wednesday july 20th
stalag 14
I have decided to gird my loins and take the high road, etc., or whatever it is that our Och Aye friends drone on about. Anyway I am going to be positive. And actually the day did start in tip-top form. First of all, Angus set fire to his own tail sitting near the oven. Which I have to say was very funny. Libby laughed so much I thought I would have to do the Heimlich maneuver on her. Which I think is an omen for everything going my way boywise.
Ran up to Jas at her gate and gave her a firm handshake and said, “This is the first day of the rest of our lives.”
She said, “What does that mean?”
I said, “I don’t know, but let’s disco dance.”
And we burst into a quick bout of the Viking disco inferno dance. Well, the stabbing and leg-kicking. Jas wouldn’t do the all-over body shake because she didn’t want to mess up her fringe.
I told her a bit about my night, but I let there be an air of mysteriosity about things. Mostly I lied.
assembly
Slim was moaning on as usual. “Why is it necessary for me to remind you that the science block skeleton is not a toy? Whoever thought it was funny to dress it up in Mr. Attwood’s spare overalls and sit it in his hut with a flask is very childish. Mr. Attwood got quite a start.” Etc., etc., blah, blah, rave on, rave on. But then the music started (or Miss Wilson playing the crap piano, as some people call it), and we realized it was the pièce de résistance comedy hymnwise. Not Jerusalem. Obviously it would have been top if it had been Jerusalem with its famous refrain “And was Jerusalem builded here amongst England’s dark satanic PANTS,” but it was even better than that. Because yesssssss it was “Gladly my cross I bear.” Or as we know and love it, “Gladly my cross-eyed bear.” Oh yes. Klingon salutes all round for the ace gang.
Hawkeye was giving us the hairy eyeball because normally we do not bother singing, we just mouth the words. But touché, Hawkeye, girl torturer and center of poonosity, today the ace gang has triumphed comedywise.
Then to put the icing on the pajamas, as we trooped out along the corridor, Elvis Attwood tripped over his mop and had a magnificent spaz attack and started hitting the mop. I think he is tipping over the edge into insanity and mentaldom.
blodge
Miss Finnigan is absent, probably exhausted by hauling her nungas around all day, they are quite literally giganticibus. Nearly as obscene as my mum’s. As a special treat, Miss Wilson has been sent on as sub. Joy unbounded.
As we lolled into our seats, Miss Wilson was fiddling around with a TV. Rosie said, “Ooh good, is it Gladiator, Miss?”
Miss Wilson had a complete ditherama and practically lassoed herself with the electrical cable. She was all flushed.
“No, no, it’s not Gladiator because it’s—”
Rosie hadn’t finished. “We are always allowed to watch Gladiator on Wednesdays. And as it is set in olden times we are also allowed to practice our Viking bison horn dance. Do you want to see it?”
Smoothing her bob in between plugging stuff in, Miss Wilson said, “Now Rosie, you know that it’s biology and so I will be showing a relevant film. So settle down girls and…Julia, please do not set fire to the plants with the Bunsen burner; that is not what they are for.”
Jools started then: “What are Bunsen burners for, then, Miss? I thought that was what the huge flame thing was for.”
I didn’t give Miss Wilson much chance of making it through to the end of the lesson.
five minutes later
Miss Wilson is sensationally red. Rosie offered to help plug stuff in and accidentally turned the fan full on, which nearly blew Miss Wilson’s bob off. She has outdone herself fashionwise today. And I am not saying that just to be nice. She must have found the only corduroy shop in the world and today she was wearing a pinafore dress made out of it, with ankle socks. They were not made out of corduroy actually, but it would have been good if they had been.
I said to Mabs, “If this so-called film is anything to do with reproduction by any creature on the planet, I am definitely putting chewed-up paper in my earlugs.”
two minutes later
The film turns out to be about bees. It is a film about a bee center.
How crap is this going to be?
an hour later
That was the best thing I have seen for ages. We made Miss Wilson rewind the bit where the two queens were having a bitch fight. I didn’t know how fab bees were, and so sensible they could teach us a thing or two. For instance, the queen bee kills her sexual partners by tearing off their reproductive equipment (or bee trouser-snake addenda) once she has had her wicked way with them.
As I said to Jas, “That would solve my multi-boyfriend problemo.”
She said, “Georgia, excuse me if I am right, but one of your so-called boyfriends took you out for a coffee and didn’t snog you, and the other one hasn’t even got on the blower. That is not what I would call a multi-boyfriend problemo.”
I kicked her shin.
“I hate you, Jas.”
“Well I am only telling you the truth, that is what friends are for.”
“Is it? Well I don’t tell you how stupid your fringe looks, do I?”
“Yes.”
She is so unreasonable and mad. And so full of herself just because she has a boring old boyfriend. However, for once I don’t mind because I feel that I have learned quite a lot today. I may become a beekeeper/model/backing singer.
Did you know that baby bees are fed bee bread? That is le fact.
Also, when they sting you they lose their bottoms.
on the way to english
Miss Wilson is beside herself at the prospect of going camping. As we left blodge she said, “Girls, it’s going to be such fun.”
I said to the gang, “I tell you this for free, I am not doing anything to do with mime or clowning, and that is final.”
english
Blimey O’Reilly, how many plays did Billy Shakespeare write? He can’t have got out much. Apparently most of the rude words we know are from him and his mates, so I don’t know why we get told off for using them. And also, violence and binge-drinking is not exactly a new invention. Billy and his fellow twits in tights were not exactly kind to each other. For a laugh they used to put people in stocks and so on. In fact that was their entertainment, that and baiting bears. For instance, here is a real conversation between Elizabethan mates, Tight-us Tight-us and Mind-us My cod-us Piece.
