Stop in the Name of Pants!

  Jas went, “Humph.”

  She is at No. 3 on the having the hump scale (head tossing and fringe fiddling) and we haven’t even done the first read-through yet.

  Although I don’t know why we are bothering rehearsing the final scenes, because with Ellen dithering around with a sword as Tybalt it is quite likely that none of us will survive longer than act two.

  in the loos

  4:00 p.m.

  I’ve sent Jools on a little scouting mission to see if there are any signs of an Italian Luuurve God anywhere outside the school gates. My hands are trembling a LOT and I’ve nearly blinded myself twice with my mascara brush. Fortunately we haven’t had to prance around like ninnies doing sport today, so my hair has retained its bouceability factor.

  ten minutes later

  Jools came into the loos.

  “Oh my giddygod, Gee, he’s here. He’s on his scooter at the gates. And he’s sort of brown, and well, I mean, I like Rollo but I mean, phwoar, is all I can say!!! Times ten.”

  My bottom nearly fell out of my panties.

  I sat on the edge of the sink.

  Blimey. My heart was racing.

  Thank God the prefects were having a late meeting about discipline, because I know Wet Lindsay is just waiting to get me for something. She has a plan for me and I will not be liking it. But at least she is out of the way for now.

  All of the ace gang came into the loos. I said to them, “Right, I am ready. I want you all to metaphorically hold my hand across the playground so that I do not fall over.”

  Jools said, “I haven’t done metaphorical hand holding, how does that go?”

  I said, “You all walk across the playground and we chat and laugh like it is normal to be meeting a Luuurve God, but whilst you are chatting and so on you are also mentally holding my pandie so that I do not fall over.”

  Jas, who has not come down to earth since she became Jul, was still going on like Mrs. Owl the dim. “When you say mentally holding your hand, do you mean we hold your hand and go mental?”

  “Jas, Jas, please do not make me mess up my hair by beating you to a pulp. You know very well what I mean, just do it.”

  We laughed and chatted all the way step by step. I have absolutely no idea what anyone said, least of all me. I had never felt so nervous in my life. I took a quick look up from my casual laughing and saw him sitting on the seat of his scooter, with his long legs crossed. My heart skipped a beat, he was quite literally gorgey porgey. How could he like me? It seemed like being in a film.

  When he saw me he got up and took off his gloves. He was wearing a pale blue leather coat and his hair had grown. And he looked so—so—Pizza-a-gogish!

  Then he did a wave and shouted, “Ay, Georgia, ciao, cara, ciao!” and started walking toward me and the gang.

  He said to them, “Ciao, signorinas, and here is the how you say, the very lovely, bellissima Miss Georgia.”

  And he came right up close to me and lifted me off my feet and kissed me properly and quite hard on the mouth. No warmsy upsies. Just a proper snog. And he didn’t even make it a short one. I was still off my feet and I hadn’t closed my eyes because I was so surprised and so I had gone slightly cross-eyed. His mouth felt lovely but not very familiar to me. Then he put me down and he kissed me quickly and said, “Oh, I have waited long for this. Come on, miss.”

  And he took my hand and led me off to the scooter. I turned back to the ace gang and they all went, “Oooohhhhhhhhhhhh get you!” in a high-pitched camp tone.

  one hour later

  We drove off through the streets on his scooter. It felt soooo full of glamorosity. He accelerated up the High Street quite fast. We stopped at the lights and he put down the bike stand and got off his seat, leaving the engine running. We were surrounded by cars and there were people passing by. I wondered what he was doing, should I get off? Were we parking at the lights and going for a cup of coffee? Or did he think I should have a go at driving? Even though I can’t even ride a bicycle properly. Then he took off his helmet and he said, “I must snog you more.” Blimey. And he did. He bent down and pushed up my goggles and then kissed me on the mouth. How erm…interesting. It was nice but I couldn’t really concentrate because everyone was looking at us. I could see some kid in the back of a car picking his nose. People were honking their horns and some lads were going, “Get in there, my son!!!”

