Dancing in My Nuddy-Pants

  “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.

  break

  In sheer desperadoes to cheer Rosie up, I had a moment of my usual geniosity. We were slouching along past Elvis’s hut with its stupid sign that says: “Ring the bell for the caretaker.” I said to RoRo, “Un moment, mon pally.” Then I went and rang his bell.

  He came looning to his door, like the grumpiest, most mad man in the universe, which he is. He glared at me and then said, “What do you want?”

  I said, pointing to his sign, “What I want to know, Mr. Attwood, is why you can’t ring your own bell.”

  Anyway, he didn’t get it. He was rambling on and I was just about to slope politely off, when Wet Lindsay came round the corner. She was ogling us like an ogler with stick legs, which she is.

  Elvis was so red I thought his head might explode, but sadly, it didn’t. He was shouting, “It’s always you, messing about, coming in my hut. You let those bloody locusts eat my spare overalls….”

  I tried to be reasonable with the old maniac. “Mr. Attwood, Elvis, I wasn’t to know that the locusts would eat your overalls. I merely thought they would like a little fly around in the blodge lab after being cooped up in their cage.”

  Mr. Attwood was still yelling. “…and I bet it was you who burnt my cap!”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  maths

  I was just peacefully buffing my half-moons, when Hawkeye put her head round the door. She barked, “My office, now!!!”

  hawkeye’s office

  Oh sacré bloody bleu. Hawkeye was livid as a loon. She was all rigid with indignosity. “I am sick to death of this, Georgia Nicolson. You have a perfectly good brain and a few talents, and you INSIST on squandering them in silly, childish pranks and unkindnesses. When Miss Stamp told me that she had chosen you as hockey captain, I had grave doubts. I still sometimes get headaches from your ridiculous display at the tennis championships last year.”

  Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s vest and pants, what is it with teachers? Do they make lists of things that happened ages and ages ago and just hang around waiting for something else to add to them? Why doesn’t she read some of the books I read? Let things go…relax, don’t sweat the small stuff, talk to dolphins, go with the flow…etc.

  Hawkeye hadn’t finished. “However, these latest so-called jokes have confirmed what I said to her: that you have a silly attitude and are a poor example to both your peers and, more especially, the young and impressionable girls in this school. You are relieved of your duties as hockey captain forthwith.”

  I started to try to say something, but I felt a funny prickling feeling in my throat. I had to hand back my captain’s badge. And what is more, I am on gardening duty with Mr. Attwood for a month!

  When I came out of Hawkeye’s interrogation room, Wet Lindsay was smirking around. I bet she snitched on me. I didn’t dignify her by saying anything. I have more pridosity than that.

  Rosie was waiting for me around the corner. “Was it the forty lashes or has she just cut your basoomas off as a warning to others?”

  “She’s sacked me from being hockey captain.”

  RoRo put her arm around me.

  my bedroom

  11:17 p.m.

  I wanted to phone the Sex God and tell him about the hockey captain fiasco, and I was going to. But I wasn’t sure whether he would think that the “Ring the bell for the caretaker” thing was très amusant or the act of a twit.

  midnight

  I bet Dave the Laugh would think it was…er…a laugh.

  Why am I thinking about him?

  friday february 4th

  lunch

  I didn’t feel much like talking and the gang kept being nice to me, which was a bit strange. So I went off by myself to think. What was it Billy Shakespeare said? “And as we walk on down the road, our shadow taller than our souls…” Oh no, that was Rolf Harris doing his version of “Stairway to Heaven.”

  How crap was that?

  The gang were following me around at a distance. Like stalkers in school uniforms.

  I really loved being captain, though. Oh, double poo.

  Even when you are the girlfriend of a Sex God things can go wrong. And anyway, what is the point of being the girlfriend of someone if every time you want to tell him something you can’t? That is like being the ungirlfriend of someone. That is what I am: an ungirlfriend.

  And not hockey captain. And with quite sticky-out elbows.

  I moped around to the back of the tennis courts and a voice shouted out, “Has naughty Big Nose been in trouble with the scary teacher?” The Bummers were sitting having a fag on a pile of coats.

  Oh, joy. The pièce de résistance. Merde, poo and triple bum.

  Alison Bummer had a draw on her fag and then went off into a sort of hacking coughing fit.

  I said, “Still in tip-top physical condition then, Alison, I’m pleased to see.”

  Alison gave me a very unattractive look (which is actually the only look she has). And I was just walking off when I heard a little voice say, “Can I get out now? It’s almost end of break and my knees are really hurting.”

  Jackie said, “I’d like to let you out, but I haven’t finished my fag yet.” And I realized the Bummers had some poor little first formers underneath the coats on chair duty.

  I turned back. “Let them out, you two.”

  Jackie pretended to be really scared. “Oh, OK then, Georgia, because we are sooooooo very very frightened of you.”

  Alison joined in. “Yes, you might hurt us with your enormous nose.”

  I looked at them and I thought, Right, that is it. I have been pushed to the brink of my tether. My hockey career might be over, but there is still something I can do for England. (And no I did not mean leave it.)