Mind-us My Cod-us Piece: “Prithee Tight-us Tight-us, what do you fancy doing tonight-us?”
T. T.: “Sirre what-us about drinking a pint or two of gin and annoying-us the bears?”
M.C.P.: “Nah…Let-us just bugger off down to the stocks and throw tomatoes at the weirdo.”
french
I am going to have to kill Rosie because unfortunately she has got prepreweekend bonkerosity. Or a touch of the Svens, as some might say. She has just sent me a French joke.
Her notelet said: “Bonjour, mon petit pain.
What do you call a French man in sandals?
Au revoir.
Rozeeeeeeeeeeee”
I wrote back, “I don’t care.”
But she gave me her raised eyebrows and nodding head thing until I had to mouth to her, “Oh go on then.”
And she wrote back, “Philippe Philoppe.”
on the way home
4:15 p.m.
The Blunderboys are trailing along behind us doing what they think is gay repartee. Saying things, like, “Hey love, lie down, will you? I need somewhere to park my bike.”
What are they talking about? I’ll tell you this, they will be the last to know.
After about ten minutes of this I turned round to them and said, “Er, why don’t you go away. A LOT?”
And amazingly that baffled them. I think it was having a clear instruction that they couldn’t cope with. Apparently boys and dogs have stuff in common. That is what the Hornmeister told me once.
At that moment, as if he had been earwigging in my brain, the Hornmeister appeared over the horizon with two of his mates. When he saw us he did this mad running toward us with his arms outstretched. Sort of skipping like from The Sound of Music.
“Hello ladeeeeeeez, the vati is back! Sound out the pants of England!!! Let the Cosmic and General Horn be heard! Hooooorrnnnnnn!!! Who are my bitches???”
Ellen said, “Er, we are…er are we your, erm, bitches?”
We looked at her.
I said in a dignified at all times way, “Oh hello Dave, you’re not going to do your rapping thing and then fall over a wall again, are you?”
He looked at me and licked his lips. Honestly.
“Georgia, I know that is just your little way of saying, ‘Hey big boy, hold me back because you give me the Horn big time.’”
I just looked at him. I wasn’t going to smile at him, if that is what he thought. He was too full of himself and his red bottomosity. But he would not get me to…oh blimey, I have accidentally given him my full nostril–flaring smile! Damn. He linked up with us all and then his two mates did the same so that we looked like we were doing the hokey-pokey. I hope we didn’t have to negotiate any lampposts or the elderly insane.
He said, “Trot on, girls. Do you like my new trainers? I feel like Jack the Biscuit in them.”
They were quite cool, as it happens.
One of his mates, Declan, was linked up to Ellen, and he said, “We had a laugh today, there was a minor rumble in the corridor because Phil the Nerd and his mates tried to be top dog in the lunch queue. So clearly he had to be binned. Excellent.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask, but somehow I did. “What do you mean he had to be binned?”
in my bedroom
I know that I have said this many, many times, but boys are a bloody mystery. Apparently when they get bored, boys go on a “binning” session. They got Phil the Nerd and put him botty-first into a litter bin. As soon as he managed to heave himself out, his “mates” put him back in. Then when he got out again, Dave and Dec and company turned up and put him back in again. And so on until the end of break. Why?
5:30 p.m.
I hate to admit this because of my position as mate to Dave the Laugh, but there is something that goes on in the jelloid knicker department when I see him. He’s sort of familiar somehow, and he does make me laugh. But shut up, brain, because mates do not snog or even think about snogging. That is le fact. I have too many maybe boyfriends to worry about without thinking about Dave the Laugh and his snogging abilities. Which I’m not even thinking about, by the way.
two minutes later
I was just thinking about when I first snogged him at the Fish party. That really was the beginning of my red-bottom phase. I blame him. He started me on the slippery slope with his lip-nibbling techniques and so on. But I will just LET IT GO because he is not on the snoggees list, he is just a boymatetypefandango. Which is good.
one minute later
I wonder what number he has got up to with his “girlfriend.” He never mentions her. Mind you, I never mention her.
I wonder if she mentions herself.
I wonder if she has ever asked him about me.
She isn’t with him much; perhaps he has dumped her.
ten minutes later
A lot of thumping on the stairs.
“Come on dollyboy, Josh boy, bring pussycat in here lalalalalalalala. Pussycat pussycat where have you beeeeeen, I’ve been to London to see a sardine!!! Hahahahahahaha.”
My door crashed open and a very red-faced sister loomed round. She had Gordon by the neck and he was struggling like billio. Yeah, good luck, furry chum. She had her other chubby little arm around the neck of her “boyfwend” the unfortunate Josh. Libby lobes Josh. She treats him just like the rest of her toys (Pantalitzer doll, Angus and Gordy, Scuba-diving Barbie, Jesus, Sandra, me), really really badly. The only difference is that as yet she hasn’t been able to remove bits of his body. Pantalitzer doll is quite literally just a head now.
“Heggo Gingie, my Gingie, I LOBE my Gingie. Kiss Joshie the dollyboy.”
“No, Libbs, I don’t think that Josh wants a kiss, and you are holding him too tightly round his little neck his head is going red, isn’t it, Joshie?”
