p.m.
Rosie bunked off, she said she was going to the pictures with Sven. It must be nice to have a boyfriend, even if it was Sven. Oh well, ho hum, pig’s bum. While Miss Wilson raved on and hitched up her sad tights I chatted to Jas. She wasn’t officially speaking to me because of the veggie business, but I put my arm round her every time I went near her. In the end, to stop me and also to avoid more lezzie rumours, she forgave me (ish).
I said, “My vati is back on the nineteenth.”
“Are you glad?”
“No, Jas, I said my vati is back on the nineteenth.”
“I like my dad.”
“Yes, but your dad is normal. He’s got a shed. He does DIY. He fixed your bike. When my vati tried to fix my bike his hand got stuck in the spokes. We had to walk to casualty. I don’t see why I had to go with him, everyone was calling out in the streets. And they weren’t calling out ‘What a brilliant dad you’ve got!’”
3:45 p.m.
I’ve managed not to think about meeting Dave all day. I am a bit nervous, though.
7:30 p.m.
In my bedroom. I’ve got my head under my pillow. This house is like a mental institution. In the front room Uncle Eddie and Mum are practising salsa. He turned up on his motorbike with a crate of wine. First of all he came snooping up to my room and opened my door (I don’t know why we don’t just take it off its hinges and leave it at that). I think he must have already had one crate of wine because he had a tennis racket he was pretending to play as a guitar and he said, “Georgia, this is a little song entitled, ‘Get off the stove, Grandad, you’re too old to ride the range’,” then he laughed like King Loon and went off downstairs singing, “Agadoo doo dooo.”
Honestly, what planet do these people live on? And why isn’t it further away? Libby is in the airing cupboard with Angus. She says they are playing doctors and nurses.
11:00 p.m.
Does anyone care what happens to me?
I’ve got to meet Dave the L tomorrow and somehow cover up the fact that I have a broken heart. I must be glittering and glamorous and brave.
I could hear Mum and Uncle Eddie giggling. I called down, “Mum…Libby is still in the airing cupboard if you were wondering, which I don’t suppose you were as you are busy drinking and carrying on, and so on.”
I wondered if I should confide in Uncle Eddie about Mum and George Clooney. Maybe he could have a word with her? Then I heard him coming upstairs again. He popped his very bald head round my door, the light glancing off it almost blinded me, and he said, “We can go and meet your dad on my motorbike if you like!!”
Yeah, in your dreams, oh mad bald one.
Friday October 8th
4:00 p.m.
The Fab Gang came round and we hung around in my room, listening to the Top 20. We were discussing Operation Red Herring. Well me and Mabs, Rosie, Jools and Ellen were, Jas wasn’t there. Too busy waiting for her “boyfriend” to come home to worry about her very best pal in the world, who would never dream of putting boys first.
Ellen said, “OK, this is the plan. Say to the herring you have to be home by nine thirty because you are grounded for staying out too late.”
I said, “Yes, that’s good because it makes me seem sort of like dangerous and groovy but it also means I can get away if I need to. Good thinking, Batwoman.”
Ellen went on, “And me and the rest of the gang will sort of be around the park any time things might be getting heavy.”
I said, “Yeah. Because that is like double cool…almost with knobs. It means I have loads of mates that I just casually bump into at every whiff and woo AND it will stop any hanky panky in the snogging department.”
Rosie said, “Exactamondo. Let’s dance!”
And we did mad dancing to calm ourselves down.
7:00 p.m.
Met Dave the L in the park. I went for casual glamour: leopard-skin top (fake, because otherwise Angus would have followed me thinking he’d made a new big mate) and jeans and leather jacket. It was a bit awkward at first. You know, like a first date. He is quite a good-looking bloke if you like red herrings. He said, “Hi, gorgeous,” which I think is nice. I admire honesty.
He told me he wanted to be a stand-up comedian when he leaves school and I said, “You should have my life, that would give you lots of material.”
He laughed. It was funny but I didn’t feel nervous, not like with SG. I didn’t say I wanted to be a vet or anything. I very nearly made sense.
As we walked along chatting our arms sort of brushed against each other a couple of times. I didn’t mind and he’s got a nice crinkly smile. But then he grabbed hold of my hand. Uh-oh. Hanky panky. Also he is slightly smaller than me and I had to do the bendy knee business so I could be more his height. I don’t know what it is about boys these days but they seem on the small side. Or perhaps I am growing. Oh no. That might be it. I might only be half the size I am going to be. I might turn out to be a female Sven and that might be God’s punishment for me turning Buddhist. Anyway, I lolloped along as best I could, trying not to be like an orang-utan. But, oh sacré bleu and merde, then Dave pulled me round to face him and took hold of my other hand. I had to lift up my shoulders so that I didn’t have excess arm. I felt like that woman in The Sound of Music, you know, Julie Thing. Surely he wasn’t going to start dancing round with me? Nooooo, he wasn’t. He was going to kiss me!! Oh no, this wasn’t in the Herring plan…Where were all my so-called mates???
As he looked at me and started to bring his face closer I said really quickly, “Have you noticed how when you go from side to side there is this sort of wheezing noise?”
But I only got to “Ha…” when he put his mouth on mine. I could have bitten through my tongue. I kept my eyes open because I thought that wouldn’t be like a real kiss. But it made me go cross-eyed so I closed them. It was, in fact, quite a nice kiss. (But what do I know? I’ve only ever been with SG, a whelk boy and BG (Mark) who had such a huge gob that no experience with him can be counted normal. You’ve just got to be glad to escape without being eaten.)
My room
Thinking
11:00 p.m.
My so-called mates arrived at last. They gave us both a bit of a start, leaping out from behind a tree. Also if Rosie is thinking of taking up drama I would advise her against it. She said, “Oh hello, Georgia. It’s YOU!!! What on EARTH are you doing here. I thought you were GROUNDED?” But she said it like somebody had hit her on the head with a mallet (which, incidentally, somebody should do).
11:30 p.m.
Hmmm. I am in a state of confusosity. I’d rate him as seven and a half as a kisser. Maybe even eight. He didn’t do much varying pressure and his tongue work was a bit like a little snake. On the other hand he didn’t do any sucking (like whelk boy) and there was no crashing of teeth. Or dribbling, which is never acceptable. He did nibble my lower lip a bit, which I must tell the gang about because it isn’t on our list. It was quite nice. I might try doing it myself. When I retrap the SG.
Midnight
Also he didn’t rest his hand on my basooma, which is a plus.
12:30 a.m.
Maybe he didn’t rest his hand there