacked by sheep. And that will only be the high spots.
I pretended I had a headache.
Vati said to me as I lay in my pretend bed of pain, “You’ve probably given yourself eyestrain looking in that bloody mirror all the time.”
I said, “If I develop a brain tumor you will be the first person I will come to because of your great kindness and sympathosity.”
4:20 p.m.
On the edge of sheer desperadoes. Decided to go for a walk.
Arrow tried to round me up as I came out of the gate. So to make him happy I let him herd me into a hedge for a bit. Then I set off down the lane. Ho hum. Birds singing, ferrets ferretting, Jock McThicks McThicking around. Good grief. Then I came across a phone box.
A phone box!!!
A link to the real world!!! It wasn’t even a tartan phone box!!
I skipped inside and dialed Jas, my very bestest mate in the universe.
“Jas, it’s me!!!! God, it’s good to speak to you. What’s been happening???”
“Er…well…I got this fab new foundation. It’s got gold bits in it that make you…”
It is like talking to the very, very stupid. (In fact, it IS talking to the very stupid.) I had forgotten how annoying she is. Not for long though. She rambled on, “Tom is thinking about doing Environmental Studies.”
I nearly said, “Who cares.” But you have to be careful with Jas because she can turn nasty if she thinks you are not interested in her. I tried to think of something to say. “Oh…er…yeah…the environment…er, that’s great, erm, there’s a lot of, er…environment here; in fact, that is all there is.” Then I told her about the Jock McThick fandango. She said, “Erlack a pongoes. Did you encourage him? Maybe you gave out the wrong signals.”
“Jas, I was not in the nuddy-pants.”
“Well, I’m just saying, Jock must have thought he could rest his hand on your basooma. Why is that? He has never rested his hand on my basoomas, for instance.”
“Jas, you are three hundred miles away. You would have to have nunga-nungas the size of France for Jock to be able to rest his hand on them.”
“Yes, well…I’m just saying, even if I was, you know, in Och Aye land, next to Jock, well, even then, you know…”
“What are you rambling on about?”
“I’m just saying, this is not the first time this has happened to you, is it? There was Mark, the Big Gob….”
“Yeah, but…”
“You say it just happened. That just out of the blue he put his hand on your basooma. No one else was there so we will never really know for sure.”
“I didn’t…it was…”
“Perhaps Jock has heard about your reputation. Perhaps he thinks it’s alright to fondle your basoomas.”
I hate Jas. I slammed the phone down. I will never be talking to her again. I don’t forget things. Once my mind is made up, that is it. The friendship is finito. I would rather eat one of Libby’s nighttime nappies than talk to Jas again.
She is an ex–best mate. Dead to me. Deaddy dead dead. Forever.
4:22 p.m.
Phoned Jas.
“Jas, are you suggesting I am an easy fondleree?”
“I don’t know. I might be.”
“What do you mean ‘you might be’?”
“Well, I might be…but I don’t know what a fondleree is.”
It is like talking to the very, very backward.
I explained to her as patiently as I could. “Well, it’s like dumping. If you dump someone you are the dumper. And they are the dumpee.”
“What has that got to do with fond ling?”
“Jas, concentrate. The verb is ‘to fondle.’ I fondle, you fondle, he, she, it fondles, etc. But I am the recipient of the fondle, so that makes me the fondleree.”
She wasn’t really concentrating though. She was probably looking at herself in the mirror they have in their hall…imagining she is Claudia Schiffer. Just because some absolute prat told her she looked a bit like Claudia. Yeah. Claudia with a stupid fringe.
Walked back to Crap Cottage.
in my room
6:00 p.m.
Brilliant. Miles away from civilization and my so-called mate says I am an easy fondleree. Still, she is mad as a badger; everyone knows that.
9:00 p.m.
Sitting around in the tartan lounge in Crap Cottage. My breasts are making me a mockery of a sham. They are like two sticky-out beacons attracting all the sadsacks in the universe.
11:00 p.m.
Mutti came into my bedroom to get Libby out of my wardrobe. She’s made a sort of nest in there that she says is a treehouse.
Over the shouting and biting I said to Mutti, “Do you think you could ask Dad if you and he could club together to let me have some money for breast reduction surgery?”
It took her about a year to stop laughing.
It’s pointless asking for money. I can’t even get a fiver out of Dad for some decent lip gloss. He would never give me the money. Even if my breasts were so big that I had to have two servants called Carlos and Juan to carry them around for me.
tuesday october 26th
10:00 a.m.
