Erlack.
How can Robbie stand it?
two minutes later
Jas was sitting on Tom’s knee, and as I came up to her, I heard her say, “I think the crabs are moving their little wheel.”
I said, “Jas, go and distract your new boyfriend, Wet Lindsay, while I sneak the two Titches to see Dave the Laugh.”
She said, “Why would I do that?”
I said, “Because you are an all-round tip-top egg. Isn’t she, Tom?”
Tom kissed her cheek and said, “Yes, she is. But I’m very jealous of her new boyfriend.”
Jas went all girlie and red. “Stop it, you two, it’s just a play!”
I raised my eyebrows.
Jas quickly said, “Why do the Titches want to see Dave?”
“They want to do number a quarter on the Snogging Scale with him.”
Jas said, “There isn’t a quarter.”
I said, “There will be in a minute if you get your skates on. Please, Jazzy Spazzy, let the Little Titches get to number a quarter with Dave. They are unhappy at home—they are not even allowed Jammy Dodgers.”
In the end, Jas sloped off to do distracting-the-octopus work.
It’ll cost me twenty-two million years of talking to her about Hunky going off to Hamburger-a-gogo land, but as I have said, I should really be knighted for my services to small humankind.
four minutes later
The Titches are marching smartly behind me, being inconspicuous. If you think that hunching your shoulders and looking furtively around like mad hamsters is inconspicuous.
Dave was still at the bar, joshing with his mates.
No sign of Emma. She was probably off somewhere practicing her smiling.
I was quite nervy now that we were actually behind him. I hadn’t really thought about how it might go. What if he was genuinely horrible to me, in front of everyone?
Girdey loins, girdey loins.
The Little Titches were practically vibrating with excitement.
I tapped Dave on the shoulder.
“Dave, could I just have a word?”
He turned round and looked at me.
Now I deffo had the droop. He wasn’t smiling or talking. He didn’t even have the good manners to say hello.
I said, “Well, erm, I’ve got the Titches with me.”
They bobbed out from behind me, and Dave smiled at them.
“Hello, little Sex Kitties.”
They bobbed back behind me, but said together, “Hello, Dave the Laugh.”
He was being nice to them, but not to me. I plowed on. “They wanted to ask you to do something for them.”
Dave raised his eyebrows and then he looked at me and went, “Gnot nis nit?”
I said, “I beg your pardon?”
He looked at me again and went, “GNOT nis nit?”
It was like really crap ventriloquism, you know, when someone tries to say “Bottle of beer” as a ventriloquist, without moving their lips, and it comes out “Gottle og geer”?
Well, like that.
I said, “Dave, why are you keeping your mouth shut?”
Dave looked at me with his eyes very wide.
“Necoz nime nog sunosed nu sneek nu uuu.”
What is he doing?
The Titches said, “He says he is not supposed to speak to you.”
Oh, I see.
I said, “I never said don’t speak to me.”
“Nu nid.”
“Dave, if you keep this up, we’ll be here all night.”
“Nay norry.”
“Nay norry?”
Ginger said, “He says you have to say sorry.”
Oh, sacré bleu. Oh, alright then.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
Dave shook his head.
“Nay norry narti.”
Nay norry narti? Were we doing some sort of crap Olde English songe? Were we going to start morris dancing and hitting each other with tambourines now?
Little Titch said, “He wants you to say ‘sorry, Vati.’”
This was ridiculous.
Dave was just looking at me, sipping his drink. Leaning on the bar.
I said, “Oh, gadzooks, OK. I’m sorry—Vati.”
Dave said, “Oh, hello, Georgia. I didn’t see you hiding behind the Titches.”
He is sooo annoying. But, anyway, at least he was talking to me again.
I smiled at him and he smiled back. He’s got a lovely smile.
Shut up, brain.
Anyway, I had a mission.
“The Titches wanted to see you and do their tribute to you.”
One of the Titches said, “We got a reprimand each for it.”
Dave said, “Good girls.”