Libby smiled her alarming smile. Lately she has taken to opening her eyes really wide when she does it and sticking her teeth out, like a bonkers hamster who has just seen a really big carrot.
“He laaaikes it.”
And she dragged them off into her room. If I hear sawing noises, I will go in. Although why I have to take responsibility I don’t know. What are my “parents” doing? If they aren’t interested in their children, they shouldn’t have them. I might say that to them. I might say…no hang on a minute I know what will happen then, they WILL start taking an interest in me, just to annoy me.
Went down to run myself a bath and as I passed Libby’s door I could hear her talking.
“Now then, a bitty lit of lipstick. Mmmmmm.”
Josh is going to look like a toddler drag queen by the time his mum picks him up. Still, if she bans him from coming round it might save him from something far, far worse.
As I came out of the bathroom, Vati was coming out of the kitchen. Wearing what he likes to think as “leisure wear.” Essentially jeans and a T-shirt that says, “I’m a grown up. So nananananananana.”
How pathetico. But I didn’t say anything. He started rambling and moaning, though. He only has to see my head to start complaining.
“Georgia, you had better not be in that bathroom for the rest of the night, there are other people in this house, you know.”
I said, “I know, that is what I complain about as well.”
“Don’t be so bloody cheeky. The day you start paying the water bill is the day you can start being cheeky.”
Oh drone on. Just because as yet I am not the girlfriend of a popstar and a squillionnaire beekeeper backing singer etc., I am picked on by old huge botty. Still, live and let die, is what I say.
If Mum and Dad were bees, he would be a dead bee by now. And that is not easy to say.
He hadn’t finished, though. “And feed your bloody cat, it’s attacking my trousers.”
Who wouldn’t, I thought, but I didn’t say that.
I turned the bath on and went into the kitchen. When he saw me, Angus shot through the cat flap into the garden. Then he came back in doing his comedy coming through the cat flap backward thing and yowling like he hadn’t eaten anything for days. I know that is not true because of the complaints from the neighbors. Mr. Up the Road said that Angus even ate some lard he had put out for the birds. The Prat brothers have to be fed inside now because Angus is so sneaky he can dart out within seconds and gobble down their food. He is like the James Bond of Cat Land—they seek him here, they seek him there, they seek that puddy tat everywhere. I have seen him leap down from the bedroom windowsill unexpectedly, right into the Prat poodles’ food bowl. Or the roof. Or out of the dustbin. You have to admire him, really.
Owwwwwwwww. Bloody hell, I think he may have eaten my ankle.
I put Angus’s food in his bowl and he was purring and pushing himself against my legs. Aahhh. Then he sat on the table and just looked.
I said, “Don’t you want your kitty-cat food?”
He shut his eyes.
I went and checked the bath and put in some of Mum’s strictly banned expensive bath oil that she hides in her wardrobe. Honestly, it is so tiring trying to have a bath around this place.
When I went back into the kitchen, Angus was sitting in his food in the food bowl.
I don’t know what to say.
As I was just looking at him and he was looking at me, Gordy came into the kitchen. Fully made up. Honestly. If I didn’t know better I would say that he had false eyelashes on. He was covered in foundation and rouge, and around his eyes were big black rings and some sort of blue stuff. I noticed he had some clip-on earrings on as well. And a bow on his tail.
I went off into the bathroom.
The odd thing was, Gordy looked strangely happy.
Maybe he is a homosexualist cat.
Angus will disown him.
in the bathroom
Aah, at last I can relax and think about myself properly.
It is amazing how floaty nungas are. I wonder why. Perhaps it is in case of flooding and then girls, who of course are the most important sex, would float to safety.
It may be a genetic floaty survival thingy.
two minutes later
I don’t like to criticize Big G unnecessarily, but it does on the whole seem like a useless genetic floaty survival thingy. Much the same as the body-hair fiasco. What is the point of having rogue hairs shooting out of the back of your knee, for instance? Or the big curly one I found in my eyebrow? How could that help the human race survive? Unless there was a time when wild animals were really really frightened of eyebrows.
Back to the nungas, though. (I can hear Dave the Laugh saying, “Yes, let us get back to the nungas, Kittykat!” Shutup shutup, Dave the Laugh’s imaginary voice! Get out of my bath!!!!) Where was I? Oh yes, if it is down to floatiness, clearly Wet Lindsay would sink without a trace, as she has got pretendy nungas, which is a GOOD thing, but Melanie Griffiths would be floating around with me for sure. I mean she’s alright and everything, but not exactly tip-top brainwise. I wouldn’t want her and me to be responsible for repopulating the earth after a flood.
fifteen minutes later
I heard the doorbell ring. Please let it not be Grandad in his bicycling shorts, with Maisie his knitted girlfriend. Thank goodness I have the door safely bolted. I could hear muffled voices as I put my face mask on. Aaahh this was the first time I had been relaxed for ages, well since I had my little zizz in maths this arvie. I find trigonometry vair vair soothing.
two minutes later
Dad said through the door, “Georgia, are you still in the bath?”
Uuuurgh, my dad was talking to me whilst I was in the nuddy-pants! How disgusting. I put a flannel over my nungas.
“Dad, go away.”
“There is someone to see you.”
What? The ace gang usually rings before they come round. I bet it was Mr. Next Door come to complain about his stupid aquarium fiasco, but I hadn’t heard any shouting.
I said, “Who is it?”
Then I heard his voice. “Georgia…ciao, it is Masimo. I came for to see you. How are you?”
I couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe that I was talking to Masimo in the nuddy-pants. Me, not him, I mean, unless it was an Italian tradition to call round at a girl’s house with no clothes on. You never know, of course, but…shut up shut up!!!
This called for hidden depths of sophisticosity. Maybe I could pretend I wasn’t in the bath, that I was just, like, in the bathroom. No, no, that was much worse because if I wasn’t having a bath what was I doing in the bathroom? He might think there was a loo in here. There IS a loo in here. Oh no nononnooooooo. Why had my stupid stupid father let him come near the bathroom door???
I could hear my dad say, “I know she is in there because I spoke to her just before you came round. Who knows what girls do in there, eh? Where did you say you came from in Italy?”
Masimo said in his gorgey Pizza-a-gogo way, “It is a small place near Roma.”
I stepped very, very quietly out of the bath. Don’t make a ripply water noise, just shushhy-shush. I needn’t have bothered, though, because Dad was still pratting on for England.
“Oh yes, very nice, I went on a footie excursion with the lads to Rome, had a lot of your vino tinto!!! Muchos nice.”
Masimo laughed.
“Ah yes, I like to play footie. When I go home I with my mates we play in a how you say, in a league.”
“Yes, I like to keep in top condition myself. Would you like a drink?”
“Ah well, thank you, that would be nice, Mr. Nicolson.”
“Call me Bob.”
And I heard them go off into the kitchen.
Call me Bob???
No, I tell you what, why don’t we call you “You big fat prat!!!”
How could this be happening? I could have drowned in the bath for all they knew.
I dried myself and washed off the face mask.
But I was still trapped in the bathroom with no makeup on, with a Luurve God just two inches of wood away. Oh what should I do? There was nothing to improvise with, makeupwise. Mum told me that Maisie used to use shoe polish as eyeliner because they were so poor in the olden days. And bite her lips to make them go red. Come to think of it, she looks like the bride of Dracula now, so years of lip biting have paid off. Grandad likes that living dead look.
I put my ear to the door and I could just make out my dad pratting on and on about his football “career,” i.e. being generally a large lazy lardy lump on legs. Then I heard Mum come out of the lounge and shout up the stairs, “Libby, you and Josh are very quiet. What are you doing?”
I heard a bit of scuffling and then Libby saying, “Nothing, Mummy.”
And I thought I heard Josh shout, “Help!” but I had no time for toddler trouble just now. I had my own emergency.
I whispered as loudly as I could, “Mum! Mum!!!”
She came over to the door.
“What? Why are you still in there? Masimo is here. God, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“Mum, I am stuck in here in my crappy T-shirt and joggy bums and no makeup. What are you going to do about it? Because if you don’t help me, I will be in here for the rest of my life.”
She said, “Say please.”
“PLEASE help me, Mum. Otherwise I will kill you.”
Eventually after she had made me plead properly, Mum went off and sneaked me in my makeup bag and jeans.
My hand was all trembly and my face had that attractive red quality that you long for when you have a Luuurve God in the house. Anyway, I did my best. I thought I would go for that “ooooh you caught me washing my hair” scenario. So mascara, eyeliner, lippy and lip gloss and a towel around my hair (to disguise the fact that my hair looked like an elephant had had a poo on it).
Big deep breath and open the door.
in the kitchen
Oh this is sooooo embarrassing. Vati is trying to talk to us like we are all mates. Why doesn’t he just go away? Forever???
He had one leg up on a chair drinking his beer and saying to Masimo, “So have you got a motor, then, Mas?” (Mas…ohmygod he was calling him Mas!!!)
Masimo was looking at me, but he said, “Er, oh no, I have a scooter.”
I said, “Do you want to, erm, go and sit outside for a bit? And chat?”
Mum came in, dragging Josh and Libby with her. My worst fears were realized—Josh was dressed as a drag queen. A drag queen with half a Mohican haircut.
Mum was livid.
“What is Josh’s mummy going to say? You naughty girl, I told you not to play with scissors.”
Libby was very cross as well.
“He’s been to London to see the sardine.”
Dad said, “Don’t be cheeky, young lady.”
Libby put her hands on her hips and shouted at him, “DON’T YOU be cheeky, bad mummy!!!”
As Dad was momentarily distracted by being called mummy, I said to Masimo, “Quickly, let’s get out of here.”
And we went and sat on the wall. I made sure we were hidden by the tree so that M and D couldn’t spy on us from the house.
I still had my hair up in a towel, but I like to think it made me look a bit like a Thai bride or something. That is what I like to think.
At first we just sat there in silence, I didn’t know what to do.
Eventually I said, “I’m sorry about the train fandango, Robbie turning up like that, and you saying you’re free for me, and then I was carrying the horns…I just went a bit mad.”
Masimo didn’t say anything. Oh no. Then I felt his hand on my face and he turned my face toward him and looked me straight in the eye. I am melting, I am melting!!!
“Georgia, for me, it is the same. For you, I don’t know, I see you with Robbie in the cafe and he is nice guy, you for him was liking before. So I don’t know.”
You and me both, pally. You for me don’t know. But fortunately I didn’t say that. I didn’t know what to say. I was just looking in his eyes, his lovely yellow cat eyes, and then he kissed me on the mouth. Really gently. Then he did it again. And my naughty lips started going on snogging alert. He put his other hand on the back of my neck and pulled me nearer to him. I hope my towel doesn’t fall off and reveal mad elephant poo hair. This time he kissed me long and hard. It was so groovy and warm and I couldn’t tell where his mouth finished and mine started and then…some absolute arse shouted, “Oy, does his boyfriend know you are snogging him?”
