The long feared kiss between The Guv and myself, through Wall’s (Fatty’s) crannied hole or chink isn’t as bad as feared. Because of Fatty’s size the audience doesn’t really see anything besides our heads leaning in towards each other.
Boggo hasn’t put a foot wrong since last week’s violence. I’m not sure if this improvement is due to him getting over his stage fright or because he’s stuck his lines to the inside of his scroll, which he always carries about with him, even when not indicated in the script.
Thursday 27th August
16:00 ‘It’s bullshit!’ said Boggo. ‘We aren’t even allowed to leave the house for the entire weekend.’
‘It’s a prison,’ agreed Fatty gloomily. He then looked sadly out the window and mumbled, ‘I miss my archives.’
‘Me, too,’ said Boggo. ‘We’re not even allowed to go into Maritzburg to buy stuff, or even just take a walk.’
‘You’d think we were a bunch of delinquents.’ Fatty absent-mindedly turned over another page of Penny’s Femina magazine.
‘Let’s do something,’ said Boggo. ‘Come on! We’re acting like a bunch of wussies! Where’s that good old Crazy Eight spirit?’
‘What we gonna do?’ asked Fatty as he sized up a full page photograph of Jane Fonda.
‘I dunno,’ admitted Boggo. ‘We could go marauding around, like we did in the old days.’
‘Marauding?’ repeated Fatty without sounding too keen.
‘What you say, Spud?’ asked Boggo suddenly turning his attention to me at the sink.
‘Let’s go marauding,’ I said.
‘Cool,’ Boggo replied. ‘That’s two in.’ He then looked back into my room where Vern was listening to my Walkman and tapping his foot against the wall. ‘If Spud’s in, Vern’s in,’ said Boggo, grinning triumphantly. ‘That makes three votes, so it doesn’t matter what you and Rambo say because we’ve got a majority anyway!’
‘I thought Rambo cancelled democracy forever in January?’ said Fatty, flipping over another page.
‘You can’t cancel democracy,’ cried Boggo in exasperation.
‘The government did,’ I put in innocently.
‘Ja, but that’s different,’ said Boggo as his attention returned to Fatty. ‘Come on, Fatty. We all need to let off some steam. It will be legend.’
Fatty shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth and pretended to be caught up in his magazine reading. Boggo’s inspiration faded and he said, ‘So that’s final. We’re all in for a Crazy Eight mission tonight?’
Fatty didn’t respond and Boggo grew frustrated. He whipped the Femina magazine off Fatty’s lap and hurled it out the door and into the passage.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ wailed Fatty and looked helplessly to where his magazine lay.
‘Nah, nah, nah, my friend,’ replied Boggo. ‘The real question is, what’s wrong with you? You’ve become this pathetic little lapdog to a frikking nine-year-old.’
‘She’s thirteen,’ sighed Fatty, rolling his eyes like he’d had this conversation many times before. ‘And I told you we’re just friends.’
‘Friends, my arse!’ shouted Boggo, seething with anger. ‘You’re like totally in love with her. I’ve seen the way you look at her.’
‘What?’ shouted Fatty with his hands raised. ‘What’s so bad with hanging out and chatting to her?’
‘It’s just wrong,’ said Boggo and shook his head, appalled with the whole situation.
‘Hey,’ said Fatty in a high voice, ‘I don’t complain when you spade girls and stuff.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ said Boggo looking emotional. ‘I just think it’s a bit weird that you would rather hang out with an ankle-biter than with your best mate.’ Then Boggo’s face flushed with embarrassment before becoming angry again. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ he said spitefully, ‘how are you planning to shag Penny without crushing her to death?’
My toes were curling at the sink. I wanted to run straight into my room and bury myself under the bed. Boggo obviously hadn’t seen Brenda and Penny standing at the door waiting for us to invite them in. Brenda recoiled in horror when she heard Boggo’s final sentence and poor Penny’s face turned tomato red. Fatty lurched out of his seat when he realised that the girls had arrived. By this stage, Boggo was in a steady retreat towards his room while Fatty gathered himself before storming out of the common room in a huff, snatching up his Femina magazine as he went.