In a lunatic way it was quite touching to see the Titches do their little tribute.
They stood in front of him and did actions as they sang (badly):
“We love you, Dave the Laugh, we do (nodding and touching hearts and pointing at Dave)
When we’re not near to you, we’re blue (pretend crying)
We love you, Dave the Laugh, we do (more nodding)
Oh, Dave the Laugh, we love you!!!” (manic stamping and snogging of their hands)
They really snogged their hands, a bit like Libby with Mr. Potato Head.
And also the stamping was truly manic. I’m not surprised they broke the toilet seat.
Dave is not often lost for words, but he acted as if he had never had small girls snogging their own hands in front of him before.
He was laughing and he said, “That was, and I am proud to say it…sensationally mad.”
Then they went all red.
Ginger said, “Faaanks, Dave, you are the bestiest. Bye, miss. Huddly duddly.”
And off they scampered.
I felt rather proud.
I am like the Godmutti.
It was just me and Dave, as the rest of his mates had backed off when the Titches had started their tribute to him. They had sloped off to “impress” some girls that were being harassed by the Blunderboys.
I said to Dave, “Fanks for that, Dave.”
He said, “Forgive me if I’m right, but aren’t we not talking to each other?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It is.”
“Well, I know, but I only meant until Masimo cooled down and got off the numpty seat.”
“And has he? Or will he be attacking me with his hair gel when I go to the wazzarium?”
I didn’t want to have to talk about the Luuurve God to Dave. It made me feel funny so I said, “I’m looking forward A LOT to Rom and Jul, comedywise I think it will outdo MacUseless. There might be clowns and for the pièce of resistance, Jas is going to snog Wet Lindsay.”
That got his attention.
He said, “Now you’re talking my language. I’ve always loved the Bird of Avon, as you know. I thought Melanie’s basooma juggling was a triumph, but now, girl snogging? As Billy himself would have said, ‘My tights runneth over.’”
I started laughing.
Then Dave looked at me. Quite intensely. Whenever I get near him, I feel sort of hypnotized. Well, my lips do….They were puckering up without my permission…nooo. He looked down and away, and then he said, “It’s not a topless production, is it?”
Just at that point Emma came back. All Emmaish. Why is she so keen on everything? She gave me a hug and linked up with Dave. She said, “Hi, Gee. Is it all cool with Masimo? If I didn’t have the best boy, I would say that he was deffo the fittest.”
Then she turned and kissed Dave on the cheek. “But no one compares to the Hornmeister.”
Dave smiled and I smiled. But I didn’t really want to smile. And I don’t think he felt on cloud nine actually.
I didn’t want to hang round with the two of them. It felt a bit odd.
So I did s’laters.
And went into the tarts’ wardrobe for a bit of a sit down on the loo, feet up in the air sort of thing.
Is Dave ha
ppy with Emma?
She’s so nice. ALL THE TIME.
Why is that?
Is she really nice, or is she just pretending to be nice so that everyone thinks she is nice?
As I was sitting there in the cubicle, Jas came in. I knew it was her because no one else could have such an irritating way of blowing her nose. On and on. Not just one little blow and have done with it. Sort of little ones and then a big trumpeting one.
I hobbled out of my cubicle and there she was, sitting on the sink. Looking all miz.
Oh no. Now we would have to talk about Hunky for the next millennium. Still, she had helped me with the Titches.
She said, “I can’t do it. I can’t snog her….”
I tried to cheer her up. I owed her really.
“But, Jas, look on the bright side. Think how great it will be when she commits suicide. It’ll bring the house down. We could buy those football clacker things. Or come on doing some ad hoc celebratory Scottish dancing.”
Jas said, “You’ll have been dead for fourteen scenes by then, it’s OK for you.”
I could see she was upset.
“Look, we just need to think of some sensible way of dealing with her. Perhaps a chemistry experiment that goes tragically wrong as she happens to be passing?”
Jas just looked at me.