We both looked up and couldn’t see anyone, then I noticed a bit of a rustling behind the hedge of Mr. Across the Road’s garden. I leapt across and looked over the hedge and there in his ridiculous sports cap was Oscar, otherwise known as junior Blunderboy and tosser.
I leapt over the hedge, gave him a swift kick in the kidneys and then hopped back to Masimo. Masimo was laughing.
“Georgia, everyone is here, it is how you say, very busy….”
He smiled at me and got up and sat on his scooter.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
He said, “So, Miss Georgia, now, what shall we do? I am free for you. Are you free for me also?”
Good point. Well made. But what was the answer?
I started thinking about mentioning my untrothness, but then thought about trying to describe that to anyone normal, and also Italian.
Instead I took a deep breath and said, “I really like you, and think you are the bee’s knees, etc.”
Masimo said, “I am the knees of a bee?”
I said, “Well, forget about the bee thing, it’s just that…well, I think I have to talk to Robbie first properly.”
Masimo smiled a little smile. “Yes, I think so, too. It is fair.”
I watched him go down to the bottom of our road on his scooter. Oh no, now what had I done? I had practically refused to go out with a Luuurve God. I was clearly mentally deranged.
I watched him get to the end of our street and indicate left…and then he did a big u-y and came hurtling back, screeching to a halt in front of me.
He said, “Georgia, I forgot for what I came to tell you, I am going home to Italy after the gig for a month to see my family. Can you, would you, if you decide you are free for me, come and stay with me, with my family for a little?”
Wow. We were practically married!!! And me in my towel!!!
I didn’t really know what to say, so he said, “Think about this, caro, it would be beautiful.”
And he rode off.
I floated past King Buffoon (Dad), cleaning his car, and I didn’t even laugh when he said, “Fancy giving me a hand polishing the old Lovemobile?”
in the kitchen
Mum has tried to make Josh look like a human being, but the hair is scary. His mother will definitely inform the authorities. But ho hum, pig’s bum. I said as I went to my bedroom, “Don’t bother booking me up to go to Ireland with you, Mum as I will be holidaying just near Rome this summer.”
She didn’t even bother to reply, which is a bit rude, but typical of her self-obsessed attitude.
thursday july 21st
8:30 a.m.
Walking to Stalag 14 with Jas. I told her about Masimo coming round and snogging me. She said, “So what number did you get to?”
“Well, I suppose officially it was only a number four, but his mental vibe was more like eight.”
“Are you saying that mentally he was doing upper-body fondling indoors?”
“Yep, I certainly am.”
“But you were sitting on your wall outside.”
“Well, officially but…”
“And he had his hand on the back of your neck, which is not your upper body.”
“Yes it is.”
Jas was chewing on her chuddie and had that annoying look on her face like she was thinking. I hate that. She was droning on and on like Mrs. Droning on Knickers, which she is.
“OK, in that case, if upper-body fondling doesn’t mean your nungas, it just means anything on the top of your waist. Then number seven and eight could be like nose fondling or chin fondling.”
God, she is soooooo annoying. And fringey.
“Jas, I am just trying to tell you what happened, this is not the Spanish Inquisition. You are not El Quasimodo.”
She got into her Huffmobile then. “I didn’t make these snogging rules up, Georgia, you did.”
We were just passing a litter bin and for a minute of ecstasy I thought about shoving her in botty-first like Dave and his mates did. But actually if I did shove her in there, she might get stuck because of her enormous pantaloonies and I would have to call the fire brigade to cut her out. Besides which, I must remember I want to stay at her house on Saturday night after the gig in case there are any ad-hoc snogging opportunities—so there’s no chance of Vati picking me up in his circus clown car.
So instead of hitting her or anything, I just smiled my loveliest smile and said, “Jas, you know that you are my besty pal, and like the Wise Woman of the Forest to me. Can I just tell you what happened?”
She flicked her fringe about and said, “Go on, then.”
I told her all about the Italian holiday idea. Even she was quite impressed by that.
“Wow, well that is like almost being an official girlfriend, isn’t it? You are really going to have to decide soon. But you don’t really know if Robbie likes you, do you? I mean you know he likes you like matewise, but does he think you are girlfriend material? I couldn’t stand being you, not knowing who my boyfriend was and everything. I was with Tom last night and we were just, you know, rearranging my owl collection into sizes together…it was really, oh I don’t know, and then he got hold of my hand and put my fingers in his mouth and sucked them.”
I said, “Blimey, hand snogging, what number is that on the scale?”
Jas said, “I dunno, four and a half, do you think? It was only the fingers not the whole hand.”
I didn’t ask her who she knew that could fit a whole hand in their mouth because it was all making me feel a bit queasy.
stalag 14
9:30 a.m.
Wet Lindsay is on my case big time. As I was passing her to go to games, she said, “Walk properly.”
What does that mean?
tennis courts
I was playing singles against Melanie Griffiths. Honestly, it shouldn’t really be allowed. Her nungas are definitely a health hazard. I don’t think she can really see over them to hit the ball. I was winning, by about eight-five-million–nil. The most dangerous times were when she had to bend over to pick up the balls. Quite often I thought she was just going to topple over.
Then Wet Lindsay and Astonishingly Dim Monica came sliming along and actually came into the court and sat down on the chairs by the net. Wet Lindsay was just looking at me, and if looks could kill, I would be deader than a dead person on dead tablets. In dead land.
