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Five minutes later
Now the Blunder Boys are lying down on the ground, hoping they might see up our skirts. I can see their beaky eyes blinking under the branches. If they do happen to see our knickers they will think we are doing it on purpose to attract them. Dear God.
One minute later
Just then a Pekingese dog came hurtling by dragging its lead behind it, followed by Angus. Oh no. He loves Pekingese. A LOT. I hope it is a fast runner.
Anyway, I haven’t got the time to worry about everything. If careless people will let their small dogs loll around in parks they are asking for trouble. It’s a cat-eat-dog world.
Twenty minutes later
The general mood of the gang is that I should play it cool until I know what is really going on. Although what Ellen knows about cool I really don’t know. She had a massive ditherspaz trying to describe how Dave the Laugh had said good night to her at the Stiff Dylans gig. Apparently, and I know this because I heard it about a zillion times, “Er, well… then he, well… and I didn’t know what he meant, but then, well, he just said… he just said to me… he said…”
I shouted, “WHAT? What in the name of heaven, Ellen? WHAT, WHAT did he say?”
And I didn’t even want to know; I just wanted to get to the bits about what happened after I left and what did people say about me and so on. But you know what people are like, it’s just me, me, me with them.
Ellen went even more divvyish. Good grief. “He said, ‘Well, good night then, Ellen, never eat anything bigger than your head.’”
I didn’t know what to say.
No one did.
Fifteen minutes later
Anyway, the nub and the gist is that the Ace Gang are useless and don’t know anything more than I do. It seems they all watched me run off like a loon (to catch my train) and then lolloped home. Useless.
However, I decided to forgive them. They are, after all, my besties.
And if I don’t forgive them I will never find out anything. And also never go out again and stay in my house with my parents. So, grasping the bull by its whatsits, I said to the gang, “In order to make a full and frank decision boyfriendwise, I have to know the intentions of the prospective snoggees.”
Ellen said, “Er, what are they? I mean who, what is, like, a snoggee?”
“Ellen, keep up, the prospeccy snoggees are Masimo and Robbie. Masimo said that he was single and free for me, but on the other hand did not come running after me and stop me getting on my train. And Robbie only had time to say hello and then not long after went off with Wet Lindsay. Soooo, did Robbie come to the gig to see me, or does he just want to be friends with me? Why has he come home?”
Rosie said, “Someone must go underground and subtly find out what Robbie’s intentions are. Shall I ask Sven? He could wear his camouflage flares.”
I said, “No.”
Jools said, “What about asking Dave the Laugh to find out?”
Ellen nearly fell over with pleasure. “Oh, yes, well, I mean, I could, well, maybe I could, like, go with him or something. Be, like, his assistant? But maybe that would be, like, too forward or something. What do you think… or something?”
I said, “No, Ellen, it has to be this year, really.”
Jas had gone off into Jasland. She was fiddling with her fringe and I could tell she had Tom and voles on her mind.
I said, “There is someone here, isn’t there, who knows Robbie’s brother quite well, shall we say, and who could use subtlety and casualosity to find out stuff? Isn’t there, Jas?”
Jas looked up like a dog when she heard her own name. “What do you mean? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to find out about Robbie by asking Tom a few casual questions.”
Jas said, “Oh, OK. Can we go now?”
“The key word here, Jas, is ‘casualosity’. Casualosity. Can you say that, Jas?”
Jas got into her huffmobile. “I know how to be casual, Georgia.”
“Wrong.”
In bed
5:00 p.m.
I am absolutely full of exhaustosity. How difficult can it be to be casual? We coached Jas for four hours. It was like talking to a lemming in a skirt.
First of all, we tried it her way. Always a mistake in my humble (but right) opinion. Her idea of casualosity essentially means that she says: “Does Robbie fancy Georgia? Or is he normal?”
I had to use clevernosity to get Jas to do what I wanted in the end. I said, “I’ve got an idea. You know how good you were as Lady MacUseless and everything, Jas?”
Jas said, “Yes, it took quite a lot out of me, actually. Do you remember the bit when I had the dagger and…”
Oh no, three million years were going to go by while she relived her big moments in the school play.
I interrupted her by hugging her so hard that her head was buried in my armpit and said, “Yes, yes, now this is my idea.”
I asked her to act out what she was going to do in an improvised scene, like in drama. She loves that sort of thing as she is such a teacher’s bum-oley kisser.