  I marched back so quickly to school that the stalkers had to almost run to keep up with me.

  They did catch me just as I was going into Slim’s outer sanctum. “Gee, what are you doing?” Jas asked.

  I said, “I’m going to tell Slim about Nauseating P. Green and the Bummers.”

  Everyone said, “OhmyGod!!!”

  Jools said, “They will kill you if they find out.”

  Rosie said, “Slim might not trust you because of all the trouble you’ve been in.”

  I said, with great dignosity, “I will have to take my chances, then.”

  Then this really weird thing happened. Jas said, “I’m going to come in with you and tell what I know as well.” So I hugged her. She tried to get away from me and spoiled the moment by saying, “Well…you know…erm…I mean, I am a member of the Ramblers’ Association and…”

  She would have rambled on, but Rosie said, “Yes, I’ll come in as well. I will be on a reindeer farm by summer anyway, so what do I have to lose?”

  All the ace gang said they would come to tell Slim with me. Even Ellen stopped sniffling long enough to join us. We were like the Six Samurai or whatever it is. We could ride around the countryside wronging rights and so on.

  Then
Slim appeared like a wardrobe in a dress and I slightly changed my mind.

  4:30 p.m.

  Well, we did it. We snitched on the Bummers and they have been immediately suspended from school and the police went straight round to their houses. God knows what will happen next.

  6:00 p.m.

  I’ll tell you what happened next. Nauseating P. Green and her mum came round to my house. OhmyGod, they know where I live!!! They were blubbing and carrying on in an alarming way.

  Nauseating P. Green brought Hammy, her hamster, round to celebrate, which was a bit of a mistake because Angus took him off to play hide and seek with Naomi and the kids. But we managed to find Hammy in the end and I think his fur may grow back.

  The P. Greens left after several centuries of excruciating boredom and goldfishiness. But sadly it didn’t end there. I have become a heroine in my own lunchtime.

  Vati said, “I am really, really proud of you, my love.” I thought he was going to start blubbing.

  Mum was hugging me. In fact, they both forgot they were not speaking to each other and they were BOTH hugging me. Then Libby joined in with Teddy and scuba-diving Barbie. I never thought the day would dawn when I would be the victim of a group hug.

  I may never do another nice thing in my life—it really isn’t worth it.

  9:00 p.m.

  Robbie rang. I started to tell him about my day. “Hi Robbie, honestly, WHAT a day I’ve had. Well, guess what happened. The Bummers were sitting on some first formers and—”

  Robbie interrupted me. “Georgia, look, I have to see you tomorrow, it’s quite serious.”

  I said, “Have you broken a plectrum?”

  But he didn’t laugh.

  midnight

  Oh God. What fresh hell now?

  go forth, georgia, and use your red bottom wisely

  saturday february 5th

  I am meeting the Sex God at the bottom of the clock tower. Libby wanted to come with me and ran off with my makeup bag. She ran into the bathroom and held my bag over the loo, saying, “Me come.”

  I had no time to negotiate, so…I just lied. “OK, go and get your welligogs on.”

  She ambled off to get them and I snatched my makeup bag and escaped through the door. There will be hell to pay when I get home. In fact, I will be surprised if there is a home left by the time I get back.

  I had to apply my makeup crouching behind our garden wall. I could see Mr. Across the Road looking at me. He should do some voluntary work—perhaps he could be a seeing-eye dog or something.

  11:00 a.m.

  Robbie was already at the clock tower when I got there. As soon as I arrived he pulled me to him, which was a bit of a shame as he was wearing a coat with quite big buttons and one went right up my nose. I didn’t say anything, though.

  He said, “Let’s walk to the park. I want to go to that place where we first sat together. Do you remember?”

  Oooh, how romantico. He sang his first song to me there with my head on his knees. (He was sitting down at the time, otherwise I would have looked ridiculous.)

  On the way there Robbie didn’t say anything. It makes me really nervy when people don’t speak. Dad says it’s because I don’t have much going on in my own head, which is hilarious coming from someone who knows all the words to “New York, New York.”

  When we got to the exact spot where we first kissed, Robbie looked at me. “Georgia, there isn’t an easy way of saying this, but I’m going to have to go away.”

  I said, “Hahahahaha…I know, to Hamburger-a-gogo…and I’m coming too. I’ve been practicing saying ‘Have a nice day,’ and I can very nearly say it without throwing up.” I rambled on, but he stopped me.

  “Georgia, love, I’m not going to Los Angeles. That interview I went to was for a placement on an ecological farm in New Zealand. And I’ve got it. I’m going to go live there for a year. It will be really, really hard to leave you, but I know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “A placement…a…in…a…Kiwi-a-gogo…Maoris…sheep…the…it…I…”

  in bed

  crying

  a lot

  How can this be happening to me? After all I’ve been through. The Sex God said he realized it was a shallow, hollow facsimile of a sham to be a popstar.

  I said, “We could recycle our caviar tins.”