The postman came this morning. He didn’t have any post, he just said, “Good morning to ye. It’s nice to have a good-looking lassie round the place.”
He was quite groovy-looking. A bit like a young Sean Connery. But with more hair on his head. And quite nice lips.
10:15 a.m.
Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s pantaloons, I think I have got general snoggosity syndrome.
11:00 a.m.
Maybe Jas is right. I have become an easy fondleree because of my pent-up snogging deprivation.
Oh Robbie, where are you now? Rescue me from this valley of the loons.
4:29 p.m.
Accidentally found myself next to the phone box.
Uh-oh. Temptation.
The phone box was saying to me, “Come in and use me. You know you want to.”
I have been practicing maturiosity by not phoning the Sex God. It seems like a lifetime since he last snogged me. My lips have definitely got snog withdrawal. I found myself trying out kissing techniques on scuba-diving Barbie last night. Which is truly sad. I must pass by the phone box with complete determinosity.
4:30 p.m.
Brring brring.
Please don’t let it be Robbie’s mum or dad. Please don’t let me have to be normal. Oh thank goodness SG answered the phone. Jellyknickers all round.
He said “Hello” in a Sex Goddy sort of a way.
Wow!!
Then he said “Hello” again.
Wow.
Then I realized that normally when you phone someone up you are supposed to say something. And that something is NOT “I love you, I love you” or “Ngyunghf.” So I took the bullet by the horns and said, “Hi…Robbie…it’s me. Georgia.” (Very good, I had even said the right name!!!) He sounded like he was really pleased to hear from me. “Gee! How are you, gorgeous?”
Gorgeous. He, me called, gorgeous. Me, I. Georgia to brain! Georgia to brain! Shut up shut up shut up!!!!!
He said, “Gee, are you there? Are you having a good time?”
“Fantastic, if you like being bored beyond the Valley of Boredom and into the Universe of the Very Dull.”
He laughed. (Hurrah!!!) Oh, it was so dreamy to talk to him. I told him about everything. (Well, apart from being molested by Jock McThick.) He says some talent scouts are coming to see the next Stiff Dylans gig on November 6th at the Buddha Lounge!! My first official outing as an OG (official girlfriend). What shall I wear, what shall I wear? I noticed he hadn’t really said anything for a bit whilst I had been rummaging through my mental wardrobe. He was not le official grand bouche like some people (Jas). I thought I would entertain him with an intelligent story, but all I could think of telling him about was my nunga-nunga protectors idea. Just in the knickers of time I didn’t. Why couldn’t I be normal with him?
Fortunately he said something. “Look, Gee, I’m really sorry but I have to go. I could talk to you all day, but I have to go off to a rehearsal. I’m late now.”
Ho hum. Well I suppose this is the price I must pay for being the GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD POPSTAR!!! YESSS!!!
He said, in his groovy voice full of gorgeosity, “See you later. I’d like to snog you to within an inch of your life. I’ll phone you when you get back.”
Ooohhhhhh.
After he had put the phone down I stroked my T-shirt with the receiver pretending it was him. But then I saw that Jock McTavish was waiting outside the telephone box looking at me, so I had to pretend I was cleaning the receiver.
5:00 p.m.
Phew.
To make Jock go away, I have said I will go to Alldays later. Which I will not. Jock seemed to be lieve me because he said, “Awa the noo hoots akimbo” or something.
9:00 p.m.
How soon can I get them to set off for home tomorrow? If we set off at dawn we could be back in Normal Land by about four P.M.
9:30 p.m.
I wonder if the ace gang might arrange a surprise welcome home party for me. It’s half term now, so I am no longer an ostracized leper on my own. So ha-di-haha. She who laughs the last laughs, erm, a lot. Slim thought she was banning me for a week but she was banning me for two weeks!!!
10:00 p.m.
In “my” bed, with the usual crowd. Libby and the entire contents of her traveling toybox: scuba-diving Barbie, one-eyed Teddy, Pantalitzer, Panda the Punk (Libby shaved his head). The only difference is that to celebrate our holiday in Tartan-a-gogo Libby has replaced Charlie Horse with Jimmy. Jimmy is a haggis with a scarf on. Don’t even ask. Libby made him this afternoon and she “lobes” him.
I am sleeping in a bed with a stuffed sheep’s stomach. With a scarf on.
wednesday october 27th
6:00 a.m.