Then I said, “I’ve got it, by George, I’ve got it!!! We extend the puppetry motif that Miss Wilson is so vair vair keen on and we suggest that Romeo and Juliet have massive papier-mâché heads. So you never actually see your real head and the snogging is just a question of aiming your massive heads at each other.”
Jas said, “I don’t want a big papier-mâché head.”
I said, “I am only trying to help, Jas. If you don’t want to be helped…”
end of the gig
Lurking around like Lurkio at the stage door. It’s a bit nippy noodles. I am nervy, but sort of happy. Also, and I have to admit this, I am really, really happy that Dave is being OK with me. I hate it when he gets the monk on.
As I was just thinking that, he loomed up with Emma and a crowd of his mates.
One of the lads said, “Are you up for a late snooker needle match, Dave? Haven’t seen much of you lately, mate.”
Dave said, “Maybe actually.”
Then Emma pulled on his hand. “Oy, Hornmeister, don’t forget we’ve got an early start for the sculpture park tomorrow. Mum and Dad planned to set off at nine a.m.”
Sculpture park?
Mum and Dad?
I looked at Dave and raised my eyebrows. He looked back and as Emma pulled him away, he pretended to do crying.
He didn’t seem a sculpture park sort of guy to me.
What did I know, though? I have just remembered I have accidentally agreed to go to the Wild Park tomorrow with my mum and look at horned budgies or whatever.
Rosie and the rest of the gang trolled off as soon as the Dylans came out. There was a bit of banter between the lads and it seems that the management stuff has gone well.
Masimo still hadn’t appeared. I had Dave’s voice in my head going, “Emergency hair gel application.” Shut up, Dave.
The ace gang were all linked up, singing, “Give me an H, give me an O, give me an R, give me an N, what are you giving me? The HOOORRRNNN!”
Just then, I felt two arms around me.
“Aah, Miss Georgia, you are noodly nips as you say. Come here inside my coat.”
And he opened his coat and snuggled me in. I could feel his heart beating. The other Dylans were leaving and shouting, “Nice one, talk on the blower tomorrow about the London gig.”
What London gig?
Also where was I?
It was snugly in the coat and everything, but I couldn’t tell what was going on. I popped my head up through the collar to breathe a bit, just in time to see Wet Lindsay tucking Robbie’s scarf into his parka. Oh, leave him alone, Slimy Head. I don’t know if she thought-read, but she turned round and gave me the worst look.
Poor Robbie.
Poor Jas. Who would want a boyfriend like Wet Lindsay?
I must help both of them.
We scootered home through the twinkly night. The streets were quite busy and in fact we passed the ace gang still all linked up. Seeing them trying to get past a bloke walking his dog was hilarious. As we passed by them, Masimo sounded his horn and they all yelled back, “Hooorn!”
Masimo laughed and pulled my arms around him tighter. Blimey, this was a bit like having a real relationship, like you read about. I hoped I knew how to do it. If my mutti and vati were anything to go by, Masimo would be wearing enormous pants by the end of the week. I couldn’t imagine Masimo in enormous pants. I bet he’s got those really groovy Pizza-a-gogo ones…. Stop thinking about his pants!!!
When we got back to my place, it was a beautiful clear night and the moon was beaming down at us. Like a big smiling custard pie in the sky. If you have seen one of those.
Masimo stopped his scooter at the bottom of our lane so that there could be no spying or “joining in” from my parents. Also I took Mum’s shoes off and put on my flats when I got on the scooter. (I suggested that I had brought my “scootering shoes” with me to Masimo. Which I think is rather sophisticated.)
12:30 a.m.
We’re sort of snuggled behind a hedge. Or Snog Emporium as I call it.
Blimey, snogging Masimo is like going to heaven in a bread basket and back.
And I don’t even know how I would get into a bread basket. But that is luuurve for you.
Masimo whispered a lot of Italian stuff to me. It sounds so romantica and groovio gravio.
Of course, he might have been saying, “I can see a bogey up your nose.”