There followed a long and extremely awkward pause. Once again I was trapped at the sink waiting for the water to boil. I considered abandoning my afternoon tea and making a break for it, but then I reasoned that I should be the only person who shouldn’t feel embarrassed in this situation.
An enraged Fatty came storming back into the common room.
‘Bitch!’ he shouted.
‘What happened?’ asked Boggo, who had been driven out of the bedroom by Rambo.
‘Mr Owen said I wasn’t allowed outside and she confiscated my Femina magazine!’ He then remembered that he was meant to be angry with Boggo and marched across the common room and threw open the door to their bedroom.
‘Get out!’ shouted Rambo from inside. Fatty slammed the door shut and returned to his seat where the argument had begun. By now the piranha girls had moved to the sink and were looking around nervously like they thought a fight might break out.
‘It helps if you switch it on,’ said Penny, leaning across me and flicking down the wall switch for the kettle. Now it was my turn to blush. Boggo squawked with laughter and said, ‘What a mullet!’ Brenda and Penny both giggled in high voices.
‘Well, who switched it off at the wall?’ I said, suddenly feeling a bit angry myself.
‘All wall switches have to be off at all times, except for when in use … obviously,’ said Brenda in a singsong tone. ‘It’s in the school health and safety guidelines.’ The piranhas looked at me like I was most irresponsible and then set about decanting sugar.
‘Fatty, do you want tea?’ asked Penny sweetly.
‘Thanks,’ said Fatty in a morbidly sulky voice. Penny shooed me away and ordered me to take a seat. Clearly both girls think I’m thoroughly incompetent at everything I do. Soon they’re going to be giving me directions to improve my acting. That will be the point when I drown one of them in a bucket …
‘Hey, Penny!’ shouted Boggo. ‘Why do you always offer Fatty tea first?’ Penny stopped her efficient sugar decanting routine and blushed again, utterly stumped by Boggo’s question.
‘Because he’s the biggest,’ said Brenda, boldly coming to her friend’s rescue.
Boggo snorted derisively. ‘Well, then you should serve Spud last,’ he said, ‘because he’s the smallest.’ He looked around at all of us like we were scum and announced, ‘If anyone needs me I’ll be having an extremely long dump.’ Then he exited to the bogs, slamming the common room door behind him.
The slam obviously attracted Vern’s attention, because he lunged his head round the door to see what was going on. When he saw the girls, he whipped his head back into the room and slammed the door shut.
Like sharks we circle the same pond, day after day, waiting for something to happen.
Friday 28th August
LONG WEEKEND (Even longer for others …)
Saturday 29th August
Boggo bust Rambo snogging VPH behind the theatre after rehearsals. He said it was steamy stuff and Rambo appeared to have his hand up her skirt. Apparently Smith is livid with Rambo because he claims VPH was hot for him and that he was about to make his move. Spike also seems to have come right with Hermia because Geoff Lawson saw them holding hands backstage before the final scene started.
Sensing that love was in the air I tried my luck with Tammy Middlebrook who plays one of the fairies. Unfortunately, Vern followed me in, and pretended to be part of our conversation. He didn’t ever say anything, but rocked on his heels thoughtfully with his hands plunged deep into his pockets. Tammy kept watching him with a look of some consternation. Ev
entually, she said that she had to get back to the boarding house. I took a chance and said, ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘No, thanks,’ she said and after one final stolen glance at Vern she strode off.
I felt embarrassed and angry and shouted at Vern for following me around and buggering up my spading attempts. I then felt terribly guilty because Vern slunk away sadly and stood by himself up against the wall. I looked around to see if there were any other kissable girls going spare, but they all seemed to be taken or gone.
‘Come on, Vern,’ I said. ‘I’ll race you back to the house.’
Vern’s face lit up with mad excitement. I bolted and Darth Vader galloped after me. I was well ahead of the sprinting Rain Man when I heard a loud shout of: ‘HEY, STOP RUNNING, BOY!’
