She pointed to Rosie, who was walking in a very peculiar way and waggling her beard.
“There he is tall, tanned, Italian, sophisticated. So what do you do?”
I said, “Er, leap on him and snog him within an inch of his life? Taking care not to strangle myself on his false beard, or disturb his banana.”
Jools said, “What does it say in the How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You book?”
Mabs was officially in charge of the book, so she looked up “first impressions.”
3:00 p.m.
I have to hip wiggle up to him. Look at him, look away, fiddle with my hair and do a bit of flicking. If I have any spare time I need to lick my lips a bit.
Mabs said, “The book says you should say something light and interesting to start the conversation. Also if he says anything funny you have to laugh like the proverbial drain.”
I did hip wiggle, flicky, licky over to Rosie. Whilst the rest of them sat looking and chewing. Rosie said (in what she imagines is an Italian accent but actually sounds like a fool), “Ciao.”
I said, “Ciao. Er, prego.”
“Ciao.”
All the gang were ogling me.
I said, “Masimo, did you know that the Spartans…you know, in the old days of Sparta, which is quite nearish to Italy…”
Rosie had pretended to fall asleep. She said, “Get on with it.”
I said, “Well, they used to keep teenage boys half-starved so that they had to go out and steal food, and if they got caught they would beat them to within an inch of their lives.”
They all just looked at me.
Mabs said, “Do you call that light and interesting?”
I do, actually. That is the deep sadnosity of my life; I find it vair difficult to be as superficial as others.
Jools said, “Think of something that he is interested in, think of something to do with Rome or something.”
I tried again.
“Did you know that the Pope has people who watch him poo to make sure he is a bloke and not a woman, because of Pope Joan?”
Rosie said, “You are not, as such, getting the hang of this, are you?”
an hour later
I am allowed to mention music, the weather or something to do with him.
I said, “Yeah, but all I know about him is that I fancy the arse off him.”
5:00 p.m.
After four packets of reviving Pringles we have managed to decide on:
“Ciao, great to see you.”
And:
“What a fine evening.”
Providing there is not a torrential downpour, which would make me a fool.
Now on to the meal.
Essentially I have to pretend to eat a lot but not really eat anything in case I choke to death.
Jas said, “You could have a nourishing soup but don’t do that slurping thing that you do.”
I said, “What slurping thing?”
Jas said, “Oh, I can’t go in to it now, I have to be off. I am just saying don’t do it.”
And she went off.
How annoying is she?
6:00 p.m.
I have to listen to him a LOT.
Jools said, “And when you laugh, don’t do your ad hoc laughing and let your nose spread all over your face.”
6:30 p.m.
Then we got on to the snogging bit.
I said, “Do you think Italians snog the same as English boys?”
Rosie said, “I don’t know if they do anything different with their tongues or what their ear work is like. You will have to give us a complete and full report. What number will you let him go up to on the first date?”
“I thought No. Six—a kiss lasting over three minutes without a break suggests deep sensuality without going that little bit too far into acting like a tart.”
Then Rosie said, “Finally, as you haven’t had any snogging practice for a while, try an experimental snog on the back of my leg.”
What???
Absolutely not, not a snowball’s chance in hell.
No and three times NO.
6:45 p.m.
On my knees snogging the back of Rosie’s leg whilst the ace gang watch me.
Why am I doing this?
Rosie was shouting instructions.
“Yes, yes, that’s good. Good. And breathe. Too much teeth!! Too much teeth!!! A bit more sucky. Flicky tongue and…finish.”
Good grief.
Have you ever snogged the back of someone’s leg? Someone who is one of your mates and is wearing a false beard? Well, I hope you never have to—that is all I am saying.
7:00 p.m.
I said as I was leaving: “Do you think I should ask him what his intentions are vis-à-vis Old Thongy?”
Mabs said, “I think you should act as if she doesn’t exist and just find a way to subtly undermine her.”
Hmmm. Good advice.
We are indeedy the Wise Women of the Forest of Snog.
monday june 13th
english
2:00 p.m.
I have never laughed so much in my entire life. Today we had our first full rehearsal of MacUseless.
And what is even more vair vair amusing is that the Foxwood boys came to the rehearsal and Dave the Laugh was one of them.
The whole production is bound for the history books of life. Dave and the lads were bused in to the school and it was absolute pandemonium. Every girl in the school got up from their desk and started waving and screeching out the windows as the lads trooped across the playground. Hawkeye and her special stormtroopers threatened us with embalming, beheading, etc., but no one paid any attention.
Those of us in the play went down to the main hall for our usual tongue lashing from the enormous bee woman (Slim).
The boys were all together at the back when we came in. As I passed by her, Hawkeye said, “Georgia Nicolson, are you wearing mascara?”
I said, “It’s for the bright lights, Miss Heaton. If you don’t wear eye makeup the audience can’t see the expression, and that actually detracts from the emotional impact of…”
She said, “Shut up.”
Then she picked on Ellen.
“Ellen, why are you wearing lip gloss?”
“It’s for the play, Miss Heaton.”
“Oh yes, and what part are you playing?”