I must learn some more Pizza-a-gogo-ese because conversation is a bit tricky in between the snogging.
ten minutes later
The snogging is deffo top drawer, though.
I wonder how far he got on the Snogging Scale with his ex?
Shut up, brain, just snog.
five minutes later
I like it that he kisses so softly and gently uses his tongue. Not like Whelk Boy, when it was like being attacked by whelks.
two minutes later
We even touched tongues and sort of kissed with them. Blimey. It’s fabaroonie to learn new stuff about the game of luuurve.
Also I do like his hand technique…. He put one hand on the back of my neck and one on the base of my spine. It made all of my body feel sort of linked up to him. Yum.
two minutes later
Something horrific happened. We were doing No. 5 when I heard the unmistakable sound of a lunatic shouting in the dark.
I looked carefully round the hedge and up our street. It was Mr. Next Door, in his shortie nightgown. He was shouting and the Prat brothers were yapping.
There is something a bit funny about the Prat brothers (besides the obvious fact that they are poodles)…. In the moonlight, they look a bit sort of dark blue with white things stuck on them.
Masimo said, “Dio mio? What is that?”
I whispered, “That is Mr. Next Door going barmy.”
Masimo pulled me back into the Snog Emporium. And he kissed me so hard that all the blood drained from my head and went into my ballet pumps. Through the love daze, I could vaguely hear things kicking off.
Mr. Next Door was raving on.
“He’s a bloody disgrace. They’ve got a show tomorrow, I’ve been dyeing them all day. Now they’re covered in feathers.”
What was he on about?
I had to have a look.
We crept up along the hedge a bit so we could see.
Mr. Next Door had a broom and a shovel. And he was standing at our gate. I heard a door being opened and then more shouting.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
Oh no. I recognized those mad tones. It was my vati.
Then another voice joined in.
“Don’t worry, Bob, I’m right behind you…oo-er.”
Oh dear God. Uncle Eddie.
I said to Masimo, “Erm, I’d leave now if I were you. This is going to get ugly.”
And that’s when my vati and Uncle Eddie hove into view.
Both wearing undercrackers.
The Luuurve God whispered, “Is that, er, your father, and is that how you say, his boyfriend?”
I nearly shouted out, “NOOO, that’s not his boyfriend!”
four minutes later
I eventually persuaded the Luuurve God to leave. It took a bit of kissing and pleading. I don’t think he really understood what was going on. Who could? I’ve said it once and I will say it again, why can’t everyone just speak English?
The Americans give it a bit of a go—why can’t other nations?
In the end, after kissing all of my fingertips, he crept off.
By this time, lights were coming on in the street. I took a deep breath as soon as I heard Masimo scooter off and came out from the bushes.
As I passed Mr. Next Door’s gate, Angus and Gordy dropped onto my head from the wall. They didn’t hurt themselves, though, because they gripped onto my shoulders with their horrible sharp claws.
I couldn’t help it. I yelled out, “Oh, buggering buggeration.”
Dad heard me and yelled, “Stop that bloody foul language, young lady. You’ll wake up the sodding neighborhood.”
Oh, the irony.
Uncle Eddie said, “Evening, Georgia,” as if it was teatime.
I said, “Look, we all want to go to bed. Is there something we can do to clear this up? What have your poodles done to frighten Angus and Gordy? Cats are very sensitive, you know.”
Mr. Next Door practically had a fit. He couldn’t speak.
Dad could, sadly.
“Don’t you start, young lady. Get yourself in the house!”
I didn’t mind going in actually. Angus and Gordy had both fallen asleep on my shoulders and they are not anorexic. It was like having a huge snoring fur coat on.
The front door was open. And my mum was hiding behind it.
She said quietly, “What the hell is going on?”
I said, “It’s unbelievable! Vati and Uncle Eddie are both in their undercrackers.”
She came out from behind the door.
And she was wearing a shortie black negligee.
What is this? Desperate Husbands?
I looked at her and said, “To be frank, I feel let down by all of you. I’ll just say good night, Mother.”
Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? Page 8