  But he was serious. I should have known when he turned up on his bike that something had gone horribly wrong.

  1:30 p.m.

  Kiwi-a-gogo land. Loads of sheep and bearded loons. And I am sure that the men would be just as bad.

  Robbie flies off to Whakatane next week.

  Next week.

  Perhaps I am being paid back for having the Cosmic Horn.

  1:35 p.m.

  Robbie said maybe I could come over for a holiday when he was settled in. I cried and cried and tried to persuade him not to go, but he said this weird thing. He said, “Georgia, you know how much I like you, but you are only young, and I’m only young and we have to have some time to grow up before we settle down.” And even though I was really really blubby, I felt a funny kind of reliefiosity.

  4:00 p.m.

  Phoned Jas and told her. She said “OhmyGod” about a million times. Then she came round and stayed overnight with me. She said I could wear her Ramblers’ badge, but I said no, thank you.

  In the middle of the night, in the dark, I said to her, “Jas, do you know what is weird?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you know I am on the brink of tragicosity and everything, but…well, I’ve got this sort of weird…weird…”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you if you stop saying ‘what.’”

  I could hear her chewing in the dark. What had she found to chew?

  “I’ve got this weird feeling of reliefiosity.”

  And she said, “What, like when you need a poo and then you have a poo?”

  sunday february 6th

  I’ve spoken to Robbie. He is upset, but he is definitely going.

  He cried on the telephone.

  5:30 p.m.

  I am absolutely full of tragicosity. I went for a walk down to the square where the gang usually hangs out. I feel lonely as a clud.

  Not lonely as a clud for long, because I bumped into Dave the Laugh, on his way to play snooker. He said, “Hello, groovster. How are you?”

  I said, “A bit on the poo and merde side, to be honest.”

  “Yeah, me too. Do you fancy going down to the park and hanging out for a bit?”

  He’s really nice actually, almost normal, in fact, for a boy. He is upset that Ellen is upset, but he says it wouldn’t be right to keep going out with her just because he felt sorry for her.

  I said, “You are quite literally full of wisdomosity.”

  I told him about the Robbie fandango.

  He smiled at me. “So then, Sex Queen, you are not going to go to Los Angeles, you are going to go to Whakatane and raise elks with Robbie?”

  in my room

  10:00 p.m.

  Everyone is out. Mutti and Vati have gone out on a “date” and Libby is staying at her friend Josh’s for the night.

  Dave the Laugh and I talked for ages. About life and the universe and everything. Yes, we did. And then…we SNOGGED again!!! I can’t believe it!!! I am like Jekyll and Whatsit in babydoll pajamas.

  10:05 p.m.

  I must have the Cosmic Horn because of spring (even though it is February).

  Dave the Laugh said we are only teenagers and we haven’t been teenagers before, so how can we know what we are supposed to do.

  He’s right, although I haven’t a clue what he is talking about. He said we should just live live live for the moment!!! Blow our Cosmic Horn and be done with it.

  10:07 p.m.

  I must do something. I feel like I am going to explode.

  10:10 p.m.

  Phoned Jas. “Jas.”

  “Oui.”

  “Do you ever get the urge?”

&
nbsp; “Pardon?”

  “You know, to flow free and wild.”

  She was thinking. “Well, sometimes when Tom and I are alone in the house together.”

  “Yes…?”

  “We flick each other with flannels.”

  “Jas, you keep talking on the telephone and I will send out for help.”

  “It’s good fun…what you do is—”

  “Jas, Jas, guess what I am doing now.”

  “Are you dancing?”

  “Yes I am, my strange little pal. But what am I dancing in?”

  “A bowl?”

  “Jas, don’t be silly. Concentrate. Try to get an image of me flowing wild and free.”

  “Are you dancing in…your P.E. knickers?”

  “Non…I am DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS!!!”

  And we both laughed like loons on loon tablets.

  I danced for ages round the house in my nuddy-pants. Also, I did this brilliant thing—I danced in the front window just for a second whilst Mr. Across the Road was drawing his curtains. He will never be sure if he saw a mirage or not.

  That is the kind of person I am.

  Not really the kind of person who goes and raises elks in Whakatane.

  the end

  midnight

  Looking out of my bedroom window. (Partially dressed.)

  I can see Angus, with a few of his sons and daughters, making an escape tunnel through Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road’s hedge. He’s still blowing his horn, even though he has no horn to blow.

  Surely God wouldn’t have invented red-bottomosity unless he was trying to tell me something. Perhaps He is saying, “Go forth, Georgia, and use your red bottom wisely.”

  That will be it. So I can snuggle down now, safe in the sanctity of my own unique bottomosity.

  Hang on a minute, who is that? By the lamppost? Oh, it’s Mark Big Gob with his latest girlfriend, walking home. He must have dumped the midget and moved on to bigger things, because this one at least reaches his waist. Still, I cannot point the finger of shame at him. None of us is perfect. Although I don’t think it’s entirely necessary for his mouth to be as big as it is. He is like part bloke, part blue whale.