What she actually said was, “Should I go with him? It’s an area very rich in wildlife.”
I said, “Oh well, you must go then. You can set fire to most of Texas and gather crusted newts to your heart’s content. I only wish I could come. However, I have a life and maybe a boyfriend….”
Jas got into her huffmobile. Typico. Anything to do with Hunky or her fringe and she gets the hump. She was doing fringe-fiddling to the max.
I said, “Look, Jas, all I am saying is that we decided that you should let Tom ping off elastic-bandwise and then he can come pinging back. Possibly with gifts. Maybe some new owls.”
“But you don’t know that for sure, do you? I mean in Rom and Jul, Jul wakes up after pretending to commit suicide and Rom actually has committed suicide.”
I looked at her.
“Jas, what has some old play got to do with it? It’s a made-up story.”
“It might not be.”
“Well, it is.”
“How do you know—were you there?”
I wanted to kill her. I hate her in this mood.
“No, Jas, I wasn’t there. I am not four hundred and fifty-five.”
“Well then.”
“Well.”
This could go on for years. I decided to call a truce with old arsey pants.
“Look, Jas, Tom is not going to commit suicide, is he? He’s just going to go to Hamburger-a-gogo land for two weeks. That’ll be enough for him. When he sees the size of their shorts, he’ll come scampering back.”
“Well, maybe.”
“Of course he will, and also they say ‘aluuuuuuuuminum’ there, don’t they? He won’t put up with that. Will he?”
“Well…”
“And mostly of all, he doesn’t wear tights like Rom, does he?”
She didn’t say anything, just went a bit red.
“Jas, whatever Tom has under his trousers is between you and him.”
That did it. It doesn’t take much for her to expose her violent side. She really hurt my ankle. I’m glad that she doesn’t have a sword in Rom and Jul. But does she have a dagger at the end? It could be a bloodbath if her fringe doesn’t go right.
gym
rom and jul workshop
2:00 p.m.
The “workshop” exceeded even my very high expectations. Miss Wilson was in a sort of all-in-one “playsuit.” She was tremendously excited.
We were lolling around on the mats when she started clapping her hands and waving a clipboard around wildly.
“Now then, girls, attention please on this very exciting day. Now, here we are. We are all in Verona. Can you hear the swish of the light summer wind in the blossom trees? The gay calls of the street sellers?” (Rosie started honking with laughter.)
But Miss Wilson was immersing herself in the gay calls and the breeze.
“We are all young, full of life and passion. Come on, girls, let’s get up and show that passion. Feel the passion. Just go with the flow. Grab a tambourine or a drum if you like!!! Use the whole space!!!!”
ten minutes later
I have rarely seen anything more alarming than Miss Wilson being free and passionate. And keep in mind I have seen her in her nuddy-pants and with her soap on a rope.
She was careering around, banging her tambourine…
At one point she got on the wall bars and threw beanbags around.
She was yelling, “Waaaaaaaaaa, waaaaaaaaa.”
Quite sensationally mad.
I said to Jools mid-leap, “Poor Rudi Kamyer has no chance.”
twenty minutes later
As a climactic end to the workshop, Rosie showed her inner passion by pulling her nick-nacks down and mooning at us.
I am aching with laughter. My ribs hurt.
Hey and guess what? When I popped to the piddly-diddly department because I thought I might have an accident, I saw Elvis Attwood having a sly fag. And he was walking about normally. He can walk!
home time
Hurrah hurrah!!!
Just walking out of Stalag 14 main building, all sweaty and shiny with our berets pulled down to our eyes for comedy effect, when we noticed that Tom and Robbie were waiting at the gates.
Hell’s teeth.
Jas said, “How’s my head?”
I said, “Alarmingly red. How’s mine?”
She looked at me and went, “Blimey.”
We had to think quickly. The boys hadn’t seen us because they were chatting with a few passing girls that they knew. So we dashed off to the science block loos to do emergency repair work.
