In a way, it’s a shame not to share my special snogging talents far and wide.
3:00 a.m.
What am I talking about? I love the Sex God, end of bottom. I mean end of story.
3:15 a.m.
Looked out my window. Angus and Naomi are on the wall…. Do cats snog? Perhaps they have a cat snogging scale.
3:30 a.m.
Do owls snog?
SHUT UP, BRAIN, SHUT UP. This is all Dave the Laugh’s fault with his Cosmic Horn talk.
monday january 31st
Met Jas at her gate. She showed me her Ramblers’ Association badge. Honestly. Apparently you go off with other half-wits and wander around the countryside looking at things. I said to her, “The gig was groovy bananas, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, fabby.”
“Jas, don’t you ever, you know…get the Horn for anyone else besides Tom?”
“No. I am not like you. Promiscuous.”
“Jas, I’m not promiscuous.”
“Well, you flirt with Dave the Laugh.”
“Well, I…”
“In fact, you snog Dave the Laugh…and I bet you would snog Gorgey Henri if he asked you.”
“Well…I…” For once she had a sort of point.
The ace gang all wore enormous berets this morning to remind us of our visit to la belle France. It seems about six hundred years ago. We have decided to commemorate the occasion by having a National Hunchback Day. Maybe we will wait till things cool down a bit at Stalag 14 first, though.
When we got near the school gates we took the comedy berets off and had our ordinary ones underneath. (From comedy to tragedy in one movement!) So hahahaha to the Oberführers. We are too full of cleverosity for them.
As we were walking past Hawkeye something really horriblimus happened. Nauseating P. Green was standing near the gates! She looked like she had been blubbering for about a million years. I smiled at her and she started to come over to us. Oh, good grief. Then Hawkeye saw her and said, “Pamela Green, you are not to come anywhere near this school again. You are a complete disgrace.”
P. Green started blinking and stuttering. “But Mrs. Heaton, I…I didn’t…it wasn’t me, I…”
Hawkeye just snapped at us. “Come on, you girls, get into school NOW!” I wonder if she was a Doberman in a previous life.
cloakroom
I said to Jas, “Nauseating P. Green is obviously a twit of the first water but I do feel sorry for her.”
Jas said, “I wonder if we should…er…go and see someone about it.”
Rosie said, “And then get the duffing-up of a lifetime from the Bummers?”
Hmm, she had a point.
Still.
games
Brrrrrrrrrrrrr. Miss Stamp has had us doing hockey maneuvers in minus five hundred and forty.
As we shivered I said to Jas, “Even seals would stay in their little seal homes on days like this. They would stay snuggly tucked up knitting and chatting.”
Jas got interested in the seals. She’s a bit obsessed with sea creatures, I think. “Do you think they have their own language? I wonder what sort of thing they talk about?”
“They talk about the great seal package holidays they have been on. Greenland by night, Antarctica weekend breaks, two nights on a top-class iceberg and as much krill as you can eat.”
This is the life. Charging around on a frozen pitch, whacking concrete balls at each other with sticks. Once you got the feeling back in your bum it was quite good fun, actually. I was tearing up and down the pitch like David Beckham (without the shaved head and manly parts, of course, but with the consummate ball skills). Well, until I accidentally whacked Jas on the knee (above the shin pad) with a ball.
It was her fault, really. I whacked a really good goal in the net but Mrs. Slow Knickers didn’t get out of the way in time (probably because she was weighed down by her enormous sports pantibus). As she hobbled off she was moaning and groaning and blaming me. “You’re mad, Georgia, hitting balls around like…like…”
I said, helpfully, “Like a brilliant hockey captain?”
“No, not like that.”
“Well, like what?”
She was red as a loon. I gave her my famous world-renowned affectionate hug, but she pushed me off and said, “Like…a promiscuous HOOLIGAN.”