Up and packed. I tried to get Mutti and Vati to get up and make an early start, but when I went into their bedroom Vati threw his slipper at me.
9:00 a.m.
At last! Escape!!!! Soon I will be back in the arms of my Sex God. At last, at last. Thank the Lord!!! I love you, Jesus, really, really I do. Good-bye Och Aye land!!! I sat in the back of the car daydreaming of my return as OG. But as they say, “Every silver cloud has a dark lining,” because Vati decided to wear his ridiculous souvenir bagpipe hat as we eventually got into the loonmobile. I got down as low as I could in the back of the car so that no one would see me. I wish I could have an inflatable dad, like in that old film Airplane! where there is an inflatable pilot. Still, with a bit of luck I need never see him again when I get my freedom back. Arrow looked all mournfully at Angus when we left. He will miss his furry partner in crime. Angus and Arrow, los dos amigos bonkeros. Angus didn’t even look back. He just shot into the car and started wrestling with the car rug.
11:00 a.m.
Meanwhile in my fabulous life, another eighty-five years of my parents’ company in the car going home.
Libby has insisted on bringing Jimmy the haggis home with us.
1:00 p.m.
Oh good grief. Angus ate half of Jimmy when Libby had to be taken to the piddly diddly department at the service station. She went ballisticisimus when she found out. She hit Angus over the head with scuba-diving Barbie. I don’t think he even noticed—well, he didn’t stop purring. I nodded off for the whole of the Midlands because Dad started telling us about his hopes for the future. When I woke up I noticed that both Libby and Angus were nibbling away at Jimmy.
They are disgusting.
I sooooo hope that Robbie rings when I get home.
6:00 p.m.
Home!!!! Oh, thank you, thank you, Baby Jesus. I am SOOOO happy. I will never complain about my dear little home again.
6:15 p.m.
God, it’s so boring here. Nothing is happening.
6:30 p.m.
No phone calls.
All my so-called mates forgot to remember that I am not dead. Don’t they even wonder where I have been for the last five days?
7:55 p.m.
Jas, Jools, Ellen, Rosie, Mabs and Soph are ALL out. They’ve all gone to the cinema together. The Fab Gang but without one of the fab. People can be so self-obsessed. Right, well, I am going to eat the souvenirs that I brought back from Och Aye land for them.
8:25 p.m.
Lying down.
Urgh, I feel sick. I may never eat Ye Olde Short-breaddy again as long as I live.
9:00 p.m.
Tucked up in bed. I have made a barrier with my bedside table so that no one can get in my room.
Now I really have got snogging withdrawal BADLY!!
9:05 p.m.
I must see him. I must.
10:00 p.m.
Undid my barricade and went downstairs. I am so restless.
Angus is driving everyone insane!!! He is not allowed out at night until he learns his lesson vis-à-vis Naomi the sex kitten. He has to be kept away from her; otherwise he is in for the big chop. Although I would like to see the vet that could do the job and still have both arms.
Angus keeps yowling and scratching at the door. He is supposed to go to the piddly diddly department and poo parlor division in the laundry room. But he won’t go in. He just hangs round the front door trying to get out, whining and scratching and occasionally licking his bottom.
Libby said, “C’mon, big pussy, I’ll show you,” and went and had a piddly diddly on his tray. Oh marvelous. Now we’ll never get her to go to the ordinary piddly diddly department. She’ll want her own tray.
Then Vati, Loonleader of the Universe, took over. “I’ll deal with the bloody thing!” He dragged Angus into the laundry to put him on the cat tray. It took him about half an hour, even using the spade. Anyway, he got him in there at last. There was a lot of yowling and swearing and Vati came out two minutes later covered in kitty litter. Like the Abominable Ashtray! Even his beard was gray.
10:30 p.m.
In the end, after Angus had laid waste to four loo rolls, I was made to take him out on his lead to see if it would calm him down. God, he’s strong! I mean, normally I have very little control over him, but his love has given him the strength of ten mad cats. When we got out of the door he just took off with me on the end of the lead. Straight to Naomi’s love parlor. At Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road’s place there was a reinforced fence round the gar den, but you could see the house and there was Naomi!! The sex kitten. Lan guishing in the kitchen window. On the window sill. Looking all longing. She was like me. All puckered up and nowhere to go. Poor furry thing. Angus yowled and started doing this weird shivering thing. When Naomi saw Angus she immediately lay on her back with her girlie parts flowing free. She’s a dreadful minx. No wonder Angus is a wreck, driven mad by her Burmese sex kitteny charms. Still, that is male and female for you. Sex God is probably at home even now thinking about me and shivering with excitement like Angus.
