what happened between us…1 handled it really badly, I know. She, you know, Lindsay, just was like, so upset, and you were so young and I couldn’t…I didn’t know what else to do. I thought I’d be going away soon and that would just sort things out…but then I was at the match…”
God, was there anyone in the universe who hadn’t seen my huge wobbly bottom and enormous conk bobbling around the hockey pitch?
SG was going on in his really sexy voice, “…and I saw how Lindsay deliberately hurt you…and I…I’m sorry. I’ve caused a lot of trouble and you’re a really nice kid…Look, I’ll…”
Then I heard, “Robbie!!”
Wet Lindsay was walking over towards where we were and I just couldn’t handle any more. I hobbled off.
5:00 p.m.
OhGodohGodohGod. I love him, I love him.
He thinks I am a kid.
It’s all a facsimile of a sham.
And in tins.
And pants.
And pingy pongos.
And merde.
He was at the match. He saw my giganticus pantibus.
But he still spoke to me.
Perhaps Jas is not as mad as she seems. Perhaps big knickers are boy magnets?
Oh I don’t know.
Why does he still make me go jelloid?
6:00 p.m.
Dave the Laugh had left me a card at home which said, One– legged girls are a push-over. love Dave xxxxxx And some chocolates. Oh GODDDDDDD!!!!
Saturday October 16th
11:00 a.m.
I am a horrible person. I have dumped Dave. I had to. It was really double poo. I thought he was going to cry. He turned up at my house with some flowers because of my injury. He is so sweet and it didn’t seem fair to lead him on. I explained that he had only really been a red herring.
2:30 p.m.
Phoned Jas.
“He said I was a user and, er…something else…”
“Was it ‘selfish’?”
“No.”
“The crappest person in humanity?”
“No.”
“Really horrible and like a wormey…”
“Jas, shut up.”
In bed
8:00 p.m.
Am I really horrible? Perhaps I am one of those people who don’t really feel things properly, like Madonna.
10:00 p.m.
Personally I think I have shown great maturiosity and wisdomosity.
11:00 p.m.
Dave will some day thank me for this.
Midnight
Angus still on top of the wall across the road. Looking down at his beloved Naomi in her enclosure. He too is disappointed in love.
3:00 a.m.
Libby came in all sleepy. She said, “Move.” And climbed in with the usual accoutrements– Barbie, Charlie Horse, etc. I’ve got about half a centimetre of bed. Marvellous. Bloody marvellous.
Monday October 18th
School
Break
2:15 p.m.
Well, at least life can’t get any worse. Oh, I beg your pardon, yes it can. Raining again and cold and we have been forced outside by the Hitler Youth. I said to Wet Lindsay who was the prefect on duty, “It is against the Geneva Convention that we are forced outside in Arctic…” But she had locked the door and was sort of grinning through the window. She took off her cardigan as I was looking and wiped her forehead as if she was boiling. Oh treès amusant, Owlie.
Jas and I wandered round to Elvis’s hut to see if the old lunatic was in. If he wasn’t we could sit in his hut for a bit and warm up. But oh no, there he was, reading his newspaper. Elvis had ear muffs on underneath his flat cap! Mrs Elvis must be very proud. I tapped on his little window so that I could say a friendly hello to him. But he couldn’t hear because of the muffs.
I said to Jas, “As a hilarious joke I’ll pretend to say something very urgent to him but I won’t really be saying anything. I’ll mime saying, ‘Mr Attwood, my friend Jas is on fire!!!’”
So I went up to the hut door and I was mouthing, “Mr Attwood, my friend Jas is on fire!!!” and waving my arms wildly. In the end he took off his ear muffs, thinking that he couldn’t hear me because of them. When he realised the joke he went ballisticisimus. He leaped up in a quite scary way for a one hundred and eighty-year-old man and came charging at us out of his hut. I hobbled off quite quickly. Unfortunately he didn’t remember he had parked his personal wheelbarrow round the corner of his hut and did a spectacular comedy fall over it. I thought I would die laughing. Me and Jas went and bent over a wall at the back of the tennis courts.
I said to Jas, in between laughing and gasping for air. “Jas…Jas…he…he has got a flat head.”
God it was funny. I had a real ache in my stomach from laughing too much.
French
3:00 p.m.
For a “treat” as it is Monday, Madame Slack taught us another French song. It was called “Sur le Pont D’Avignon”. About some absolute saddos dancing about on a bridge. All I can say is that the French and me have a different idea of having a cracking good time. Also, if I do go to French land, although I will be able to tell my new French mates that my blackbird has lost a feather, and be able to dance on bridges, I will not be able to get a filled baguette for love nor money.
At the end of the lesson Wet Lindsay came into the classroom in her role as Oberfiihrer assistant. She smiled in a not attractive or friendly way and said, “Georgia Nicolson, report to Miss Simpson’s office…NOW.”
3:30 p.m.
Outside Slim’s office. Oh dear. Quelle dommage. Zut alors and sacré bleu even. Now what? Unfortunately Wet Lindsay was my guard and as I looked at her I was reminded of her thongs lurking under her skirt. Going up her bum-oley. And it started me off again.
The jelloid one called me in. I was like a red-faced loon trying not to laugh. She said, “Georgia Nicolson, this is an unforgivable offence. This time you have gone too far. Berets worn like lunchpacks, noses stuck up with Selllotape, false freckles painted on noses, all these childish pranks I have put up with…Last term there was the skeleton in Mr Attwood’s uniform, the locusts…”
Slim raved on and on, shaking like a gigantic jelly. “…I was hoping that you had grown up a bit. But to lure an elderly man, not in peak condition…” Blah blah blah.
It was useless my trying to explain. Mr Attwood has dislocated his shoulder and I am being held responsible. Fab. Anyway, the short and short of it is that I’m suspended for a week and Jas is on cloakroom duty. Slim said she was going to write a stiff note home to