When Ellen said she was a witch she was made to go to the loos and take off her lip gloss.
When Slim took to the stage, the lads started softly singing.
“‘Who ate all the pies, who ate all the pies?’”
Slim was shaking like a loon on shaking tablets.
“That’s enough. Silence! I expect grown-up behavior from all of you—you are being given the opportunity to show us that our trust in you is not misplaced. I know that I can rely on you all to act with decorum and maturity.”
And that is when the first stink bomb went off.
backstage
Mr. Attwood, our part-time caretaker and full-time loon, is having a spaz attack to end all spaz attacks. He was up near the roof fixing some lights to the lighting bar and one of the lads removed his ladder.
Dave seems to have cheered up even though he has broken Rachel’s heart allegedly. I said kindly, “She’ll get over it.”
Dave said, “As I have said many many times, Georgia, you are all heart. Are you going to be wearing a skimpy skirt and tights for your part as MacDuff?”
And I said, “Why, was MacDuff a transvestite?”
And Dave said, “Yes.”
He is on “lights,” which essentially means he hangs about backstage flirting and causing mayhem and then switches a light on at the beginning. And he even did that at the wrong time.
3:15 p.m.
Hanging around backstage with the lads and Dave the Laugh.
I have laughed so much that I almost forgot about Masimo. I told Dave about the fact that the Hamburgese, bless them, call knickers “panties,” and it has entranced Dave beyond measure. He
doesn’t seem as heartbroken as he should be considering he has callously dumped his girlfriend.
3:20 p.m.
Dave has started this “pants” business, which he won’t stop, and has given me an awful stitch. I cannot stop laughing. Miss Wilson is clearly going to kill me soon, but I can’t stop. Essentially, he substitutes “pants” for everything and it is vair vair amusant indeed. For instance, when everyone was onstage doing the battle scene he started singing “Onward Christian Soldiers,” but he introduced “pants” as a subtheme. So the lyrics in his pants land are “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the PANTS of Jesus going on before.” Although, as I pointed out, the American version would be “with the PANTIES of Jesus going on before.”
3:30 p.m.
“The hills are alive with the sound of PANTS.”
3:33 p.m.
Nauseating P. Green is doubling up her roles. She is my wife and also in charge of munitions.
3:35 p.m.
Well, when I say in charge of munitions, she has got a starting pistol thing that is going to be used for sound effects for the battle scenes. Also she has some bangers that she will be letting off backstage with Spotty Norman as her co-idiot.
Miss Wilson told us that the first production of a Shakespants play, in 1613, ended when a cannon used in the production set the thatched roof on fire and the theater burned to the ground. So we can always hope for the best.
3:37 p.m.
Mr. Attwood has got his fire buckets at the ready so there is every chance of a conflagration. It would be a fitting end to his school career to be present when it burned down.
3:50 p.m.
Does anyone remember the world-renowned orange-juggling scene in MacUseless? No? Well, there is one in our production. Miss Wilson says it adds color to the play. Hmmmm. How mad is she? It is during the banquet scene, when MacUseless is planning to kill the other MacScottish person. She has got Melanie Griffiths and Mabs (who are trees in the later scene) to do the juggling.
They are vair vair useless at it but she has promised them they can wear false mustaches.
I said to Dave, “I am worried about Melanie’s nungas. I hope there is no unfortunate mix-up in the juggling bits.”
You should see Spotty Norman and the other youth hanging around every time she is onstage, pretending to coil up electric cable and so on just so they can ogle her nungas.
Even Dave was watching her as oranges flew everywhere. He said, “That girl certainly has got a couple of areas of outstanding natural beauty. I hope they are adequately protected.”
4:30 p.m.
As we left school Dave the Laugh walked along with us. He had his arm round me. It felt really, erm, friendly. Although as it was Dave, his hand did sort of casually drift onto my nunga. I had to give him a stern warning.
It obviously affected him because as he went off to his house he gave me a kiss on the mouth (!) and said, “S’later.”
Hmmmmmm.
home
Mum and Vati, Libbs and the furry freaks, have gone out on a clown-car expedition.
Excellent.
Time to phone Masimo.
Put on my lippy gloss and a bit of mascara.
Right, here goes.
Better change out of my school uniform and put something gorgey but casual on.
Right, here goes.
Are boy entrancers going a bit far?
Right, here goes.
“Jas.”
“What?”
“I’m going to phone Masimo.”
“Good. Good-bye.”
“Jas.”
“What? Look, it’s only twenty-four hours until Tom gets back and I—”
“OK, chocks away, Jas. I’m going in.”
Right, this is it. He has asked me out, so that must mean he wants me to go out with him. Unless the number he gave me was a safety-deposit box number or his idea for a lottery number. Uh-oh, my brain has wandered off to Madland. Better get a grip.
Light, cheerful with a hint of Eastern promise—that is what I must be.
Should I break the ice with a joke?
Yes, yes, that is a good idea.
I’ll just say, “Ciao, Masimo, it’s me, Georgia. Hey, what is black and lies on top of the water shouting ‘knickers’?” He will say in his lovely accent. “Non capisco, Georgia, what is black and lies on top of the aqua shouting ‘knickers’?” And I will say “Crude oil,” and he will laugh and I will laugh and it will be…er…a laughathon.