10:40 p.m.
But hopefully not rubbing his bottom against a dustbin.
10:50 p.m.
We would have been there all night, but fortunately Mr. Across the Road drew the curtains and I found a bit of old sausage and managed to get Angus to trail after it. He was so miserable that I didn’t lock him in the kitchen. I let him sleep on my bed even though it is strictly verboten.
I said to him very seriously, “Angus, you are on best behavior. Just lie down and go to sleep.” He was all purry and friendly and licky. You see, that’s all he needs—a bit of understanding.
Aahhh. It’s nice having a loyal furry pal. He’s a lot more loyal than some I could name but won’t.
Jas.
10:55 p.m.
And Rosie, Jools, Ellen.
11:00 p.m.
Night night, Sex God, wherever you are.
midnight
Vati just went ballisticisimus. Raving on and shouting, “That is IT, that is IT!!!”
Mutti was saying, “Bob, Bob…put the knife down.”
Has he finally snapped and will have to go to a vatihome?
12:15 a.m.
Angus has pooed in Vati’s tie drawer! Hilarious, really.
El Beardo as usual did not see the joke. He dragged Angus, who was spitting at him, into the kitchen and locked him in there. Then he shouted at me, “Right, that’s IT! I’m going to the vet’s.”
I said, “Why? Are you feeling a bit peaky?” But he didn’t get it.
thursday october 28th
10:00 a.m.
Vati said to me over our marvelous breakfast of…er…nothing, “He’s going to the vet’s and having his chimney swept as soon as I can make an appointment.”
What in the name of Sir Julie Andrews is he talking about now?
11:00 a.m.
I’ve got much too much on my mind to worry about chimneys. I think I may have a lurker coming on. Emergency, emergency.
11:15 a.m.
Also the orangutan gene is rearing its ugly head again. My eyebrows are so hairy they are now approaching the “It’s a mustache! It’s a hedgehog!!! No, no, it’s GEORGIA’S EYEBROWS!!” stage.
It doesn’t even stop at the head, this rogue hair business. I’ve just inspected my legs. I look like I have got hairy trousers on. Dad’s razor is lying there calling to me, “Come on, use me. Just a few little strokes and you could look almost human.” But no, no, I must resist after what happened last time. My eyebrows took a thousand years to grow back after I accidentally shaved them off.
Hmm, but maybe Mum’s hair removing cream? Just a little dab here and there.
midday
Mutti asked me if I wanted to go tenpin bowling with them! Honestly! She and Vati went off with Libby skipping along. I think M and D were holding hands. Sweet really, I suppose. I just wish it didn’t make me feel so sick.
12:30 p.m.
Jas came round AT LAST. I was a bit miffed with her about last night and not bothering to come round earlier. She didn’t notice, of course. She just bent over to pick up my makeup bag. I could see her vast pantibus lurking under her skirt. I said, “Jas, do you mind? I’m not feeling very well. I think I might have jet lag from coming from Och Aye land.”
“You haven’t got a tan.”
What is the point? I gave her my worst look but she just went on using my mascara. She CANNOT stop pouting every time she sees herself in a mirror. She said, “We had a great time at the pictures. Dave the Laugh is really…you know…(pouty pout)…”
“What?”
“Well, you know (pouty pout)…a laugh.”
I tried not to be sarcastic or raise my eyebrows ironically, because I didn’t want to draw any attention to them. I have not quite achieved the sophisticated look that I wanted with Mum’s hair remover. In fact I have achieved the someone-has-just-stuck-a-firework-up-my-bottom look. But you can’t really tell unless you pull my fringe back.
Anyway, you’d have to be on fire for Jas to notice anything. She was rambling on. “Do you think I should get my hair cut really short at the back and kind of longer at the front?”
I hadn’t the remotest interest in Jas’s head, but I know you have to let her rave on about herself a bit, otherwise you never get to talk about yourself. Then she said, “Ellen really likes Dave the Laugh.”
I thought, Oh does she really? How patheticosimus. Ellen my so-called mate likes my castoff Red Herring. She is like a lurking piranha fish in a skirt.
