I can’t believe that a whole year has gone by since I began to write in this diary. I’ve just read the first entry again, and it made me laugh – I’d completely forgotten about throwing that bowl of porridge at Dad. What a kid I was then.
Not that we don’t still have rows every now and again. Last weekend he got mad at me for coming in after ten o’clock, when every other thirteen-year-old I know in the world is allowed out till at least half past ten on a Saturday night.
But the nice thing about Dad is that he never stays mad at you for long, not like some people who sulk for days. Chris Thompson has been sulking for four and a half days exactly.
Just because I happened to mention the gorgeous pizza guy to a few girls. Just as a joke – of course I wasn’t serious. Any normal person could see I was joking. But Chris was not amused. He asked me how I’d like it if he went around swooning over other girls – as if I was swooning over Henry. Some people are so childish.
And he keeps going on about that Valentine card, keeps saying I must know who sent it. I’m beginning to think that maybe he really didn’t send it after all. Maybe it really was Henry, although I’ve met him a few times since then and he doesn’t seem any different. He’s friendly and chatty, but he’s always been like that.
Bet he wouldn’t get all sulky, if I was kidding around with my friends.
Well, if Chris Thompson thinks I’m going to pick up the phone and apologise, he’s got another think coming.
I got another letter from France. Joel is obviously keen to learn English, and I must say he has a lot to learn. Here’s a bit of his last letter:
‘He is raining in Paris now. All the days raining, no sunshine. How is Irish climate? My papa is went in Toulouse in south of France for bussines, he must bargain with the books. The last days I had playing rugby with my freinds. Do you enjoy to play sport?’
Chloe isn’t having much better luck with Jean. He asked her if she was ‘going in cinema many’. We haven’t a clue what he meant.