Oooooooh. Now she had really upset me.
lunchtime
Lad alert!!! Lad alert!!! Dave the Laugh was at the school gates. He looked in a bit of a funny mood. Normally he is all smiley and sort of cocky, but he wasn’t smiling. And he looked a bit tense. He is really nice-looking. If I didn’t have the Sex God I would definitely want to go out with him. Especially as Tom told me that Dave made a huge banner and hung it on top of their school, and it said, “For Sale.” Which anyone can see is vair vair funny. By the time I got to gang headquarters (first floor loos), Ellen was being Dithering Queen extraordinaire. She was saying, “Oh, oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
Jas said, “Just go and talk to him. He’s come to see you. That’s really nice.” Then she went all dreamy and dim. “Tom sometimes just gets an urge to see me and he comes to meet me on the—”
I said, “Veggie van?”
She didn’t even look at me. She just continued to talk to Ellen as if I hadn’t said anything vair vair hilarious. “He comes to see me on the spur of the moment.” Then she gave me her worst look (scary bananas) and limped off.
I called after her, “You know I love you, Jas. Why are you not touching me with a barge pole? And eschewing me with a firm hand? And ignorez-vousing me?” She still didn’t pay any attention.
After about a million years of applying lip gloss, Ellen went out to meet Dave the L.
We all watched from the loo windows whilst they talked. I said to Jools, “He didn’t snog her when he saw her, did he?”
Rosie was doing her toenails; she had bits of soap between each toe to stop the polish going smeary. I must remember not to use the soap ever again.
Anyway, Rosie said, “Sven always snogs me when he first sees me. In fact he snogs me pretty much all the time. Even when he is eating.”
We all said, “Erlack!”
Dave and Ellen went behind the bike shed and we couldn’t see what was happening. I was sort of glad about that somehow, because even though I had a boyfriend, was ecstatic, in seventh heaven, couldn’t be happier, never thought about another boy for a second, had set aside my red bottom with a firm hand, only had the Specific Horn with no sign of the General Horn at all, I didn’t really like to see Dave the Laugh snogging other people. I don’t know why.
maths
Ellen was blubbing in Maths. She was sniffling next to Jas and I could see that she was telling her what had happened, but as Jas is even ignorez-vousing my notes, I couldn’t find out anything. Then Ellen put her hand up and said she felt ill and could she go to sick bay.
I know I often feel like blubbing during Maths, but I thought she was being a bit over the top having to go to sick bay. Mind you we were doing pi, and I may have said this many times before, but didn’t the ancient Greeks have anything better to do than measure things? Or leap out of baths, yelling, “Eureka!”
When Miss Stamp (quarter lesbian, quarter sports Oberführer and also quarter Maths teacher…hang on, that only makes her a three-quarter person…ah well) asked us why Archimedes shouted “Eureka!” when his bath overflowed, I said it was because eureka is Greek for “Bloody hell, this bath is hot!!!” Which may well be the first ancient Greek joke.
afternoon break
World news breaking! Dave has dumped Ellen!! And Ellen is not a happy dumpee. In the Chemistry lab loos Ellen was nearly hysterical. Her eyes were all swollen like mice eyes. She was gulping and trying to talk, and then blubbing again. Nurse Jas was hugging her.
Finally Ellen managed to say, “He, he, said he first realized at the…at the…fish party that he…that he…that he…” Sniffle, snif
fle, gulp.
I thought, I’m ever so peckish. I wonder if it would be really unfeeling if I just nibbled on my Mars bar?
But then Ellen managed to go on. “I mean, I said to him…‘Is it something I’ve done?’ And he said…he said…‘No, you’re a great girl, it’s something I’ve done, not you. It’s a sort of General Horn–type thing.’ What does he mean? What has he done? What General Horn thing?”
Oh God. Oh Goddy God God.
The others were nodding, but Jas was nodding and looking at me. Like a wise old owl in a skirt. But with arms instead of wings. And no beak.
Then the bell went. Phew.
4:30 p.m.
On the way home, Jas walked really quickly ahead of me, like she had something stuck up her bottom. I nearly had to jog to get alongside her. I put my arm around her and she sped up even more, so that we were both jogging along.
I said, “Jas, Jas, my little pal, I’m sorry about bonking you on your knee. Do you want me to kiss it? Or carry you home? I will. I will do anything if you will be my little pal again.”
Jas stopped. “All right, don’t drop me, though.” So I had to carry her home. All the way home. And she is not light—her knickers alone must weigh about half a stone.