She looked at me but went on talking to ADM really loudly. “If I had a big nose I think I would find it very difficult to disguise. It is just something you really can’t get away from, isn’t it? I mean, people say Barbra Streisand is a good singer, but mostly they say, “What an enormous nose.”
I didn’t mean to, but I found myself sucking in my nostrils as I was serving. Maybe I could just accidentally serve and knock her off her chair. I didn’t dare, though, because she would probably snitch to Miss Wilson or Hawkeye and I would be made to polish Mr. Attwood’s spade collection for the rest of my life.
Octopushead hadn’t finished, though.
“I don’t know what to do about Masimo and Robbie, I mean they are both gorgeous. Aren’t they? And you don’t want to upset anyone’s feelings, but…”
I could see as I was dashing around the court, and waiting for Melanie to regain her balance, that ADM was nodding away like a nodding dog-person. Lindsay was rambling on, flicking her stupid extensions and crossing her nobbly knees. God, I hate her. On and on she went.
“I feel in a way, though, that Robbie has sort of blown it with me, he went away and so on when we had been quite serious. So if his work comes first, you would never be really sure that he was totally there for you. But he is so keen, you know? And of course Masimo has that Latin charm, and…” She raised her voice.
“Absolutely fantastic in the snogging area. I mean they do know how to do it, don’t they, the Italians.”
The bell rang just as Melanie actually really did reach down for the ball and fall over forward into the net. I went to help her get to her feet and as Wet Lindsay and ADM left the court, Lindsay said, “Your backhand is pretty weak, Nicolson, maybe when you grow up a bit you can take on proper players.”
She seems like she is talking about tennis, but I know very well what she is talking about.
ace gang headquarters
lunchtime
I am absolutely livid about Lindsay and what she said. Is any of it true? Is she really snogging Masimo when I am practically his child bride?
I told the ace gang all the news.
Ro Ro said, “So Masimo came round and snogged you and asked you to go to Pizza-a-gogo land, but you think that he might be double-timing you with Wet Lindsay?”
Jools said, “Who do you like best—Robbie or Masimo?
I said, “I don’t know what to think.”
Ro Ro said, “This is when you need your mates around you to give you the benefit of their wisdomosity. Hand me my beard.”
We all sat around and watched her as she put on her beard and then launched herself into a solo version of the Viking disco inferno dance. It was, even if you live in Confusiosity House, Confusion Lane, East Confusion (which I did), vair vair amusant.
Then she sat down again, panting, and said, “If only I had a pipe, but Sven took it to college with him today. He wanted to repaint it for Saturday. Did I tell you that he has got a job djing now?”
Dear God.
Then she said, “What we must remember is that boys are quite literally a mystery, and as it says in the book, we have to keep them on the elastic band. Let them go wild and free and then they will come pinging back. I know that Sven comes pinging back with a vengeance. I have the love bites to prove it.”
Jools said, “This is the plan: We have to be on high alert on Saturday at the Dylans gig and see what we think. You know, see if Masimo gives any signals that he likes Lindsay or if Robbie likes you as a girlfriend-type person.”
Jas said, “Why would he do that? He’s not mad.”
I gave her my worst look. But actually the whole thing is giving me the mega droop. I said, “Even I don’t know which one I really like. I mean, I did like the Sex God first. He was the one I first snogged.”
Jas, or Mental the Memory Man, as she should be known said, “Well that is not true, is it? Because you snogged whelk boy first and then you let Mark Big Gob snog you and put his hand on your basoomas, almost on the first date. Which makes you a bit of a slag, actually. Perhaps Masimo has heard your reputation. A woman has to be very careful about her honor.”
Right, that was it, I was going to turn her big fat knickers inside out and ram her into a sports locker at the very first opportunity I had.
Rosie said, “What has been happening snog-wise to everyone? Anything to report? I have. I’ll just say this…hello, number eight.”
half an hour later
The result of the snogging survey is that Ro Ro and Sven are in the lead with an eight. Upper-body fondling indoors. Ellen lags behind on four “or something, I mean, is it, well I don’t know if I…” Most of the others are on five. Jas, after a lot of red-faced looning about, admitted that she and Nature Boy had also “sort of” got to No. 7. I said that officially I was on 7, but mentally I thought really it was 8. Jas meanly said, “You mean you are on virtual eight.”
I gave her my worst look, but she pretended she was sunbathing. After a bit I said to Jools, “So Jools, where are you at with Rollo?”
Jools astonished us all by saying that she had got to No. 9.
I went, “What, bwa? Below-waist activity???”
She said, “Well sort of.”
“Sort of???”
We were all looking at her. This was amazing.
It turned out that she had shown Rollo her panties as a dare in the street.
I said, “Is that it?”
And she said, “Well, I shook my hips about a bit. He seemed to like it.”
I don’t know if I can stand much more of this. I may have to go and be a lesbian beekeeper.
in bed
I have got my hair in rollers for extra bounceability. I bet boys don’t go through this. I can’t imagine a bloke lying in bed with big prickly things in his head.
two minutes later
I know boys do stuff that they think will make them more attractive to girlies, like having a long fringe and so on. Walking along with their hips thrust forward and their hands in their pockets. Wearing pongey stuff that some fool in advertising says is irresistible to women, and that as soon as they smell it they want to get to No. 6 with you.