I screeched to a halt, only for Vern to scorch past me sniggering with delight. He then put his hand over his mouth and shouted, ‘HEY, STOP RUNNING, BOY.’ He cackled loudly again and kept sprinting along as fast as his stocky legs could take him.
It’s one thing being fooled by an old primary school trick, it’s quite another thing to be outwitted by a cretin! I sped after Vern with all the power my long muscle-less legs could muster.
I am pleased to report that Vern had his comeuppance for his underhanded tactics. His brown Grasshopper shoes slipped in the dewy grass and he catapulted forward in a blur of whirling arms and legs. He then skidded along the grass and crashed into a large pot plant. The spectacular wipe-out instantly drew the bulldog out of her office and Vern was given detention on the spot.
Mr Owen then overheard me sniggering at Vern and gave me detention as well.
Lucky she didn’t hear what I muttered about her under my breath when back in the safety of our little room. It would have been enough to make a bulldog blush.
Sunday 30th August
It’s raining.
The mechanicals (barring The Guv) have been given the entire day off because Viking needs more time to rehearse the fairies and lovers.
AM Boggo forced us into a game of high stakes poker, and ran us all badly into debt. He even tried to encourage me to use the painting of the naked Amanda as my betting ante once my pocket money was gone. I informed him that the painting was worth well over ten thousand bucks and was well beyond his price range.
Boggo snorted loudly and said, ‘But you can’t even see her knockers!’
‘So what?’ said Fatty.
‘So it means its value is lowered,’ reasoned Boggo as he snapped a joker between his fingers.
‘So you’re saying,’ argued Fatty, ‘that the Mona Lisa would be worth more if she was topless.’
‘Definitely,’ said Boggo and produced an ace of hearts out of nowhere.
Tuesday 1st September
‘First day of spring!’ announced Penny as she triumphantly ripped open the common room curtains. Grumbling and groaning, we all staggered out of bed to welcome in the new season.
‘And,’ said Brenda, ‘two weeks until curtain up!’ Both girls then squealed with delight and rushed off to the dining hall to find us fresh milk.
Rambo said nothing other than, ‘I need a cigarette.’
The show is currently running at over three hours in length, which is an hour too long. Viking says this is because we aren’t picking up our cues fast enough and are taking too long to make our exits and entrances. I reckon the problem is that Shakespeare had verbal diarrhoea and wrote too many lines for the lovers and fairies.
Wednesday 2nd September
22:30 ‘Get dressed. We’re going out,’ was all he said.
‘Where to?’ questioned Boggo as he pulled a tight pair of jeans over his long johns.
Rambo didn’t answer. He just strolled out the door and ambled down the passage with the rest of us lunging for clothes and following after him.
Outside it was damp and cold and our breath turned into great clouds of steam. There was no sign of Mr Owen, or anyone else. We followed Rambo as he disappeared around the house and walked briskly through some open ground before disappearing into a small clubhouse on the main hockey field. Inside Rambo lit up a cigarette and offered it around. Only Boggo took him up on it and the rest of us watched them smoke in silence while keeping an eye out for trouble.
‘So what’s the plan?’ whispered Fatty after Rambo had stamped out his cigarette butt and thrown it outside into a flowerbed.
Once again Rambo ambled off without an explanation and the rest of us followed.
‘This is more like it,’ hissed Boggo. ‘A good old Crazy Eight mission.’
‘Jeez, it’s freezing!’ gasped Fatty.
‘Yip – a good old Crazy Eight mission,’ repeated Boggo and trotted ahead to walk with Rambo.
We could hear the giggling before we reached the maintenance shed at the building site. The girls must also have heard us approaching because they quickly fell silent and there was a flash of movement at the window. Then the door of the shed creaked open and a girl whispered, ‘Rambo?’
‘Yebo,’ Rambo said and led us through the door into the dark shed. It was impossible to know who was who in the darkness but it felt like there were at least three girls in the shed already.
‘What took you so long?’ whispered a girl in a husky voice.