  Masimo didn’t seem to notice. He even put the tip of his tongue in my mouth, which made me go a bit jelloid. Then he said loudly, “Ah, that is better, now I can continue. Thank you,” and he bowed to the people in cars and to passersby.

  He leapt back into his seat, shoved his helmet on (without fastening the strap…I could imagine what Jas would have said about that!), kicked away the bike support and revved off.

  We went to the woods and it was a lovely, soft, warm just beginning to be autumn evening. As we went into the trees we found a little babbling brook. It was quite literally making a babbling noise as it went over pebbles and rocks. If I had to talk to Masimo anytime soon that is what I would be doing…babbling.

  I felt incredibly nervous. And I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  That was because we snogged. It was groovy gravey and I felt all melty like I didn’t know the difference between his mouth and mine.

  fifteen minutes later

  I am still feeling incredibly nervous and I couldn’t think of anything to say. But that was alright because we were in snog heaven. Having a snogtastic time.

  Rosie was right, foreign boys do that varying pressure. Soft and then hard and then soft again.

  I wonder what would happen if we both did the same thing at once? For instance if we both did hard together and I didn’t do yielding, well, would we end up with really stiff necks? Or if I yielded when he yielded would we both fall over? Or if he went to the right and I went to the right as well and we clashed teeth would we—oh, shut up, brain. Funny, when I snogged normally my brain went on a mini break to Loonland. It didn’t usually enter the debating society competition on snogging techniques.

  Then Masimo stopped midsnog and just looked me straight in the eyes. He didn’t say anything, just looked me in the eyes. I didn’t like to blink because it seemed a bit rude but in the end I had to look down because my eyes were beginning to water. When I looked up he was still looking me in the eyes. He is, it has to be said, gorgey porgey times twelve. He has really long eyelashes and a proper nose. I couldn’t even see up his nostrils. And a lovely mouth, with just the suggestion of hairiness around the chinny chin area, like a sort of designer stubble. It wasn’t like a little vole lurking around like Dad had on the end of his face. And it wasn’t bum fluff like Oscar had. And it wasn’t prickly like when Grandad gave me “chin pie” but it was deffo hairy stuff. And also I think, although I didn’t like to stare like a staring thing on stare tablets, there was also a bit of chest type hair coming out of the top of his shirt. Blimey. It must be brilliant to be a boy and not have to worry about suppressing the orangutan gene. To be able to just let it grow wild and free. Of course you can take anything too far and some of the lads who play footie in the park are quite literally chimpanzee from the shorts downward. I don’t know about the top bit, and I don’t want to know about the top bit.

  thirty seconds later

  Dave the Laugh is a bit hairy as well. Anyway, shut up about Dave the Laugh, he is not in this scenario.

  ten seconds later

  And Dave the Laugh is not right about Masimo being a lezzie and that is le fact.

  Then Masimo said, “Cara, it is how you say, nippy nungas.”

  I looked down at my nungas, please God I hadn’t had a sudden outbreak of sticky out nip nips. No sign of them—phew, I was OK. I looked up again and he said, “Brrrr.”

  And put his coat round my shoulders.

  I said, “Oh, you mean nippy noodles!”

  And I laughed, but not in a good way, in a sort of heggy heggy hog hog way. Oh good, I am starting to laugh like my m
ad little sister.

  one minute later

  As we walked back toward his scooter the Luuurve God said, “My—erm. Other girlfriend, in Italy, I would like for you to meet her.”

  What what!!? Am I in a ménage à trois (or uno menagio de trois-io)?

  two minutes later

  It turns out that Masimo is talking about his ex-girlfriend, the one I saw at the Stiff Dylans gig and the one he went out with before me. Gina. Anyway, she has met an English boy and they are going to get married! And he would like me to meet her when she comes over in a couple of weeks.

  Blimey.

  I hadn’t done ex-girlfriend work before.

  And she was getting married.

  Wow.

  And not like Rosie. Not a Viking marriage in twenty-five years’ time. But a real one. One without Horns and probably not wearing a hat made out of mackerel.

  My “How to make any twit fall in love with you” book had better have a section on conversational hints with ex-girlfriends.