I passed Oscar the trainee tosser this evening and practically passed out. I have NEVER smelled stronger Brut or Impulse or whatever it is. I was choking. I tell you what, if he lights up a fag as well, that will be the end of him.
one minute later
I could offer him a fag and retreat to a safe distance.
friday july 22nd
Got up at the crack of 8:00 a.m. Looked at myself in the mirror. Is that the beginning of a lurker on my chin? Nooooo. I quickly squirted the lurking lurker with my perfume. No boy alive likes a girl with two chins and that is le fact. Well, unless Slim has got a boyfriend, in which case there is someone on the planet who likes a woman who has eighteen or nineteen chins. And not all of them on her head. Hahahaahahahaha. Oh dear God, I have got pre-boyfriend-choosing hysteria.
8:20 a.m.
My charming but insane sister is on the telephone. The fact that she has the receiver upside down and that there is no one on the other end of it doesn’t seem to spoil her little chat. She was saying, “I know, yes, yes, Mr. Bum Bum is coming to school today in his poo pants! Hehehehehahahahaha lalalalalala.”
Then she started snorting and shouted, “Bye-bye arsey!!!” and slammed down the receiver. When she saw me she came over and wanted to be picked up. She’s not small and quite hefty. I had to lean against the door to use it as a support. Once I had managed to pick her up, she started kissing me.
“I lobe you, I lobe you, my hairy sister, I looooooooobe you.”
Hairy sister? Had she seen something I hadn’t? Had the orangutan gene leaped out to be friends with the lurker? I put her down and distracted her by saying, “Look, Bibbs, Angus is doing a big poo in Vati’s tie drawer.”
Which actually he was. I went into the bathroom.
one minute later
No, all seemed in order rogue-hairwise. I was quite literally smoothy smooth as a baby’s bottom but without the bulging nappy scenario.
my bedroom
6:00 p.m.
For once in my life I have already decided what to wear on Saturday. My new leather skirt, ankle boots and crossover top.
That’s it. Thank goodness I have decided. I can just concentrate on makeup and hair now.
five minutes later
Ankle boots or my pink shoes?
two minutes later
I hate my leather skirt, it’s really naff.
three minutes later
Blue dress, then. That’s the one.
five minutes later
Do I really want to look like a chav?
6:30 p.m.
I went downstairs and outside to sit on the wall. It was still really warm. I could see Mr. and Mrs. Next Door out in their garden having what they fondly imagine is a Mediterranean supper, but I don’t know many Italians who have egg on toast for dindins. With chipolatas. Also they are glaring at me. Italians don’t glare, they sing and caress their guitars. Still, if Mr. and Mrs. Next Door want to eat mini hot dogs and glare, that is their choice. They are having a nice time; that is what counts. My new philosophy is I am going to enjoy my life and just see what happens. As Jas says, when I let her, “Que sera sera, whatever will be will be.”
Because “I have no time for fussing and fighting, my friends,” as some pop legends said once.
Because, and I think it was the same pop legends that said, “Love is all you need. Nananananaaaaaaa.”
Love is what really matters. Not what mad neighbors with massive arses eat for their supps. Or what clothes a girl who may or may not be loved by so many Luuurve Gods wears.
It’s not the dress that counts, it’s the heart pumping underneath the dress.
five minutes later
Phoned Jas.
“Jas, what shall I wear tomorrow?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow, for the gig of my life, what shall I wear?”
“I’ll tell you what not to wear, don’t wear any high heels in case you have to run off and catch a train like last time!” And then she started laughing and honking like an annoying goose. I could hear someone else laughing as well.
I said, “Jas, that is a really crap thing to say for a besty sort of person, and who is that laughing in the background?”
“It’s Tom, he’s helping me pack for the camping trip.”
I so wanted to hit her. But I had to stay calm because of wanting to stay at her place on Saturday night. What is more, I had to listen to her listing the really, really boring things that she is looking forward to doing when we are camping. Who could possibly be interested in building a nighttime “hide” that you can crouch in and watch ferrets and badgers and so on do all the indescribably boring stuff that they do at nighttime? Digging and pooing mostly. Well, Jas is riveted by that sort of tosh.
She said, “If we are really lucky, Tom says we might see some foxes.”
I said, “Yippppeee,” in a sarcastic way, but then I remembered staying over at her house and had to change it to a sort of “Yipppeeee, I do hope we do see some foxes and maybe even some, erm, goats.”
Jas said, “Why would we see any goats, they are not wandering about in the woods, are they? They would be on farms.”
I said, “Perhaps they are bored with farm life and fancy getting out a bit, making new woodland friends and so on.”
“You are being silly now.”
“Jas, I am just remarking that it doesn’t seem fair that all the foxes and badgers and so on who do not as far as I know lift a paw to help others, should be allowed to wander willy-nilly in the woods and the poor old goats, who give milk and so on should have to stay in. That is all I am saying.”
“I am going now.”
And she put the phone down.
one minute later
She is soooo annoying, but I must remember that I need to stay at her place after the gig. I phoned her back.
“Jas?”
“What?”
“Please don’t get upset about the goats.”
“You were being silly.”
“I know, but it’s only because I’m all nervous and excited. Please be my pal. Pleasey please please?”
“Well…”
“I promise to be excited if we see some foxes.”
After about ten minutes of nicenosity, Jas forgave me. Phew. Thank goodness. Having a best pally is the most v. important thing in the world. Your pals will be with you, even though Luuurve Gods may come and go.
