like in the seventies, I suppose I will choose having the grumpy moustachioed one.
Mum is hideously happy. She won’t stop hugging me. Which I think is on the hypocritical side but I didn’t say anything. I just hugged her back and asked her quickly for a fiver. Which she gave me. Yesss!!!!
Beautiful English summer’s day. Lovely, lovely drizzly rain!!! We don’t have to go to Kiwi-a-gogo!!!
Thank you, God. I will always believe in you. I was only pretending to become a Buddhist.
3:00 p.m.
I put on some really loud music in my room and started to unpack my bikini. Lalalalala…fabbity fab fab. Marvy and double cool with knobs.
Uncle Eddie turned up with a bottle of champagne and Angus in a basket. I noticed Uncle Eddie had put a muzzle on him. What a week. Angus soon had it off and I could see him strolling around his domain. (The dustbins.) When I went downstairs Uncle Eddie had picked up Libby and was dancing around with her. She was singing, “Uncle Eggy, Uncle Eggy,” which is quite funny when you think about it.
4:20 p.m.
My little room. I love you, my little room!!! Lalalalalalala. Fabbity fab fab. Ho-di-hum. Everything is so lovely: my little Reeves and Mortimer poster with them in the nuddy-pants, my little desk, my little bed…my little window overlooking next door’s garden.
5:00 p.m.
Phoned the Ace Crew and they went mental. Just put the phone down when there was a ring on the doorbell. It was Mr Next Door. His glasses were on all sideways. He did not say, “I am so glad you are not going, Georgia.” In fact, he didn’t say anything but just handed over a sweeping brush and stomped off.
Attached to the bottom part of the brush was Angus. He dragged the brush into the kitchen. There was the sound of pots and pans and chairs crashing over. I called out, “Libbs, Angus is back.”
11:00 p.m.
Before I went up to bed I looked into the kitchen. Libbs was feeding Angus cat food by hand. Aaahhh, this was more like it!! Back to normal.
Saturday July 24th
11:00 a.m.
Summer. Birds tweeting. Voles voleing. Poodles poodling. I notice that we have new neighbours across the road. I hope they are a bit more considerate than Mr and Mrs Mad who used to live there.
Oh, they’ve got a cat! It looks like one of those pedigree Burmese ones, all leaping around. In a sort of fenced enclosure. They are very expensive, pedigree Burmese cats. They are the Naomi Campbells of the cat world. Not that they do a lot of modelling. Too furry. And not tall enough. Although they would be really good on the catwalk!!! Hahahahaha. Lalalalala. I think I am a comedy genius. Now if only the SG would phone and say, “I’m coming round now, oh gorgeous one. I didn’t realise how close I came to losing you. I am mesmerised by your beautosity.” Life would be beyond fab and entering the marvy zone.
Midday
Met Jas and we went to the park. I’ve got a spot on my chin but I’ve made it look like a beauty spot with an eyebrow pencil. With my shades on I look a bit like an Italian person. I think Jas was embarrassed about me not going to NZ after what she said. I am too considerate to mention it so I just said, “Do you really love me, Jas?”
She went all red.
As we strolled by the tennis courts we saw Melanie Griffiths sunbathing. I may have mentioned this before but she has got the largest breasts known to humanity. Some lads went by and went “Phwooar!”. One of them pretended to be juggling. Sometimes I feel that boys will always remain a mystery to me. I’ve felt that particularly since BG from up the road rested his hand on my basooma for no particular reason. Mel saw us looking so I said, “Oh, hi Mel!” sincerely.
She said, “Hi!” but I don’t think she meant it.
I said to Jas, “Where does she get her bras from? They must be made by those blokes who built the Forth Bridge, Ted and Mick Forth.” I just made that up; I don’t know what they were called.
We lay down on the grass to sunbathe and Jas said, “Do you think I should get a bra?”
I was thinking what I should wear when I saw Robbie again. I said, “Robbie hasn’t phone yet, you know.”
Jas was silent. I squinted round at her and she was sort of wobbling her shoulders around. I said, “What in the name of pantyhose are you doing?”
She said, “I’m seeing if my basoomas wobble.”
Jas can be spectacularly dim. I think that if I dressed Angus in her school uniform probably no one would notice for days. Unless they tried to take a snack away.
I said, “Do the pencil test. You put a pencil under a breast and if it falls out you are OK. If it stays there, sort of trapped by your basooma, you’re not and you should get help and support in the bra department.”
She was full-on, attention-wise, then. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sadly my mum can get a whole pencil case up there.”
Jas was rummaging about. “I’ve got a pencil in my rucky, I’m going to try it.”
“Jas, Tom hasn’t said anything about Robbie, has he?”
As per usual Jas had gone off into the twilight world in her head. She was fiddling about with a pencil up her T-shirt. She said, “Hahahahaha, it fell out!!! I passed, I passed…you try it.”
I wasn’t interested. “Why would SG snog me and say ‘see you later’ if he didn’t mean ‘see you later’? Do you think he’s worried about me being younger than him? Or do you think it’s my nose?”
You might as well be talking to a duck. Jas was shoving the pencil at me. “Go on, go on…you’re scared.”
“Try it, then.”
“No I’m not. I’m not frightened of a pencil.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake.”
I grabbed the pencil from her and pulled up my top and put the pencil underneath my right basooma. Actually it stuck there, but I jiggled a bit. I said, “Yeah, it falls out.”
Jas said, “You jiggled.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I saw you.”
“I didn’t. You’re a mad biscuit.”
“You did. Look, let me do it, I’ll show you.”
She grabbed the pencil and was trying to put it under my basooma when Jackie and Alison, the Bummer Twins, came round the corner of the tennis courts. Jackie removed the fag from her mouth long enough to say, “Well, well, well, our lezzo friends are out for an afternoon fondle.”
Oh no, here we go again with the lesbian rumours. That will be something to look forward to next term.
Monday July 26th
2:00 p.m.
Phew, what a scorcher!!! Sun shining, birds tweeting. Mr and Mrs Next Door in their garden. They are wearing shorts– again. Mr Next Door’s shorts really are gigantic in the bottom department. You’d think that out of courtesy to others he’d keep out of public view when he was wearing them. What if a very, very old person– even older than him– came along unexpectedly? And what if they weren’t in peak medical condition? The sight of Mr Next Door in his shorts could bring on a dangerous spasm. Still, that is another example of the bottomless (oo-er!) selfishosity of so-called grown-ups for you.