I went, “Hmmph.”
She got her midget gems out and offered me one.
I was a bit suspicious.
“Where have you been keeping these? It’s not your special pantie hoard, is it?”
She said, “I just bought them new. You can open the packet and have any color you like, even if it’s not the top one.”
Blimey, she is really pulling out all the stops.
on the way to stalag 14
It’s more fun being chummly wummlies with Jazzy Spazzy than riding alone in the huffmobile.
I said, “Did you hear Wet Lindsay doing that ickle girl thing?”
Jas nodded like Noddy the well-known nodding dog from Nodland. And then she said, “I’ve decided I’m not going to go for being a prefect anymore. I don’t want to hang out with Wet Lindsay and ADM.”
I said, “Who does? They don’t even want to hang out with themselves.”
But I am really pleased. I gave her a spontaneous outdoor hug. Even though we might have been seen by the Blunderboys and created an outburst of “Get ’em off, you lezzies.”
five minutes later
We were in such a good matey mood that we did the top part of the snot dance along the High Street…. I am soooo happy I’ve got my luuuverly bestie mate and gang and on Saturday I will be in the arms of a Luuurve God. Probably.
break
We were in a spontaneous dance mood all day. But not in a getting-a-detention way. When Mr. Attwood appeared around our camp (the fives court) in his wheelchair, we did a quick rendition of the snot dance. Just to cheer him up. In case he was feeling peaky at having to pretend to be crippled. But did he appreciate it? No, he did not.
In fact, as usual, he was shouting.
“You young buggers, I’ll tell the headmistress about this!!”
I said, “Mr. Attwood, we are merely trying to cheer you up with our girlish high spirits. Anyway, I am here to help. I am going to push you to the science block…”
He said, “I’m not going to the science block.”
I said, “Are you sure?”
He didn’t seem keen, but I started pushing his chair down the incline toward the lower part of the science block.
I said, “Oooh, we’re really moving along now, aren’t we, Mr. Attwood? Are you enjoying yourself? I am.”
He was yelling, “Oy oy, watch it, watch it!!!”
Then we started going faster and faster and I was singing, “He taught me to yodel…yodo-le-ee-heee. Do you know Heidi, Mr. Attwood?”
He was shouting, “Never mind about bloody Heidi!”
I said, “Never mind about Heidi? It’s a classic, Mr. Attwood…. Oh dear, oh dear…Oh NO! I’ve lost control of the chair. I can’t stop it…. We’re going to crash into the science block! Save yourself, save yourself!!!”
At which point, Mr. Attwood leapt out of his chair like a very old startled earwig. He was trotting along, pulling up his trousers and grumbling on. “Bloody fool, I could have been killed!”
But I fell to my knees and started yelling, “It’s a miracle. It’s a miracle. Look, everyone. He can walk. He walks!!!!”
And loads of people saw him, so everyone knew he was pretending, so he didn’t dare do anything to me. Resultio! He was bang to rights, as our proud bobbies in blue might say (if they were in the mood).
afternoon break
To make completely sure that they had got it, I explained my re-entrancing a Luuurve God plan.
Rosie said, “So your nub and gist is that we do nicey-nice, and you do glaciosity and pouch work?”
“Mais oui.”
evening
8:00 p.m.
In bed with a face mask on. I’ve made it myself with mashed-up banana and cream. It feels disgustingly slimy. Like having Wet Lindsay on your face. OH MY GOD!!!
I want to scrub my brain out.
I hope the Luuurve God appreciates this. Although, of course, I don’t necessarily want him to know about me being slathered in goo.
8:10 p.m.
I am going to lie here in my mask and imagine what I want to happen tomorrow night. I’ve barricaded my door with some drawers, so it should be cat and loon proof.
Not that anybody cares what I’m up to, as it’s party headquarters downstairs. Mum has got some of her mad aquarobics friends round and Dad and Uncle Eddie and their new bestie Mr. Across the Road are all making complete arses of themselves.
They are all wearing tight, light blue jeans for a start. What is that all about? Where have all the proper dads gone? Like in Dickens and so on. Dads in Crap Expectations and David Copperpants were either dead or had a proper job that kept them out of the house all day and most of the night.
My only idea of what a real dad could be like comes from Jas’s dad. He wears Marks & Spencer’s casual slacks and a cardigan with a pocket for his pipe and bifocals. Like in the Good Dad Guide Book, which I haven’t read and Dad certainly hasn’t. And if I had read it, I know for a fact there would not be a chapter on “How to be a male stripper.”
Anyway, where was I?
Aaaah, yes, relaxey vousey and Ohhhhmm-mmmm…
Here we go and relaxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx…
So, here I am in my fantasy, arriving at the Sugar Club. Hmmmmm, I’m looking naaaice in my mum’s fabby stilettos and my denim skirt and little cheeky waistcoat which emphasizes my shape but doesn’t thrust my basoomas into the face of others.
My hair is displaying magnifique bounceability and my skin glows with the look that only four bananas mashed to a pulp can achieve.
Confident of my charms, I blink my eyes slowly (forty-five layers of mascara is heavy). My nose, which once flung itself with gay abandon across my face, seems a normal size. I have quite literally grown into my nose. Although this is not to suggest that I have an enormous head.
