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“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Gird your loins and so on; laugh and the world laughs at you. Come on, you do really want to know my plan, especially as it concerns you, my little hairy pally.”
“I’m not hairy.”
“Have it your own way, just don’t go near any circuses.”
“Shut up. Go on then, tell me your plan. Although, unless you are going to give me the money to go to Kiwi-a-gogo with Tom, I don’t—”
“Jas, forget about Hunky. He will be too busy lying around in streams with Robbie and hugging marsupials to get up to anything. This is about you and me on the road.”
“What road?”
“OK, this is it: when I go to Hamburger-a-gogo…you come with me! Do you see? Driving across America, you and me. We will be like Thelma and Louise!”
“We’re not called Thelma and Louise.”
“I know that, I am just saying we will be LIKE THEM.”
“And we’re not American.”
“I know that, but I—”
“And neither of us can drive.”
Oh dear God.
I said, “Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.”
12:00 p.m.
Ahahaha, Jazzy Spazzy has finally come to her senses (ish). She has got the scent of funosity in her nostrils and wants to come to Hamburger-a-gogo land. A LOT. So now all we have to do is get our parents to let us. We have a two-pronged plan.
Prong One is a charm offensive on our muttis and vatis to persuade them to let Jas come to America with me. (And also to give her sqillions of squids for spenderoonies.) We are going to be really nice and sweet and listen to them ramble on about the Beatles. I’ve been practising my pleading and they would have to be made of stone not to give me the entire contents of their wallets.
However, if that fails and they say no, we launch Prong Two: relentless moaning. You know the kind of thing – “All my other friends are allowed to take a mate on holiday with them. How come I am the ONLY person in the universe who is not allowed to take a mate on holiday? Why is it just me? Why? Why oh why oh why?”
“Why?”
“It is sooo unfair.”
“Why?”
Outside the front-room door 9:10 p.m.
Right, this is it. I’ve got my old Teletubbies jimjams on for maximosity on the loveablenosity front.
Front room
Mutti and Vati were on the sofa, curled round each other. I could clearly see Mum’s knickers. Erlack. And the curtains were open; anyone could see in. A fat bloke passing by might think it was a brothel for the porkier gentleman. I was going to say that but then I remembered my prongs. So I said, “Good evening, Mother, Father.”
Vati said, “How much?” without even looking at me. I laughed attractively.
“Oh, Papa, this is not a material matter, it’s to do with friendship and love and—”
Mum said, “I don’t care how many of your friends have had their navels pierced. You are not.”
“But I—”
But she was still rambling on. “Ditto tattoos.”
“But I—”
Vati joined in. “And no, you cannot have a flat in Paris and a manservant to help with your homework.”
Oh, how I nearly laughed. Not. I thought about telling Dad that Rosie said he looked like a brothel madam in his flying helmet and leather jacket, but then I remembered my charm prong and forced a little grin to play around my mouth.
“You two!!! Always kidding about you cheeky minxes! Anyway, all it is really is that, well…you know…Jas is all miz because of Tom going to Kiwi-a-gogo and, well…You know she’s my pal, and…well…it would be nice for me if you know…anyway, can she?”
Vati said, “Can she what? Move in? Levitate? What?”
I bit the whatsit. “Can she come with us to Hamburger-a-gogo land?”
10:00 p.m.
Both of our parents have said yes. Unbelievable. Actually, I am not that amazed that Jas’s parents said yes because they are, on the whole, not entirely mad. But my parents?
Weird.
It is a miracle for which I would normally thank Jesus. He does seem to be coming up trumps lately. I left Robbie to the snogging possums but then Jesus sent me a replacement Luuurve God. Hurray! As I say, I would normally thank him personally by laying gifts at his feet (or foot, actually, because one of his feet snapped off), however there is a bit of a problem. Libby has been rifling around in my room and she has nicked my statue of him. I’m afraid Jesus has not quite been himself since. The last time I saw him he had a frock on and Libby was calling him “Sandra”, Barbie’s new bestest pal.
I don’t think God will hold it against us, as he is, after all, a merciful God.
10:10 p.m.
Unless you happen to be that snake in the Garden of Eden. Snakey only asked, “Anyone fancy a bit of apple?” and then God made him crawl around on his belly for eternity. Seems a bit harsh. (Although, as I pointed out to Miss Wilson in our interesting talks in RE, if you were a snake in the first place, being made to crawl around on your belly for the rest of your days doesn’t actually seem that bad. Almost like being a snake in fact. I mean this with all reverencosity. I just have a lively mind.)
Oooohhhhh, I am so excited. I can’t wait to tell the Ace Gang.
I even kissed my own father AGAIN. This is twice in two days. I must be a bit feverish.
In my bedroom
Libby, Gordy, Sandra and Barbie are all snoozing. They look so lovely and cosy. Our Lord, now heavily rouged, is next to Libby’s feet. I don’t know why she likes to sleep upside down. Perhaps because it is very scary waking up to see Gordy looking cross-eyed at you.
I looked out the window as I did my alternate nostril breathing. It is vair vair calming. You pinch one nostril closed and then breathe in through the other one, and then hold your breath and let the pinched-up one go and breathe out of that. And then you…well, anyway…all I can say is that the Lord Buddha did it, and he didn’t just do it for nothing.
One minute later
I hope it’s not like body building. I don’t want to be really calm and have massive nostrils.
Two minutes later
For once Mr Next Door has done something nice. He has built a sort of anti-cat fence on the top of his wall made out of barbed wire. Angus will really like it. He gets a bit bored with leaping down on to the Prat Poodles and riding them round. He is the sort of cat who needs a bit of a challenge.