  You know, how to avoid past snogging chat.

  I must never say, “So, what number on the snogging scale did you get up to, Gina? With my present boyfriend?”

  Get out of my head, past snogging scale!!!

  We walked along a bit in silence holding hands. I couldn’t think of anything normal to say. Then the Luuurve God said, “I am for going to the Stiff Dylans rehearsal tonight, do you want for to come?”

  Inwardly I was thinking, “Er, nothing would make me go and sit through two hours of nodding along and then going home in the equipment van and sitting on Dom’s drum and going through it.” Like I did the last time I went to a Stiff Dylans’ rehearsal. Dom still stands in front of his drum kit any time I go near.

  There are, it has to be said, about a million reasons why nothing will make me go to a Stiff Dylans rehearsal. In fact I would rather be covered in frogspawn. And slightly roasted. But I didn’t say that. I said, “Erm, no, I’ve got homework to do.”

  And Masimo smiled and chucked me under the chin and said, “Aaaaah, the little girl has her homework to do.”

  He said it in a nice way. But I still felt a bit stupid. So no change there.

  I was saved from being more of le grand idiot because we got on his scooter and raced through town.

  It is vair vair groovy being with him. All the girls look as we go by. And I did a casualosity at all times sort of just lightly holding on to one of his shoulders. Until we went round a corner a bit fast and I had to grab hold of his helmet. When we got to my place Masimo got off and started giving me a big snog good-bye. I could see Mum hiding behind the curtains in the front room. How vair vair embarrassing. I went a bit red and said to Masimo, “Oh God, my mum is watching us.”

  He looked up and smiled toward the window and then he blew a kiss and said, “Perhaps she wants to join in.”

  Ohmygiddygod, how horrific is that as an idea? Now I am involved in Europorn!

  When I went into the house I heard Mum scampering into the kitchen and then as I closed the door she called out, “Georgia, is that you?”

  I said, “Mum, I saw your head bobbing around like a budgie.”

  She came out of the kitchen and said, “He is quite categorically gorgey.”

  I didn’t say anything, I just went up to my bedroom in a dignitosity at all times way.

  midnight

  Ah well, Angus is on the road to recovery, he is sleeping comfortably on my head. And as a precaution against him tumbling off and waking himself up, he has his claws lightly stuck into my scalp.

  thursday september 15th

  It is vair vair hard work being the girlfriend of a Luuurve God. Constant grooming is required, the public expects it. However, as I do not wish to be flogged to within an inch of my life by the fascists (Hawkeye, etc.) I have not applied any makeup. Just put on a touch of foundation, lip gloss and mascara. And a teeny white eyeliner line round the inside of my eyes to make my eyes look gorgey and marvy and uuumph.

  I made the ace gang huddle round me when we got near Stalag 14 so that I am not victimized by the Hitler Youth.

  stalag 14

  When I got to the school gates this morning Masimo was there waiting for me with a present! Honestly! How romantico is that? Molto molto romantico. It was a bottle of perfume from Italy called Sorrento.

  I’ve never been bought perfume before. Libby made me some perfume from rose petals and milk but that is not the same. Especially as Gordy drank it.

  All the girls were going mental, flicking their hair and doing mad pouting around him. It felt quite groovy. I was doing my shy smiling and looking up and looking down business, with just a touch of flicky hair, nothing like the other fools around me. I thought maybe he would kiss my hand and zoom off but then he snogged me! Full-frontal snogging in front of everyone. And by everyone I mean Hawkeye.

  As Masimo took off she appeared like the Bride of Dracula, shouting, “Georgia Nicolson!! You are an absolute disgrace, and a shame to your uniform. What kind of an example are you to the younger girls, behaving like a prostitute in front of them, what on earth will they think?”

  Actually I could have told her what they thought because as I slunk off to see Slim for part two of the ranting and raving, the little titches passed by and went, “Coooorrrr, Miss,” and winked.

  As Wet Lindsay escorted me to Slim’s office, she said, “You appalling tart. Personally I think Masimo should get some charity award for even touching you.”

  Oh, I hate her. I hate her so much you could bottle it.