Rosie volunteered to be Tom. She said, “I’ve got the legs for it.”
Incidentally I’m a bit worried that she was able to whip out a false beard from her rucky. I said that to her, I said, “Rosie, do you carry a beard around with you at all times?”
And she said, “Well, you never know.”
The Viking bride-to-be gets madder and madder. We are definitely entering the Valley of the Unwell.
Anyway, Jas was mincing around like a mincing thing, warming up, flicking her fringe at Tom (or Rosie in a beard, as we know him). It was incredibly irritating. I was on the edge of a mega nervy b. and supertizz as it was. I said, “Jas what in the name of arse are you doing?”
And she said huffily, “I am getting into character.”
I said, “But you are being you.”
She looked at me like I had fallen out of her nose. “I am finding the inner me.”
Good grief. Her “inner me” is bound to be an owl.
Eventually she was ready and came pratting girlishly up to Rosie and twittered, “Oh, Tom, I found some vole spore down by the woods.”
Tom/Rosie said (in a French accent, for no apparent reason – it must be the beard), “Ah, did you, my liddle pussycat? Would you like to, how you say… kiss my beard?”
Jas actually blushed and said, “Well, you know I would, Tom… but maybe, you know, in private, not in front of everyone.”
I had to put a stop to this. It was like watching some pervy film, like Two Go Mad in Bearded Lezzie Land. I said, “Will you get on with it?”
Jas predictably lost her rag immediately over the slightest thing and said, “I was just getting in the mood, actually, and anyway this is stupid, practising to be casual. I know how to be casual.”
I said, “Well, why don’t you BE casual then?”
She gave me her worst look, but eventually after Mabs gave her a Midget Gem they started again. Jas said to Rosie, who now had a pipe, “Tommy-wommy?”
“Oui.”
“Well, I was just, you know, thinking about Robbie. It’s nice he’s back, isn’t it?”
“Mais oui – très très magnifique.”
It was pointless objecting about the Froggyland language, especially as Ro Ro was now plaiting her beard.
Jazzy said, “Did he come back, you know, because he missed England and his mates? Do you think he will join the Stiff Dylans again?”
I looked at Jas in amazement. She had asked an almost good question in a quite subtle way and not mentioned me. Blimey.
And it only took four-and-a-half hours of torture. We had to leave it there because Sven came along yodelling through the trees (no, I am not kidding).
5:30 p.m.
When would be a good time to call Radio Jas? Surely she must have had time to talk to Tom by now? I should exercise discipline and patience, of course.
5:31 p.m.
Phoned Jas.
“Jas.”
“What?”
“It’s me.”
“Oh, well, this is me, too.”
“Jas, don’t start.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Good.”
And I put the phone down. That will teach her.
Two minutes later
“Jas, what have you found out?”
“I’ve found out that I am having scrambly eggs for tea. Byeeee.”
And she put the phone down.
Damn.
I have my pride, thank goodness. No one can take that away from me. I won’t be bothering Jas again, not while she is so busy stuffing her gob with eggy.
6:00 p.m.
This is torture but I will never give in. Never, never. The Eggy One will never get the better of me.
6:10 p.m.
Phoned Rosie. I’ll get her to phone Eggy and casually ask her, but not on my behalf.
6:20 p.m.
Rosie is out with Sven at the “pictures”, her mum says. Oh yeah, as if. And the film they are watching is, Number Sevenon the Snogging Scale.
I daren’t ask Ellen, Jools or Mabs to phone Jas as they are bound to spill the beans to Eggy. The tragedy is that all three of them are such crap liars; it’s a curse, really.
7:30 p.m.
She is soooooo annoying. She will never phone me if she has got the hump.
7:35 p.m.
Masimo hasn’t called or anything. Maybe he really does think I am insane. Or maybe he thinks I caught the train from the shopping centre and have gone away for a few days. In which case he is insane.
If I have an early night I can do skincare – cleanse and tone, and get everything ready for tomorrow just in case I have a chance encounter with one of my many maybe boyfriends on the way to Stalag 14.
8:15 p.m.
Blimey, I look about two and a half, I am so shiny faced and clean. Also, I am nice and baldy everywhere, except on my head, of course. I do not want to have an Uncle Eddie hairstyle.
Actually, my hair is a bit of a boring colour. It hasn’t got jene sais quoi and umph.
Bathroom
Five minutes later