Five minutes later
Oh, here comes Supercat with Naomi. With his head up her bottom as ususal.
One minute later
Aha! He has removed his head and he has seen the new fencey. He luuurves the fencey.
Four minutes later
Old Nimble Paws did this beyond-fabby thing. He did a vertical jump! From standing on the wall he just shot straight up in the air and over the fence.
Five minutes later
Angus is really getting into it now. He leaps over the anti-cat fence and then comes back into our garden by hurling himself through Mr Next Door’s rhododendron bush. Excellent! He has made it into a track-and-field event. It is quite literally the Cat Olympics.
Five minutes later
I would prefer it if Naomi stuck to the usual giving of medals ceremony rather than licking Angus’s trouser-snake area, but there you are – that is appalling furry tarts for you.
Monday May 9
The crack of 8:00 a.m.
Crikey. I’d better not get carried away with happiness, otherwise I will be on time for school, or Stalag 14 as I so amusingly call it.
8:25 a.m.
Lolloping along to Jas’s place, I had to pass by Mark Big Gob smoking on the corner with his lardy mates. He is quite literally a mouth on legs. Sadly he seems to have recovered his former (crap) self after the minor duffing-up incident with Dave the Laugh.
He just can’t help himself, especially when, like now, he has the backup lardy lads with him. As I walked by in a dignified manner, trying not to let anything jiggle about, BG and the lard arses were just ogling my nungas like ogling oglers (if you can imagine the horror of that, and I think you can). Then he licked his lips! Erlack, he was licking his lips at me!
He is so très pathetico.
I may have to ask Dave to repeat the duffing-up incident.
Five minutes later
Jas was on her wall. I don’t know what she had for breakfast but she has put on about twelve stone. Either that or her knickers have reached elephantine size.
When she jumped down, I saw it was because she had her skirt rolled over so much that she looked like a melon with a head and an annoying fringe in a school uniform.
She said, “My mum and dad want to come round to yours to talk about the arrangements.”
“I must rush home and make them normal. Your mum and dad will never let you come with us if Dad happens to be wearing his masonic apron…or his velvet loons that he wears for ‘grooving’ in. No one in their right mind would let a child of theirs anywhere near him.”
Stalag 14
Hawkeye was on glaring duty at the school gates, so Jas had to do a quick dive behind me to let her skirt down. She was fiddling away as we walked along, so to distract Hawkeye with my youth and exuberance I started singing, “Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh what a—”
“Why are you shuffling along like idiots? Put a spring in your step!”
I started doing a bit of springing for a laugh, but then she said, “Georgia, I have been glancing at your report card and it seems to me a bit of extra tuition wouldn’t come amiss.”
Bloody sacré bleu! I scuttled off to the loos as fast as I could.
Jas was pouting at herself in the mirror as I grumbled on. “‘Glancing at your report card’. What kind of life is that? You might as well have a life ‘glancing at paint drying’ or ‘glancing at a cactus not doing anything’, or…anyway, it is no kind of a life for a human being. Which is why Hawkeye is so vair vair good at it.”
Jas was now upside down under the hand dryer getting maximum voluminosity into her fringe for the day ahead, but she nodded her head wisely, in an upside-down way.
Assembly
Usual routine: Klingon salute to the Ace Gang, a quick burst of “The Lord is my shepherd” and then some incomprehensible lecture from Slim, our huge headmistress. What is she rambling on about now? She has certainly excelled herself on the fashion front this morning. Polka-dot suit in a lovely subtle orange and black, and sling-back shoes. Parts of her feet have made a desperate bid for freedom out of the sling-back bit. I’ve never known anyone with fat feet. It’s fascinating watching her. When she loses her rag (i.e. every time she speaks to us) every bit of her quivers in a tip-top jelloid way.
“So to my point, girls: achievement. What does it mean today in the modern world? I want you all to consider what achievement really means.”
Then she stood there and looked at us. For ages. We stood looking back. She just stood there; we just stood there. Like a staring competition. Good Lord. It went on for ages and ages – you could practically see Miss Stamp’s beard growing. Two centuries later, Slim said, “How many of us could put our hands on our hearts and say ‘I have achieved something really worthwhile this term.’?”
Me and Rosie put our hands on our hearts.
Corridor 9:30 a.m.
Oh bloody marvy. Wet Lindsay, who was stick-insecting around on snitcher duty, saw us with our hands on our hearts and is gave us her world famous ‘How childish you are’ lecture. Ho hum, pig’s bum. Another fabulous opportunity to look at Mrs No Forehead.
9:36 a.m.
Hahahahaha! While Wet Lindsay was telling us off, me and Rosie kept our eyes fixed on her forehead. She couldn’t say we were doing anything wrong, but afterwards she scuttled off to the loos for forehead inspection.
The staring campaign continues!
And she doesn’t know I am off to America to a Snog Fest with the Luuurve God.
I said to Rosie as we ambled off to the Science block, “He probably only took her to Late and Live because he is in the European Union for the preservation of rare species.”
Rosie said, “What? The ‘No Forehead Stick-insect Fighting Fund’?”
“Absolutemento mon pally.”
We are indeed vair vair amusant.
Blodge
Miss Baldwin has got gigantic basoomas. Even bigger than my mutti’s, and that is saying something. I was very much afraid that she would set fire to them with the Bunsen burner. Sadly there was no basooma incendiary action, so I couldn’t use the foam extinguisher, which would have topped the lesson off in my humble opinion.