  Slim rambled and jelloided on for three million and half centuries. “Blah blah, terrible example…blah blah…shouldn’t be canoodling with boys…plenty of time for that…in my day…no canoodling until we were eighty-five, etc., etc.,…”

  r.e.

  9:45 a.m.

  When I finally escaped with double detention I went and sat down next to Rosie and she sent me a jellybaby and a note,

  “Did the nasty jelly lady scare you with her chins?”

  I wrote back.

  “No but she did say canoodle.”

  I feel a bit sick.

  art room

  OK, on the dark side I have double detention but on the bright side I am a bit perked up because I am wearing my new Italian perfume given to me by my groovy gravey boyfriend. And I am amongst my besties, the ace gang, doing an art project on the camping fiasco. Instead of proper lessons.

  What larks!!!

  Miss Wilson is beside herself with excitement, again. This has been a big week for her creativitosity wise. First her puppet version of Rom and Jul and now the camping fiasco project. Her bob is practically dancing the tango.

  Jas is also vair vair excited. Also she is walking funny. Sort of floating along and shaking her hair about. Why?

  thirty seconds later

  Oh, I know what she is doing, she is walking in what she fondly imagines is an Elizabethan way. But actually looks like someone with the terminal droop.

  She has brought in her collection of newt drawings and some jamjars of frog spawn.

  I said to her, “Jas, that is not frog spawn, it is clearly a bit of snot in a jamjar.”

  She didn’t even bother to reply.

  I am making a hat out of leaves.

  Rosie said, “What is that?”

  I said, “It is a hat made of leaves and so on. It is a triumphant celebration of the great outdoors.”

  Rosie said, “No, it is not, it is some old leaves and it is WUBBISH.”

  Yes, well, that is as maybe, but it is better than her “natural orchestra,” which is essentially a bit of rice in some tins and a couple of spoons.

  Herr Kamyer popped by and Miss Wilson went into a spectacular ditherama at the sight of her “traumboy.”

  I must tell her about the snogging scale in German so that she is ready, should Herr Kamyer leap on her for a spot of No 3. Abschiedskuss.

  five minutes later

  Jas was actually humming “The hills are alive wit
h the sound of pants” as she arranged her jamjars.

  I said to her, “Jas, do you know what ‘snot’ is in German? It is Schnodder. Comedy gold, isn’t it, the German language?”

  She said, “Shhh.”

  I said, “Do you know what shhhh is in Lederhosen talk?”

  But she started humming even louder.

  two minutes later

  In a spontaneous outburst of madnosity Rosie has joined in with Jas’s humming and started singing “The hills are alive with the sound of pants,” accompanying herself on rice tin and spoons. She was singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of pants, with pants I have worn for a thousand years!!!”

  It was very infectious. I started improvising a Woodland wonderland dance which involved a lot of high kicking and leaf work.

  We were yelling, “I go to the pants when my heart is lonely—” when Herr Kamyer put his foot down with a firm hand.

  He shouted, “Girls, girls, ve will not continue ze project if this kafuffle goes on!! Vat is the big funniness mit pants?”

  We stopped eventually but I said under my breath, “Kackmist.” Which means buggeration. Oh what a hoot and a half.

  4:20 p.m.

  Oh goddygod God, how boring is detention. Miss Stamp was my guard. I am sure she was grooming her moustache as I wrote out, “A predilection for superficiality leads remorselessly toward an altercation with authority.”

  A million times (ish).

  But I have my German book on my knee.

  Tee hee.

  Canoodling is “rummachen.”

  Absolute top comedy magic.

  5:30 p.m.

  Freedom, freedom!!!

  I skipped out of the school gates. And did a bit of ad hoc skipping down the hill past the park.

  Which is when Dave the Laugh emerged from the park loos!! Caramba! I stopped skipping but it was too late. He said, “Excellent independent nunga-nunga work, Georgia.”

  He had just been playing footie and was a bit sweaty. His hair was all damp. I quite liked it. He’s got a nice smell. Not doggy cheesy.

  He walked along with me and said, “What have you been up to?”