I put my head upside down under the hair dryer. My hope was that Robbie secretly liked the Coco the Clown look. Jas opted for the hair pulled back in a tight little ponytail, which frankly I think is a bit of a mistake, as it exposed her very, very red ears.
I didn’t say, though, because I didn’t want her to have a complete tizz and to-do.
As we were doing lippy and mascara (thank goodness for my pouch), Jas said, “Anyway, why are you bothering about Robbie? Masimo is your one and only, isn’t he?”
“I know, but once you have been out with someone you have to keep up appearances so that every time they see you, they think, ‘Oooh, I wish I could snog her to within an inch of her life.’ That is just the dating code.”
“Apart from if it was Mark Big Gob.”
“Please don’t mention him.”
“Or Whelk Boy.”
“Jas, just shut up and turn your skirt up.”
At the gate, I was casualosity personified until Robbie said, “Hello, Georgia.”
He’s a good-looking bloke. And nice. With very blue eyes, and a firm but tender mouth. Also he has charming snogging skills, his varying pressure technique for instance…hang on a minute, was that him or Dave the Laugh?
Robbie was looking at me. Had I said anything out loud?
I said, “Hi, Robbie, nice to see you.”
My brain went on chatting to him, “Yeah, nice to see you, you hunky brute. Why are you with old Ms. No Forehead when you could be in a triple-sided manwich with me and the Luuurve God?”
Shut up, brain. That is disgusting!!!!
Tom said, “Hi, Lindsay, alright?”
And it was Ms. No Forehead herself. The Bride of Dracula…I looked down at my watch (which I haven’t got) and said loudly, “Oh, is that the time? I must dash.”
And I hiked up my rucky. I said to Jas, “Are you walking?”
And she looked a bit dithery.
Hang on a minute. She wasn’t choosing between walking with me or walking with Hunky, his brother and WET LINDSAY, was she?
Oh yes she was.
Lindsay ignored me as if I was invisible girlie and said, “Jas, are you going on Saturday? Maybe we could meet up before, that’s if Robbie can do without me. Can you, babe?”
And she went and kissed him on the cheek. Then she pointed to her own cheek. And sort of pouted. And he had to kiss her cheek.
Dear God.
It got worse. I was sort of mesmerized by horror.
She put on an ickle girlie voice and said, “Can ickle Lindsay go to de big club all by her ickle lickle self?”
Christ on a bike.
It was horrific. It was like when Mr. Next Door came to tell me off and he was wearing his shortie dressing gown and I could see his legs.
As I walked off—walking home without my so-called bestie—Tom called after me, “See you later, Gee.”
And Robbie said, “Yeah, see you Saturday.”
I noticed that Jas didn’t dare say anything. I don’t know why I bother being a really great mate to her. Boys are nicer than girls.
I’m going to show her my Great Mates Scale and suggest she tries being one. (A great mate, not a scale.)
home
Bum-ty has got a ladder. He’s crouching at the top of it. I don’t think he likes his ladder. I think he is up there because it makes him slightly farther away from the staring cats.
He hasn’t said a word and his
feathers are starting to fall out. Libby has been showing him pictures of cheese.
7:00 p.m.
I’ve got German homework. I have to write about the Kochs. Hurrah!!! When he set the homework, I said to Herr Kamyer, “Can it be about the Kochs going out? Because the little Kochs like to go out, don’t they? Although the bigger Kochs prefer to stay in.”
The ace gang had a mini larf-fest but Rudi didn’t get how full of hilariosity I truly am. He just looked at me with his blinky eyes and said (seriously), “Ja, Georgia, zat is a gut idea, vy not haf ze Kochs havink a wild party???”
Which made us laugh even more.
I have said it once and I will say it again, I luuurve the Kochs and the comedy magic that is the German language. Also, Herr Kamyer’s idea of a wild party is probably a game of Scrabble with Miss Wilson where they don’t keep the score.
7:30 p.m.