Also, she has said I can stay at her place. Hurray!
in the kitchen
Mum was making some snacks. She said, “So tell me, what is happening tomorrow?”
Oh God. Still, I had better tell her something as it looks like I might have to borrow her Chanel bag again. Even though I am banned for life after spilling hot chocolate in it. I said, “Well, you remember there is a gig on and that I am going to stay over at Jas’s because it is nearer.”
“It’s not nearer if Dad picks you up in the car.”
“Yes, but that is not going to happen.”
“Why, have you asked him?”
“No, it is not going to happen, because it is not going to happen.”
“And besides that, I don’t remember saying you could stay at Jas’s.”
“You said I could go to the gig last week.”
“I know, but what has that to do with staying at Jas’s?”
“I ALWAYS stay at Jas’s after gigs.”
“No you don’t.”
“Well if I don’t it’s only because you want to spoil my life.”
“What?”
“You know how important tomorrow is. I told you about Robbie, and then Masimo came round when I was in the bath and so on, and I STILL am not allowed to dye my hair, so I look like a boring person, and I have to traipse along to the gig with my ordinary hair whilst EVERYONE else is allowed to dye their hair. And now you are telling me that even though you said I could stay at Jas’s, now you don’t even know about it. I give up. I tell you what, I will just stay in my room for the rest of my life. Are you HAPPY now?”
ten minutes later
Mum was so frazzled by me that she has let me stay at Jas’s! Yessssss! And borrow her bag!!!
So even though I will be naked tomorrow because I can’t decide what to wear, I will at least have a nice bag.
in bed snuggled down
If I go to sleep early, then time will pass quickly and it will be tomorrow, today if you see what I mean.
I do.
Night-night.
9:00 p.m.
I am going to make a pro and con list of all the good and bad qualities of the Sex God and the Luuurve God. Now let me see, I’ll start with the most important things.
Looks.
twenty minutes later
This is it.
Masimo:
Looks: A ten deffo.
Special attributes: Cat’s eyes, Pizza-a-gogo charisma.
Snogging skills: Muchos buenos.
Sense of humor: Probably. Hard to tell. I haven’t heard any Italian-type jokes yet. Or maybe I have but just don’t understand them.
Personality: Yes.
Caring: Yes, because when he was finishing with his ex, he was quite nice and everything. Also, even though I didn’t like it, he was straight with me when he said he would think about going out with me.
Minus points.
Hmmmmmm.
There might be a touch of the “oooohhh mind my hair, do you like my handbag?” about him. Although thinking about it, I don’t know that I have actually noticed the “handbag, mind my hair” business. But Dave the Laugh has mentioned it. A LOT.
But Junior Blunderboy did shout out, “Does his boyfriend know you are snogging him?” Does that mean that there is the suggestion of the homosexualist about him?
The Wet Lindsay factor. Does not seem to entirely realize what a complete arse above all arses she is. On the plus side, he has not spent more than one or two evenings in her company. As far as I know. Ergo, may not have snogged her. Even though she has implied that he has…
Now then, over to Robbie.
Looks: Yummy scrumboes. Maybe, though, just for scrupulous accuracy and fairness, I should mark him down half a point because I do prefer yellow eyes to blue ones. So let’s say nine and a half.
Special attributes: Ability to get on with me even when my brain has slipped off for a little holiday. Is nice about Angus even when Angus once ripped his trouser bottoms to shreds. Also, he laughed rather than rang for the police when I ran my hand through my hair and the bleached bit of it snapped off in my hand. Snogging skills: You’re telling me. Well, you are telling me because it is so long since I snogged him that I have almost forgotten. I remember his ear-nibbling technique being surprisingly good. Or was that Dave the Laugh? Oy get off this list, Dave the Laugh, you are not on it. This is not “just a good mates” list.
Sense of humor: Generally good. Although I don’t think it extends to his songwriting skills. As I have said before, “Oh No It’s Me Again,” about van Gogh cutting his ear off, is one of the most depressing songs ever written. And believe me, I know, Dad has played me “Agadoo” too often for me not to know what a depressing song is like.
Personality: Yes. I think so. Yes. Again, though, as Dave the Laugh says, you can’t entirely trust someone who wears rubber shoes because they don’t believe in leather.
Caring: He is nice to Angus and Libby, which are tough darts. So I think he probably scores about an eight.
Minus points.
Hmmmmm.
Well there is the aforementioned obsession with the planet, wombats etc. There is definitely a touch of the Jas about him. And, to be frank, he did once choose wombats over me, so once bitten twice whatsit.
Then of course there is the Wet Lindsay factor. It cannot be ignored that his lips have made contact with bits of Old Slimey’s anatomy. He did officially go out with her. I really have no excuse for that. And even now he has not given her the severe mental thrashing that she so richly deserves.
But the major minus point is that I don’t know if he just wants me for a matey-mate or as a prospective girlfriend.
What I really need is someone to discuss this with. If it was all alrighty with Dave the Laugh, I would deffo ask for his Hornmeister opinion.
one minute later
Actually why isn’t it alrighty with Dave the Laugh? He didn’t seem at all bothered when he saw me with Robbie. He even asked him to go play pool with him. In anybody’s language that is a matey-mate type person and not a prospective snoggee, so I could ask him. I think that is what I will do.
one minute later
Although I don’t feel I can just call him and ask him ad hoc and willy-nilly because of his girlfriend situation, so maybe I can get him on his own at the gig tomorrow night and ask him then.
Good plan.
Now I have got all excited in my brain box. I will never sleep I…
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.