But live and let live I say. OGs display pride and general sophisticosity at all times. Jas was unaware of my sophisticosity and went looning on. “She stayed round at my place for the night and we talked until about four A.M. That’s why I am so tired.”
“It’s nice that you have got a new lezzie mate, Jas, but what has that got to do with me?”
“She didn’t sleep in my bed.”
“So you say.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jas. If you swing both ways that is your personal choice. I’m sure Tom will understand if you tell him you are a bisexual.”
“Oh shut up—you’re being all moody and stressy because Robbie hasn’t phoned you.”
She was right actually, which is annoying. I feel all pent up, like in Cell Block H. I said, “Let’s put some really loud CDs on and go dance crazy.”
We did this fab dance routine. It was duo head shaking, kick turn, jump on bed, snog teddy, then back to the head shaking. I was feeling quite perked up. Then, of course, someone had to spoil it. I had forgotten about the Return of the Mad Bearded One. He came in the front door and it was stomp, stomp, “Bloody hell!”, then crash, stomp, stomp, yell. “Georgia!!! Are you deaf?!!! Turn that racket down, I could hear it at the end of the bloody street!!”
I shouted back, “Pardon? Can you speak up, Dad, there’s really loud music playing!!!”
Which made Jas and me laugh a lot. But not El Beardo.
4:00 p.m.
Jas, my so-called best mate, had to go because she was doing her homework. How sad is that? Very, very sad. Also, she was doing it with her boyfriend Hunky. Hell will freeze over and become a skating rink for the mad before I will do my homework with Robbie. Sex Gods and their girlfriends do not “do homework.” Life is too short.
I tried to explain the tragedy of what she was doing, but Jas just said, “I want to do well in my German exam.” I laughed. But she was serious.
I said, “It is so naff to do well in German, Jas.”
Jas went all huffy. “You only say that because you can’t do it.”
“Oh, that is so nicht true, Jas. Ich bin ein guten German speaker.”
But old swotty knickers went off anyway. Hmmm.
5:00 p.m.
Swiss Family Robinson have gone to the cinema together now. It’s just fun fun fun, all the way for them.
All aloney. On my owney. It’s bloody nippy noodles as well. What a life. I have been back a whole day and a night and he has not called me. Why oh why oh why?
I am so fed up.
5:10 p.m.
I might as well go to bed and grow my lurker.
5:20 p.m.
Phone rang. Probably Jas asking me something about her homework. I said, “Jahwohl!”
5:22 p.m.
The Sex God wants me to go round to his house!!! His parents are out.
I am so HAPPY!!!
5:30 p.m.
I changed into my jeans and quickly got made up. I went for the natural look (lip gloss, eyeliner, mascara and blusher) with a touch of panstick on the lurker. You could only see the lurking lurker if you looked up my nostril, and what fool was going to do that?
But as I was going out of my bedroom door I remembered my nungas. Perhaps I should take some precautions to keep them under strict control. Maybe bits of Sellotape on the ends of them to keep them from doing anything alarming? I’d like to trust them, but they are very unreliable. Sometimes they act like they have lives of their own. One day I will look down and they will have gone out to some nunga-nunga party by themselves. Oh, oh, I have early signs of absent brain coming on!!!
outside robbie’s house
6:00 p.m.
I walked through the gate, breathing the atmosphere of Sex Goddiness, and knocked on the door. My heart was beating really loudly. The door opened.
The Sex God.
Himself.
In person.
In his gorgeous black jeans and thingy top. And his dreamy army things and gorgey leggy whatsits and mouthy thing and so on. He is SO dreamy. Every time I see him it’s a shock. He smiled at me. “Georgia…how are you?”
Excellent question. Excellent. Good. I knew the answer as well. That was the marvelous thing. I knew the answer was “Great, how are you?” Unfortunately, all the blood in my brain had gone for a bit of a holiday into my cheeks. I had a very, very red face and a completely empty brain. I couldn’t speak; all I could do was be very, very red.
He just looked at me, and he smiled this really beautiful smile, all curly round the teeth. Like he really liked me. Yuuummy scrumbos.
Then he pulled me into the house and shut the door behind me. I just stood there trying not to be red. He put his arms round me and gave me a little soft kiss on the mouth, no tongues (number three on the snogging scale). But my mouth had gone into pucker mode so when he stopped my mouth was a bit behind and still a bit open. I hoped I didn’t look like a startled goldfish.