I was nearly dead by the time we reached her gate. I tried to put her down, but she said, “This is the gate, not my bed.” So I had to carry her right to the door. She unlocked the door still in my arms, whilst my head practically fell off with redness, and then I had to carry her upstairs to her bedroom.
It did make us laugh, though. As we were lying on her bed with a squillion of her soft toys, I said, “Jas, have you forgiven me now?”
“Polish my Ramblers’ badge.” So I had to polish the badge. Then she said, “I might be preparing myself to forgive you.”
I fed her a cheesy whatsit and she munched on it. Then she said, “But will Ellen forgive you?”
“What do you mean? For what?”
“For snogging her boyfriend and…for…for allowing your red bottom to rule the roost.”
“Jas, my bottom is not a chicken.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Don’t start all that ‘you know what I mean’ business.”
“Yes, but you do know what I mean.”
my room
Jas thinks that I should tell Ellen what happened vis-à-vis Dave the Laugh, because then she will know that he is a serial snogger and lip nibbler…or whatever…and then she will not pine for him.
Hmmm. She might not pine for him, but she might pull my head off.
Mum came bustling in. “Are you ready?”
“For what? Nuclear war? World peace? Tea? A surprise inheritance?”
“Dr. Clooney…er, I mean Dr. Gilhooley.”
“Gorgey though he is, Mum, why would I be ready for him?”
5:00 p.m.
I had a quick look at my Ellbogen. I haven’t thought about them much lately because of all the other emergencies that have been happening. They are a bit odd-looking, actually, when you get them naked. And I won’t be able to go around wearing long sleeves for the rest of my life, especially in California. And what about the press when I go to premieres and stuff with Robbie? I don’t want headlines pointing my elbows out to the world: “Sex God and Weird Girl with Sticky-out Elbows Go to Top Restaurant.”
As we entered the Valley of the Unwell (Dr. Clooney’s waiting room), I said to Mum quietly, “What can he do about them anyway?” I said it quietly because the room was, as usual, full of the mentally deranged.
Dr. Clooney is quite gorgeous. Blue-eyed, dark and sort of sexy. He makes Mum go in a terrible tizz, all flushed and basoomy. He said, “How can I help?”
Mum pulled up my sleeves exposing my elbows and said, “Her elbows stick out.”
Dr. Clooney laughed for about a million years. He said, “Honestly, I would pay you two girls to come to my surgery every day.” Then he walked over to examine my elbows.
Dr. Clooney smiled at me. Phwoar!! “Georgia is a racehorse.”
What in the name of Miss Stamp’s mustache and matching eyebrows is he talking about?
He went on. “She’s got long limbs and not much fat on her body, so her elbows seem to be more boney and exposed than someone who has a different body shape. As she grows they’ll be less noticeable.”
I thought Mum was going to snog him on the spot. “Oh, thank you, Doctor, it was such a worry. Anyway, how have you been doing? Done any dancing lately?”
On the way home I said to Mum, “What did you mean, done any dancing lately?”
Mum went all red and delirious. “Well, I’ve just, you know, seen him out sometimes, when I’ve been with the girls…dancing, and…”
“Yes…and…?”
“Well, he’s very fit.” Oh, dear God. My own mother is displaying alarming signs of the General Horn.
9:00 p.m.
On the plus side, the Ellbogen mystery is solved….I am a racehorse.
10:00 p.m.
Rosie phoned. “Georgia. Something really awful has happened.”
“Has your hair gone all sticky-up? I think mine has.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Lurker alert?”
“No, worse.”
“Blimey. You’re not having a baby Sven, are you?”
“Sven is being sent back to Swedenland. He has to help out with his family farm, or whatever they have over there.”
“Is it a reindeer farm?”
“GEORGIA, I DON’T KNOW and I don’t care!!!”
Rosie is sheer desperadoes. She says if Sven goes to Swedenland, she goes too. I said, “Well, you’d better find out where it is first. You drew the wheat belt across the Irish Sea in our last geoggers test.”
tuesday february 1st
breakfast
8:05 a.m.