And when I say I have grown into my nose, I also don’t mean that I am actually living in my nose, so stop it. And get out of my fantasy, whoever you are.
My ace gang and I enter the club and everyone looks round. Who is that? they ask themselves. She looks like someone who should go out with a lead singer or something….The band comes on and starts to play.
I am dancing by myself. I don’t need a partner tonight because…there he is.
Up on the stage.
In the spotlight of life.
A Luuurve God.
And everyone knows that a Luuurve God on the stage is worth two on a bus.
He looks at me. I look at him.
Time stands still.
Suddenly, he gets his maracas out (leave it) and starts playing. It’s a tune called “Georgia, mia bellissima, Georgia.”
It’s about me.
He beckons me onto the stage.
I look shyly away, but the crowd start chanting, “We want Georgia, we want Georgia!!”
Smiling sweetly, I go up onto the stage. But I can’t sing—why am I up here?
The Stiff Dylans start to really rock out. Robbie gives me a nice smile and nods his head to me.
Suddenly, I know what I was born to do.
I start to move to the beat.
I raise my arms and WHOOOOSH!
Flame dance to the right, flame dance to the left.
Whoosh whoosh.
The ace gang look at one another, and smiling shyly, they too mount the stage (I said leave it).
They acknowledge the crowd with a quick huddly duddly and then they join in with the dancing…
We do a compilation of our greatest hits, flame to the right, flame to the left.
Whoosh whoosh.
Bogey dangle, bogey dangle.
Eyes shut for nighttime Viking paddling.
Paddle, paddle to the right and to the left.
Then interweaving paddling.
And then, in a grand finale, we fall to our knees with a shout of HOOOORRRRN!!!!
As the crowd goes wild, Wet Lindsay gets her coat. A beam of light from the stage illuminates her lack of forehead. She beckons to Robbie and he
shakes his head. She storms off.
The Luuurve God helps me to my feet and shakes his head in admiration. I know what he is thinking (telepathically). “Aaaaah, beauty-io and talent-io all in one package-io.”
He kisses my hand and then all up my arm. And then he starts on my neck.
Thank goodness he didn’t start at my ankles otherwise we would have been there all night.
As he gets to my ears, I see Dave the Laugh in quite a cool suit. He is just looking at me sadly, then he says to Emma, “Get your face on, love, we’re leaving.”
He looks angry and upset.
Hang on a minute, how did Dave the Laugh get in this? And also why is he such a downer??
I sat up in bed. He’s spoiled my fantasy now, stropping around in the Humpty Dumpty.
For no reason at all. Ish.
Boo.
two minutes later
I should have told him about the Titches’ tribute to him when they broke the loo seat. That would have cheered him up. It’s not like him to be moody. He’s not an Italian Stallion.
In fact, that’s one of the best things about him, that he is Dave the Laugh.
The key word being “Laugh.”
one minute later
I wonder who Jas likes best out of Dave the Laugh and Masimo?
She’s never said.
I might phone her and ask her.
Not that I am bothered.
in the hall
9:00 p.m.
I can hear the “grown-ups” giggling like fools. I glanced into the front room to see Dad crawling through Mum’s friend Big Beryl’s legs. He had a balloon in his mouth. It is very disturbing.
I went to use the phone and Mum came mumming out.
I said to her, “Mum, this is not some sort of wife-swapping party, is it? Because if it is, can I not have Big Beryl as my new mum?”
Mum said, “Don’t call her Big Beryl.”
I said, “You do.”
And she said, “Yeah, but not in front of her.”
That is sooo typical of the lax morals she has.
thirty seconds later
Rang Jas.
Jas’s mum, who is practically a saint in human form in my opinion, answered the phone. She even sounded glad to hear my voice—that is how nice she is. When I asked for Jas, she said, “I’ll get her. She is just making an aquarium with Tom.”
For politenessnosity I said, “Are you doing anything nice this evening?”
And she said, “Well, yes, Dad and I are jam-making actually.”
I said, “I hope you’ve got your aprons on.”
And she said, “Oh yes, dear.”
And I know she does not lie.
As Mum passed again, staggering under the weight of wine and lager, I said, “Jas’s mum and dad are making jam.”
She said, “Why is your face all slimy?”
Jas came on the phone all breathless and excited.
“Hi, hi, we’ve just put the gravel in and the miniature Ferris wheel. There’s going to be a grotto area and…”
“Jas, fish don’t go on Ferris wheels.”
“Oh, I know that. It’s for the crabs.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She went rambling on because she has little real idea of how mad she is.
“Anyway, what do you want? Have you decided what to wear? I’ve started learning my Juliet part. It’s terribly sad.”
You’re not kidding, matey.
For friendlies sake, I pretended to be interested.
“Have you got to ‘hark what pants through yonder windows break’? I like that bit—it’s my fave.”
She was, as usual, being Mrs. Fussy Knickers.
“It’s Romeo who says that and it isn’t ‘pants,’ it’s ‘light’…”
“Light, pants, owls…what difference does it make? I can’t stand here discussing pants with you all night. I want to ask you a vair important question.”