I am looking through my German slang book for inspirationosity.
two minutes later
“Bottom” is arsch. To fall arse over tit is auf die Schnauze fallen.
two minutes later
This cannot be true. “With knobs on” is mit Schnickschnack.
I think, in all honesty, the first person to make up der German language was a clown. Or alternatively, a Blödman (berk).
looking through my window
8:00 p.m.
Aaah, there is cross-eyed Gordy stretching out on the wall.
Now he is half sitting up, swatting at something. What is he doing?
Oh, it’s a bee. He’s up on his hind legs swatting at the bee.
He’s sort of hopping along on his hind legs swatting the bee.
one minute later
Angus has joined him on the wall.
He’s watching Gordy hopping along swatting the bee and he is moving his head about. Following the bee.
It’s the bee dance. Hop hop, swatty swat, movey head, movey head. Super cats do the bee dance.
one minute later
Not anymore. Angus has eaten the bee. He just leapt up and ate it.
He didn’t even chew it.
two minutes later
Lying down on my bed, recovering from the excitement of bee dancing.
I wonder who is going to be Rom? Everyone who has tried it so far has been an utter fiasco. Miss Wilson said she might have to look outside our year. Crikey, what if she asks Rudi Kamyer to do it?
phone rang
Aha! This will be my so-called bestie ringing up to apologize.
Mum yelled up, “Georgia, it’s for you.”
I lolloped downstairs, taking my time, building up my dignitosity. I said formally into the phone, “Yes. What is it you want to say?”
“Usually, I like you to say, ‘What is it you want to say, Hornmeister’ but I’ll let you off because I am in a casual Devil take the hindmost mood.”
Dave the Laugh! My heart skipped a little beat. I said, “Guess what? Wet Lindsay talked like an ickle girl to Robbie. It was horrific. Do boys like that sort of thing in girls?”
Dave said, “It depends on what the girls are wearing.”
“What?”
“Boys are very visual.”
“Er, Dave, I think you mean very stupid. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what Wet Lindsay wears. It can’t disguise her octopussyness.”
“Listen, Chaos Queen, how’s every little thing? Is your girlfriend still stropping around, rifling through his handbag, or is it all tickety-boo?”
“Well, he wrote me a note, but I haven’t seen him yet. It’ll be the first time on Sat. He says we should take it easy and that maybe he overreacted a bit.”
Dave said, “A bit? That’s like Hitler saying, ‘Oooh, I just meant to go for a little walk, but then I accidentally invaded Poland.’”
“No, Dave, it isn’t anything like that.”
“You didn’t know that Hitler invaded Poland, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“You don’t know where Poland is, do you?”
“Dave, I am not a complete fool.”
“Where is it then?”
“It’s clearly, you know, near…”
“Yes?”
“The top bit.”
Dave laughed. “You are good value, kittykat.”
I was a bit red, but at least I had avoided saying that I was sort of “on trial” maturiositywise with the Luuurve God…
Dave said, “So you’ll be at the gig on Saturday?”
“Yes, will you be there?”
“Probs.”
“Dave?”
“Yep…”
“Well, Dave, will you, can you, will you not be too funny and talk to me and so on?”
“You want me to not talk to you and not be funny and so on?”
He sounded a bit weird.
I said, “Only until, you know, the whole thing, the whole pants and comedy twisting thing dies down.”
He said, “You must really like him….”
I didn’t say anything.
He said, “Listen, I have to dasharoo. S’laters.” And he hung up.
I think he’s miffed.
Dear God, you just get one boy off the numpty seat and another one goes and sits on it.
10:00 p.m.
Why do cats do this? They loll about snoozing in weird places for hours.
It’s never their cat basket.
Why would anything want to have a snooze on the top of the kitchen rubbish bin?
Or the loo seat?
Or the fruit bowl?
Then, after all that snoozing all day, at ten p.m. they wake up and go utterly bananas. Tearing up and down the stairs. Leaping from the sofa to the television, missing and falling down the back of it. Diving into plastic bags. Wrestling with their own feet. Then shooting up the curtains and doing ad hoc sailors’ hornpipe stuff coming down…
Why?