This is ridiculous—Mum and Dad are still not speaking. Normally I would be glad of the silence, except it means they both speak to me and ask me things. Like, “So, what’s number one this week in the pop charts?” How sad is that?
stalag 14
It’s like the Valley of the Damned. Rosie is moping around, Jools has had a fight with Rollo, and Ellen is sniffling around the place like a sniffler extraordinaire. You only have to say to her, “Do you fancy one of my cheesy whatsits?” and she runs off to the loos blubbing. And Jas keeps looking at me. Looking and looking.
I said to her, “You should be careful, Jas, one of the first formers was in a staring competition last week and she stared for so long that her eyes went dry and she had to go to hospital to have them watered.”
She just sniffed. It is a very very good job that I am full of cheeriosity. Also a tip-top hockey captain.
r.e.
Rosie sent me a note. “I’ve found out where Swedenland is. I’m going to go after Sven and get a job and make new Sweden-type friends.”
I wrote back: “Is there much call for fifteen-year-old snoggers in Swedenland?”
She looked at me when she got the note and did her famous impression of a cross-eyed loon. Then she wrote: “Anyway, what will YOU do in Hamburger-a-gogo land for a job? Your very amusing impression of a lockjaw germ, or…er…that’s it.”
evening
Same bat time. Same bat place.
Libby was applying some of Mutti’s face powder and lipstick to Angus whilst he sat on my bed. And he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was purring. Becoming a furry vati has made him alarmingly mellow. Or a transvestite.
Robbie has gone off for some interview thing. He didn’t really explain what it was about. Popstar stuff, I suppose. Rosie is very very wrong if she thinks I will not be able to do anything in Hamburger-a-gogo land. I could form a girlfriends’ hockey eleven and play my way across America.
wednesday february 2nd
Hockey tournament today with me at the helm. But more to the point, Wet Lindsay has resigned from the team. HURRAH! She s
ays it is a protest against me being hockey captain, because I am a facsimile of a sham and have the attitude of a juvenile pea. Useless stick insect ankle molester.
6:30 p.m.
Cracking victory!!! The most amazing day. We played six matches and won all six! I scored in each match, and even though I do say it myself…I AM A HOCKEY GENIUS!!!
I had to give a speech when I accepted the cup for our school. It was my chance to show the world and, in particular, the heavily mustachioed Miss Stamp that I am full of wisdomosity and maturiosity and gravitas (not “gravy ass,” as Rosie thought). I said, “I would just like to say that I owe this victory to many people. To my team, to my school, to my mum and dad for having me, to the ancient Britons for giving me my proud heritage, to the early cavemen, without whom none of us would have got here, as they invented the wheel…”
Miss Stamp was about to implode but she couldn’t do anything because the head of All Saints School seemed to think I was being très amusant and clapped A LOT at the end of my speech.
thursday february 3rd
stalag 14
Hahahahaha. Slim had to mention my name in Assembly and congratulate me!!!
Hawkeye looked like she had poo in her mouth (which she probably did). Slim, as usual, was in a ludicrously bad mood. Her chins were trembling in time to the hymns. She said, “Despite what I have said before, certain elements in this school continue to think they can carry on flouting school rules. Mr. Attwood misplaced his cap a day or two ago and found it today, burnt to a cinder. This is my final warning to you all: Be very, very careful of your behavior, as all misdemeanors will be treated very seriously.”
As we ambled off to English, I said, “Mr. Attwood probably set fire to his own hat on purpose. He hates us because we are young and lively.”
Jas said, “And because we drop skeletons on him.”
“Well, yes…”
“And the locusts ate his overalls….”
“Yes, well there is…”
“And he tripped over his—”
“Jas, shut up.”
r.e.
Rosie has been living in Glum City all day since her beloved Sven got in his Viking boat (Olau Lines ferry) and went off to Swedenland today. He has only gone for one month, but she insists that she is going to go and live in Swedenland with him for that month. Miss Wilson was telling us about her unhappy childhood, so I took the opportunity to draw some fashion items for Rosie to take with her to the Nordic wastes. I drew her wearing furry glasses and a nose warmer. I even did a vair vair funny drawing of her in a fur bikini, but she could hardly be bothered to join in, even when we started our traditional R.E. humming. (We all start humming really softly and at the same time carry on as normal so that you can’t tell we are humming. Or where the humming is coming from.) Miss Wilson thinks it might be the radiators. It drives Miss Wilson round the proverbial bend…not so far to go in her case.
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