Good, good, excellent. And I will leave Sparta and Pope Joan out of it completely.
And pants.
Phoned the number.
Oh, noooooo, it was ringing. He might answer it. Ohhhhnoooo.
I slammed the phone down.
Calm calm calmy calm calm.
I was just about to try again, when the phone rang.
I picked it up and said, “Look, can you get off the phone? I am just about to make a very important phone call.”
And Masimo said, “Georgia? Have you call me?”
Ohbloodyblimey.
I forgot about telling him the joke and made up some ludicrous story about me just having rung him when the doorbell rang and it was people collecting for Overseas Pants. I don’t know why I said that. I just had pants on the brain from Dave the Laugh.
Anyway I don’t think he understood me because he still wants to go out with me.
It was gorgey and fabby to speak to him.
He has got a lovely voice on the phone.
He is going to meet me tomorrow at 7:30 at a little Italian restaurant that he knows.
Biennissimo!!!
tuesday june 14th
The day dragged by. I started my makeup in double French. I could only risk nail varnish because if Madame Slack saw a hint of panstick it would be off to the guillotine for me.
Ran home.
5:00 p.m.
Operation Go on a Date with a Luuurrve God and Not Make a Complete and Utter Prat of Myself.
My feet thankfully seem to be their normal selves again.
Dithering around in my room. The phone has rung about forty million times from the ace gang asking me what I am wearing. “Not much” is the answer because I am too busy answering the phone.
6:30 p.m.
I can’t dither around for much longer. For once my hair is quite nearly not useless and I think my boots and skirt look good together. My feet fit into the boots as well, which is a plus.
I went downstairs as quietly as I could but the mad committee were all there to see me off. All lined up by the door. Even Angus has come in from his canoodling with Naomi. He was in the kitchen coughing and choking and looking like he was being sick. Then I noticed that was because he had a frog in his mouth that he was trying to eat. How disgusting and mad is that? It was still alive as well.
Mum got into her usual position on the table and screamed at Dad to chase him out. Gordy tried to snack on it and Angus just biffed him over the head. I took the opportunity to sneak out.
7:30 p.m.
I was sooooo nervy as I arrived at the restaurant. He was outside waiting for me. He is the best-looking person I have ever seen. Why would he like me? Maybe he feels sorry for me?
Maybe he is a Christian and he thinks I am a bit mentally subnormal.
Yes, that might be it.
He smiled at me when he saw me and suddenly I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. He said, “You came, I am so glad and happy.”
He held the door open for me. It was very like what I imagine a grown-up feels like. The owner of the restaurant came over and said, “Good evening, Masimo, come esta?”
And they chatted in Italian. Then we went to our table. I sat down without smashing the chair to smithereens, which is a good start.
ten minutes later
We have ordered our food and I think I very nearly haven’t said anything too mad. Or maybe it is because Masimo doesn’t speak English well enough to know that I am being a fule.
r /> twenty minutes later
Then I inadvertently started the pants scenario again. I am going to have to kill Dave the Laugh. The Pantsmeister. Stopit stopit.
Masimo said, “My home, my family, is Verona. So beautiful, I would like you to see it one day. It is where Romeo and Juliet was set.”
I was chomping on pizza as he was talking. I was doing quite well, cutting it up very small so that I didn’t have any bits falling out of my mouth, but then I momentarily broke my vow of sanity and quoted from Romeo and Juliet. I said, “Oh, I love Rom and Jul, especially that bit when he compares her to the moon—you know, when he sees her and says ‘But soft, what PANTS through yonder window breaks.’”
And then I started honking and snorting with laughter. Oh nooooooo.
Fortuntely Masimo laughed as well. Not in a “quickly I’ll get to the phone and someone keep her talking” sort of way. In a nice way. Like he really likes me.
an hour later
The meal was amazingly alright. I find him really easy to talk to. He is sort of in between Dave and the guitar plucker. I don’t tell as many jokes and silliness with him as I do with Dave, but I don’t get all tongue-tied and full of ludicrosity like I did with the guitar plucker.
I realized I was having a lovely time. I said a little inward thank-you prayer to Our Lord Sandra.
Then the snoggosity tension began to build. He touched my hand and looked into my eyes. His amber eyes have got little flecky bits of deeper yellow in them. Oh blimey, we were doing sticky eyes. I could feel my brain trickling out of my head.
He said, “Your eyes, they are like a pussy cat that has drunk vino tinto.”
So is that a good or bad thing?
I took it as good and tried to keep any image of cross-eyed Gordy out of my mind.
He paid for our pizzas and then he said, “Would you like to walk? It is a nice night. We could look at the stars together.”
I resisted saying “Twinkle twinkle little PANTS.”
We walked along to the edge of town and onto the back fields. It was a lovely soft evening, and as we walked he said, “Are you freddo…?”
Oh dear God, he wasn’t going to talk about elves and hobbits, like boys did, was he? But no then he said, “I am sorry, I mean are you, er, in English, cold?”