“What?”
“Who would you go out with? The Luuurve God or Dave the Laugh?”
“Oh nooooooooooooo, no, no, no and no. I am not answering that. You’ll blame me for choosing the wrong one whichever one I pick, and, anyway, it’s nothing to do with me.”
“Come on, Jazzy, I just want to know. I won’t blame you or anything. I love you.”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Come on, Jas.”
“You promise you don’t mind and you just want me to be honest? From my point of view?”
“Yep, as simple as that.”
“Hmmmm.”
There was a silence.
Apart from what sounded like chewing.
What was she chewing?
I bet it was her fringe.
I said, “Hello, what are you doing? Look, just be spontaneous!!! It’s a simple, harmless question. Who would you choose? There’s no pressure, JUST CHOOSE!!!!”
She said, “Well…Dave the Laugh of course.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Dave the Laugh.”
“But I’m going out with the Luuurve God. You know, the grooviest, most good-looking Pizza-a-gogo dreamboat.”
“I know, but I personally and hypothetically would choose Dave the Laugh.”
“Why?”
“He’s a laugh.”
“Masimo’s a laugh.”
“When?”
“Jas, me and him have LOADS of laughs when we are alone. We are practically laughing the whole time.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m just saying that I have seen you have a laugh with Dave the Laugh, but I haven’t seen you have a laugh with Masimo. He’s not called Masimo the Laugh, is he?”
I said, “Well, I have to go now, Jas. Good-bye.”
“You’ve not got the hump, have you?”
“Of course I have not got the hump, I assure you.”
Why did she say Dave the Laugh?
10:30 p.m.
I can’t get to sleep now.
I know why Jas chose Dave the Laugh. It’s because she’s frightened of doing anything unconventional. She probably thinks that Masimo is not really English.
He isn’t.
11:00 p.m.
If she had parents like mine, she’d probably choose someone a bit different.
11:10 p.m.
Anyway, Dave is the “different” one. You wouldn’t get Masimo doing run run leap.
11:15 p.m.
Or swearing in German.
11:16 p.m.
Or doing mad twisting.
11:24 p.m.
Or nip libbling.
Right, that’s it. I am going to sleep. I am giving my brain an official warning.
I know what, I will distract myself by reading through my part in Rom and Jul. I suppose I will have to learn it sometime.
I may as well get into the mood to be Mercutio.
I will climb into the tights of life.
Right, here we go…
ten minutes later
Crikey. Miss Wilson said that Mercutio was the comedy part. He is supposed to be a laugh, but frankly, he’s what I would call an “unlaugh.” I may have to improvise some comedy moments with fake blood….
When I say “Ay ay a scratch, marry; ’tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon” after I am stabbed to death, I could make fake blood spurt all over the page and they would be bound to have the ditherspaz and possibly fall off the stage.
Yes, I am beginning to see the possibilities of Billy Shakespeare’s renowned comedy…Zzzzz-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
my tights runneth over
saturday september 24th
I feel much better and excited about seeing the Luuurve God again and impressing him with my sophisticosity.
I feel cool as a cucumber that has been lying around in a fridge reading books on coolness.
phone rang
It was Jas.
“Where shall we meet? Hey, guess what? There’s going to be an international band mana
gement type person coming tonight. If the Stiffs go on world tour, would you give up your education to go with them?”
“No, of course not. What is pleasure and travel and luuurve, compared to knowing how to say ‘I have broken my glasses’ in French?”
in my bedroom
The only blot on the landscape of luuurvenosity is sneaking Mum’s shoes out of her wardrobe without being thrashed to within an inch of my life.
I must not arouse her temperosity in any way. She has been in such a bad mood since the balloon party thing last night. I don’t know what Dad has done, but she doesn’t like it. I don’t like it and I don’t even know what it is.
Anyway, I must be like the wily fox.
Foxy and wily.
Here I go as a foxy-wily thing.
in the kitchen
I said, “Do you want a cup of tea, Mum?”
Foxy wily, foxy wily.
She looked at me.
“Have you got my perfume on?”
I resisted the temptation to strop off and said, “No, it’s just that well…I’m really excited about tonight, you know, making it up with Masimo and…”
She smiled at me.
“It’s lovely being so into someone, isn’t it? I remember when your dad used to…”
Oh no, she is going to talk about her feelings for Dad. I must stop her, and also get her to go out so I can get her shoes.
two minutes later
In a fit of hysterical madness, I have found myself agreeing to go to the Wild Park with her tomorrow.
How did that happen?
I just said, “You need to go out more.” Now I’m going out with her.
I meant to get her shoes.
in my bedroom
I have given myself a French manicure because that is vair vair European. And also because I don’t know what an Italian manicure is.
phone rang
Dad yelled up, “Georgia, it’s another of your mates again. I am trying to work out a new dance routine with the magnificent baldy-o-gram and am constantly interrupted.”
I didn’t bother to reply.
He is wearing shorts around the house.
What if a normal person unexpectedly pops round?
He has leg hair that stops at his knees.
How grotesque.
I am beginning to feel a bit sorry for Mum.