Where does leaping up curtains and doing the hornpipe occur in primitive cat life?
in bed
10:30 p.m.
Time for snoozy snooze and Luuurve Goddy dreams.
I’ve almost forgotten what the Luuurve God looks like.
thirty seconds later
Yummy scrumboes, though, I know that much.
And also, Grrrrrrrrrr.
Oh dear God, I actually said that out loud. I am growling at myself.
I have got snogging withdrawal baaaaad.
In fact, maybe I have forgotten how to snog.
Oh no. I may have lost my skills puckerwise.
I need to practice.
10:35 p.m.
I have done something so disgusting and weird that even I am ashamed of myself.
one minute later
This may be another thing I will not be mentioning this side of the grave.
one minute later
I hope that God and Baby Jesus were momentarily looking aside. Like I am sure they do when you are having a poo.
Or when Uncle Eddie does his baldy-o-gram.
one minute later
I can’t get the thing that I will never talk about ever again out of my brain.
one minute later
I can’t stand this. OK, I admit it!!!!
I looked at Mr. Potato Head and considered practicing puckering up on him.
There you are—it’s out now.
one minute later
Yes, I momentarily thought about snogging my little sister’s cast-off.
one minute later
I wonder where snogging a root vegetable would come on the Snogging Scale?
Minus 50 I should think.
I bet Jas snogs her owls.
11:00 p.m.
I hope Dave is just having a minor hump. We are, after all, mates.
Yeah, that will be it. He will just be having a No. 7 (walking on ahead, metaphorically).
It won’t be the full Humpty Dumpty.
So that’s alright.
2:00 a.m.
Woke up from a dream that I was at a fancy-dress part
y. I was painted purple and in the nuddy-pants because I had gone as a jelly baby. Then Dave the Laugh came by really slowly with a girl on his back. I said, “What have you come as?”
And he said, “A tortoise.”
I said, “Who’s the girl on your back?”
And he said, “That’s Michelle…. Do you get—it me-chelle?”
And he was laughing and laughing. But not in a nice way.
friday september 23rd
8:15 a.m.
I really need some new shoes for Saturday night. Maybe my vati is in a sunny, Devil take the hindmost sort of mood about money this morning.
I said, “Dad…I couldn’t help noticing how…er…shiny your car is. You do keep it lovely.”
“No.”
“Dad, I…”
“Good-bye.”
I can’t believe it.
Mum came mumming in, in her knickers. Well, if you can call them that.
Hang on a minute.
I said, “Mum, are you wearing a thong?”
She is. She is wearing a thong!
I said to her, “If you have a road accident, I will not be coming to explain your underwear to the emergency services.”
She just looked at me and went off into the bathroom…. Well. Then I remembered my new shoes.
I shouted to her, “Mum, could I just borrow…”
Before I could finish, she shouted back. “No.”
What is the point of parents? They wonder why the youth of today goes wrong. If they would merely give us what we wanted and keep away from us, all would be well….
Instead of Mum just lending me her black Chanel stilettos and everything being nice and easy, I am now going to have to sneak into her wardrobe, smuggle them out in my bag, wear them, sneak back into her room and replace them.
They force us into a life of crime.
on the way to school
8:30 a.m.
Jas needn’t think I have forgotten about her blatant lack of best mateyness. And her creepy-crawly pants behavior around Wet Lindsay.
I am going to have the hump with her for once and see how she likes that. I am going to avoid her house and go a different way. That will teach her that you can’t…she is sitting on my gate.
Damn. I hadn’t even had the chance to get in my huffmobile.
She hopped off the gate and said, “Gee, I’m really sorry about last night. I couldn’t sort of get out of it because of Tom and Robbie. It’s not Lindsay, but the boys are brothers and…well, you know…blood is thicker than not having a forehead.”
Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? Page 5