He kissed me again, this time harder and longer. His mouth was all warm and wet (not wet like whelk boy though). He put one of his hands on the back of my head, which was just as well as I thought my head might fall off. And then he started kissing my neck. Little sucky kisses right up to my ear. Fanbloodytastic. After a bit of that, and believe me I could have gone on doing that for years, he put his tongue ever so softly into my ear!! Really! Ear snogging!!! Fantastic.
I think I might have lost the use of my legs then because I fell over onto the sofa. However, I quickly leapt to my feet in a gazelle(ish) sort of way. I thought I would say something normal so that he would be fooled into thinking I was normal. I said, “Did you finish your demo-disc-type-thingymedendums?”
(Yes—very nearly English!! Good, good, keep it up!!)
He smiled at me and then went and put his demo disc on. It was very groovy, but I didn’t know what to do with my face. Smile? Look dreamy? Hum? Nod along to the beat? In the end, I went for gazing out of the window and tapping my foot a bit. He came and stood behind me and put his hands on my waist.
So I turned around for more snogging.
bedroom
10:00 p.m.
I am in Love Heaven. What a mega fab day. He is the Sex God of the Universe and beyond.
I crept downstairs and phoned Jas. “Jas,” I whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because M and D are in the front room, and I don’t want them to know I am calling you.”
“Oh.”
“I have had the most amazing time, I—”
“Well, I haven’t, I just can’t decide whether to have my hair cut for the gig…. Do you think yes orno? I mean, it’s nice to have it long but then it’s nice to have it short, but then…”
“Jas, Jas…it is my turn to talk.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Oh.”
“Ask me what I have just done.”
“Why? Don’t you know?” And she started laughing.
I forgot I was supposed to be whispering and yelled down the phone, “Jas!!!” Then I told her. “I went round to Robbie’s house to see him.”
Jas said, “No!”
“Mais oui!”
“Sacré bleu.”
“Aujourd’ hui.”
“Well, what happened?”
And I said, “Well, it was beyond marvy. We talked and snogged and then he made me a sandwich and we snogged and then he played me one of his tracks and then we snogged.”
“So it was like…”
“Yeah…a snogging fest.”
“Sacré bleu!” Jas sounded like she was thinking which is a) unusual and b) scary.
I went on, “Yes, and guess what?”
“What?”
“He put his tongue in my ear.”
“Crikey. Did it…couldn’t it…accidentally…like stick in your brain?”
Honestly, you would get more sense out of a potato. I ignored her obvious bonkerosity and went on, “But then this weird thing happened. He was playing me his demo CD and standing behind me with his hands on my waist.”
“Ooer.”
“D’accord. Anyway, I turned round and he sort of leapt out of the way like two short leaping things.”
“Was he dancing?”
“No…I think he was frightened of being knocked out by my nunga-nungas.”
Then we both laughed like loons on loon tablets (i.e., a LOT).
bedroom
10:21 p.m.
Vati made me get off the phone and gave his famous We-are-not-made-of-money speech, first given in 1846.
11:00 p.m.
Emergency snogging scale update:
friday october 29th
9:58 a.m.
Dreamt of Robbie feeding me chocolate sandwiches. Which was really cool. But then he started nibbling my ears in a sort of peckish way, and he nibbled them both off. Then for some reason we were in the south of France at some big gig and it was really sunny and I got my shades out to put on and they just fell off because I had no ears to balance them on.
I don’t know what this means. Probably it means I am feverish with love.
Very nippy noodles again. Brrrr. Oh, it snowed during the night, that’s why. When I got out of bed and stood in the cold air my nipples did that sticking-out thing again. On the whole I seem to have very little control over my body.
Still, so what!!!
6:00 p.m.
Spent the day in a love haze punctuated by rescuing bits of my underwear from Angus’s basket. He is in an awful mood. He climbed up the curtains like a Tyrolean mountaineer in a furry suit. If he was a human he would go down to the gym and work out his frustration by hitting something. Or jogging. I know how he feels.
9:00 p.m.
I tried to encourage Angus to go cat jogging. He didn’t get it though. When I set off jogging he trotted along quite nicely on his lead. For about a minute. Then he got bored. He ran round and round me like a mad loon until his lead was wrapped round my ankles and all I could do was fall over into a thorn bush.
9:30 p.m.
Phone rang. OhmyGod. I almost ripped it off the wall.