‘We had to put on our make-up,’ retorted Rambo and the girls giggled.
‘Do you want some pipe?’ asked the husky voice again.
‘Oh, baby,’ said Rambo taking the pipe.
Rambo’s face was illuminated as he sucked on the pipe. The girl with the husky voice was revealed to have spiky hair and a freckled face. I didn’t see the others. Rambo sucked hard on the pipe and the girl kept lighting up the one end. After a short cough Rambo passed the pipe on to Boggo and the girl lit it again.
‘Oh, my God,’ said Boggo after exhaling. ‘What is that?’
‘It’s all good,’ said the girl with the husky voice.
Then it was my turn – the smoke smashed into the back of my throat but I kept inhaling. Heat rose to my face and I instantly felt like I was floating above the ground.
Once everybody had taken a turn, we sat on the hard ground. One of the girls was sitting to my left and our knees were joined together. I had no idea what she looked like or even what her name was but it felt tremendously exciting, sexy and rebellious.
Unfortunately, just as we were settling in for a long night in the shed with three mysterious girls and a pipe, there was a loud clank from outside.
This spooked everyone and the girls quickly hid the pipe and snuck out the shed door.
‘Next Wednesday, same time,’ whispered one of the girls and I felt a light touch on my arm.
Then we sprinted off in the direction of the hockey field but nobody followed us. Cold and deserted.
‘Oh, my God,’ giggled Boggo. ‘How close were we to an orgy?’
Rambo hooted with laughter. ‘Wait till you see those three in daylight – it ain’t pretty.’
‘Typical,’ sulked Boggo. ‘The hot chicks are prudes and all the growlers are goers!’
We made it back safely and I collapsed into bed with a spinning head and a tingle on my arm where the girl had touched me gently in the darkness.
Friday 4th September
Woke up with a blinding headache and rather sketchy memories of last night. Boggo said we had smoked crack cocaine but Rambo, who refuses to tell us what was in the pipe, laughed and said Boggo had a lot to learn about life.
‘Still, it’s our first Crazy Eight mission of the year,’ said Fatty happily and crashed a rolled up newspaper on another fly’s head.
11:30 ‘Nay! Tis a dark day,’ announced The Guv as he stalked around our English class. ‘The King has been dethroned.’ His eyes fell upon mine. ‘Tis the final nail in the masculine coffin.’ He then shook his head gravely and slowly moved back to his desk.
‘You, woman!’ shouted The Guv brandishing his stick at a terrified Nora Turner in the front row. ‘Who in the hell do you think you are?’ Nora�
��s mouth was open but no words were coming out. The Guv then let out a great depressed sigh.
‘Herewith your creative essays,’ he said, thumping down a pile of pages. ‘History has been made by the unlikely Nora Turner. Let the truth ring from the chimney tops: Milton has been beaten at last.’ The Guv stared at me grimly before muttering, ‘By quite some distance, I might add.’
The girls applauded the fumbling figure at the front desk, who knocked over her pencil case when trying to acknowledge the crowd behind her. Rambo, Fatty and Boggo were beside themselves with joy and erupted into a chorus of war cries.
After class Mr Owen stopped me in the corridor. ‘Milton,’ she said, ‘you and the simpleton, see me after dinner in my office.’ She then waddled out looking smug.
‘Sex slave!’ hissed Boggo before sniggering and making a lewd gesture.
I spent the afternoon rereading my essay. The Guv’s right – it’s uninspired. I put it down to sharing a confined white cell with Rain Man. It isn’t easy being creative when you have a deluded cretin talking to himself continuously in your ear.
Fatty stopped me in the corridor after dinner. ‘Hey, Spud,’ he said, ‘sorry about losing your essay record.’ I told Fatty I didn’t really care and that my essay was a disaster anyway. He nodded sympathetically and whispered, ‘Listen, I was wondering if we could have a chat about er … stuff?’
‘What stuff?’ I asked.
‘Girl stuff,’ he said. ‘Well, actually … um … Penny stuff.’
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