It was Rosie checking arrangements for tomorrow. I could hardly hear her because there was such loud music in the background. She said, “Greetings, Earth creature…SVEN!!!!! You adorable Norwegian fool, turn the music down!!”
I heard laughing and stamping and then the music went quieter. Rosie said, “Jas said you did ear snogging yesterday.”
Oh, thank you, Radio Jas.
saturday october 30th
9:30 a.m.
Phoned Jas for gang discussion. Where we should all meet today and so on. When she answered I came over a bit French. (Because I am in Le Luurve Heaven.) “Bonjour, Jas, it is moi, ta grande amie.”
“Ah, bonjour.”
“Ah, d’accord, I have just manged my breakfast; I manged the delicieusement toast and le coffee de Monsieur Nescafè.”
“Magnifique.”
“De rigeur.”
We are meeting at gang headquarters (Luigi’s Cafe) at one o’clock and then going for a bit of heavy makeup trying-on in Boots, etc. I have only got a measly five pounds to spend. I hope Dad manages to persuade some poor fool to give him a job soon because I am running out of lip gloss.
11:00 a.m.
Bloody hell. You take your life in your hands going into the kitchen for a snack. Angus is in there and he is not pleased. I had to fend him off with a frying pan to get into the fridge.
Still, lalalalalala.
midday
Still in a European mood, I dressed French casual (same as sports casual—black Capri pants, black rollneck top, ankle boots—but with a lot more eyeliner). In fact, the combination of French osity and my snogging extravaganza made me come over all forgiving and relaxed. I even waved to Mr. Next Door as I went down the road. Typically, he just tutted. But hey ho, tut on. Nothing can spoil my mood. Mr. Next Door was wearing an extra ordinary pair of trousers; they seem to start under his armpits and be made out of elephant. He said, “I hope you are keeping that wild animal under lock and key. It’s about time something was done with it.”
Nobody can take a joke around here. Alright, Mr. Across the Road does have a point in that Angus did abscond with Naomi, but what does Old Elephant Trousers have to complain about?
What they both fail to see are Angus’s very good qualities. He has many attractive cat qualities. For instance, he has EXCELLENT balance. Only last month he herded Snowy and Whitey, Mr. Next Door’s Prat Poodles, into the manure heap and then leapt down from the wall and had a ride round on Snowy’s back. Like Snowy was a little horsey.
How many cats can do that?
12:30 p.m.
While I was waiting at the bus stop for a bus to town, two blokes in cars hooted their horns at me (ooer). I really have become a boy magnet.
Then along came Mark Big Gob who I unfortunately made the mistake of going out with in my youth. Well, ten months ago, anyway. He was messing about with his rough mates waiting for the bus. No sign of his midget girlfriend. Perhaps he had mislaid her. His mouth is sooo big; how could I have snogged him? And he had rested his hand on my basooma. Still, let bygones be bygones. My basoomas are out of his hands now. I am, after all, the girlfriend of a Sex God and Mark is the boyfriend of some toddler. I smiled kindly at him, and that is when he said to me, “You want to be careful not to move too quickly, Georgia. You’ll have someone’s eye out with those.”
And he meant my nunga-nungas! And all his mates laughed.
I stood there in a dignity-at-all-times sort of way until the bus came. I sat as far away from the BG and his rough mates as I could.
12:45 p.m.
It was a relief to get off the bus. As I got off I had to go past Mark and his mates. I made sure my nungas were not making a guest appearance by hunching my shoulders over.
12:50 p.m.
I’ve just seen a reflection of myself in a shop window looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame in Capri pants.
1:00 p.m.
In the cafe I met up with Rosie, Ellen, Mabs, Jools and Jas. Yessssssssss! The ace gang together again!! The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town!!! We had loads of really important things to talk about: makeup, snogging and, of course, berets. This term is not going so well on the beret front. Even the lunchpack beret has lost its charm.
Rosie said, “I walked by Miss Stamp with two oranges and a banana stuck under my beret and she just raised her eyes. Something must be done.”
I had a flash of total whatsit…wisdomosity. “Mes huge amies, I have given this seconds of thought, and I know what the answer is.”
They were all agog as two gogs. Jools said, “What?”
I brought out my gloves and beret from my rucky. “Voilà.”
They looked at me. Honestly, it was like talking to the terminally deaf.
I said again, “Voilà…glove animal!!”
Rosie said, “What in the name of Slim’s gigantic knickers are you talking about?”
Good grief. It is very tiring being the girlfriend of a Sex God and a genius at the same time. “Glove animal!!! A way of dressing sensibly and snugly using both beret and gloves. You pin a glove over each ear so that it hangs down like big dog ears and then you pop the beret over the top.” I clipped my gloves over my ears and popped the beret over the top (risking my hair’s bounceability factor).
“Voilà, glove animal!!!”
Magnifique, I think everyone will agree.
8:00 p.m.
Home again To my lovely delicious supper of…er…
Mutti and Vati and Loonsister out AGAIN. Still. In Love Heaven you are never really alone.
Angus is tied up to the kitchen table leg. I gave him a hug to cheer him up, and he lashed out at me. Also I notice that he has a pair of Vati’s Y-fronts in his basket. Good grief. He has gone beyond sheer desperadoes. He is really sad without Naomi. I know how he feels. Every minute without the Sex God seems about sixty seconds long.
11:30 p.m.
Halloween tomorrow.
It’s impossible to sleep in my bed with Libby’s pumpkin lantern in here. I suppose I should be pleased she hasn’t insisted on having her witch’s broom and…
“Libby, no, not the broom and…”
“Move over, bad boy.”
sunday october 31st
halloween
I immediately annoyed Dad this morning by pretending that he was wearing a scary Halloween costume. In fact, his leisure slacks and Marks and Spencer’s cardigan ARE very scary, but he didn’t get it.
Libby is in toddler heaven because some of her little mates from kindy are coming across this afty for apple bobbing and lanterns and stuff.
11:00 a.m.
In a rare moment of sanity Vati has been over to see Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road and pleaded for Angus’s manhood. He was all pleased with himself when he came back.
“I thought I’d take a look at that garden fence, Connie, see if we can keep Angus in a bit more. Then he might not have to have his biscuits nibbled.”
Biscuits nibbled? What planet does he live on?
He started rooting around in the toolbox. I wish he would get a job and then he wouldn’t be interested in DIY anymore. Mum said, “Bob, I beg you, please get someone competent to do the fence. You’re only just back on your feet again.”
Vati got all dadish. “Connie, I can fix a fence, you know.”
We laughed. I helped Mum out. “Dad, there was the unfortunate leg-through-the-ceiling incident when you last went into the loft.”
“There was a weakness in the roof.”
“Yes, Dad, that was you.”
“Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”
I am not wrong, though. The electrician who came to look at the fridge that blew up after Dad had “fixed it” accused Dad of being a madman. But grown-ups will never be told anything until it is too late. That is the sadnosity of grown-ups.
As Vati went into the cupboard under the stairs Mum looked at me, but what was I supposed to do? It’s her husband; she should stop him. He came out of the cupboard with a hammer and a saw. I said, “Well, probably catch up with you later in Casualty then, Dad.”
He swore in a very unpleasant way.
2:00 p.m.
Dad built a hilarious fence. It was sort of leany and falling-downy at the same time. It was supposed to keep Angus away from Naomi, but when Dad was hammering in the final nail he said, “Yes, well, that should keep him safely in,” and the whole fence fell over. And Angus just walked straight over the fence into Next Door’s garden.
3:00 p.m.
Vati is having to pretend to be normal because Libby’s kindy mates have arrived. Libby’s an awfully rough hostess. When Millie and Oscar were bobbing for apples she “helped” them by banging them on the heads with her pumpkin lantern. Oscar couldn’t walk straight for ages and Millie wanted to go home. Well, actually, all of the children wanted to go home.
5:30 p.m.
Angus is having a huge laugh. He keeps appearing on the top of fences and so on. He ate Snowy’s play Bonio. Mr. Next Door said he will have to get a dog psychiatrist in.
Vati’s been raving on and on. Outside I could see Mr. and Mrs. Next Door and Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road all muttering together and poking about with sticks. They are probably forming a lynch mob. For heaven’s sake.
Vati said, “As soon as we find him, that is it—he has his trombone polished once and for all.”
As Dad was grumping around, moaning on and on and banging things about in the kitchen, I said to Mum, “Will you tell Vati that I don’t want to discuss things of a personal nature with him, but if he takes Angus to the vet and has his, you know, trouser snake addendums tampered with, he is no longer my vati. I will be vatiless.”
Mutti just went tutting off into a world of her own.
Angus is a king amongst cats. He walks tall with his trouser snake addendums proudly dangling. Naomi is yowling all the time. Why don’t they just let them be together?