11:00 a.m.
Bloody hell. You take your life in your hands going into the kitchen for a snack. Angus is in there and he is not pleased. I had to fend him off with a frying pan to get into the fridge.
Still, lalalalalala.
Midday
Still in a European mood I dressed French casual (same as sports casual – black Capri trousers, black roll-neck top, ankle boots – but with a lot more eyeliner).
In fact, the combination of Frenchosity and my snogging extravaganza made me come over all forgiving and relaxed. I even waved to Mr Next Door as I went down the road. Typically he just tutted. But hey ho, tut on, Fatty, nothing can spoil my mood. Mr Next Door was wearing an extraordinary pair of trousers; they seemed to start under his armpits and be made out of elephant. He was “armed” with a hoe.
He said, “I hope you are keeping that wild animal under lock and key. It’s about time something was done with it.”
Nobody can take a joke around here. All right, Mr Across the Road does have a point in that Angus did abscond with Naomi, but what does Old Elephant Trousers have to complain about?
What they both fail to see are Angus’s very good qualities. He has many attractive cat qualities. For instance he has EXCELLENT balance. Only last month he herded Snowy and Whitey, Mr Next Door’s prat poodles, into the manure heap and then leaped down from the wall and had a ride around on Snowy’s back. Like Snowy was a little horsey.
How many cats can do that?
12:30 p.m.
When I was waiting at the bus stop for a bus to town two blokes in cars hooted their horns at me (oo-er). I really have become a babe magnet.
Then along came Mark Big Gob who I unfortunately made the mistake of going out with in my youth. Well, ten months ago, anyway. He was messing about with his rough mates, waiting for the bus. No sign of his midget girlfriend; perhaps he had mislaid her?
His mouth is sooo big; how could I have snogged him? And he rested his hand on my basooma. Still, let bygones be bygones. My basoomas were out of his hands now. I was after all the girlfriend of a Sex God and Mark was the boyfriend of some toddler. I smiled kindly at him and that is when he said to his mates, “You don’t get many of those to the pound.” And he meant my nunga-nungas! And all his mates laughed.
I stood there in a dignity-at-all-times sort of way, until the bus came. I sat as far away from the BG and his rough mates as I could.
12:45 p.m.
It was a relief to get off the bus. As I got off I had to go past Mark and his mates. I made sure my nungas were not making a guest appearance by hunching my shoulders over.
12:50 p.m.
I’ve just seen a reflection of myself in a shop window looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame in a mini skirt.
1:00 p.m.
In the café I met up with Rosie, Ellen, Mabs, Jools and Jas. Yesssssssssss! The Ace Gang together again!! The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town!!! We had loads of really important things to talk about: make-up, snogging and, of course, berets. This term is not going so well on the beret front. Even the lunchpack beret has lost its charm.
Rosie said, “I walked past Miss Stamp with two oranges and a banana stuck under my beret and she just raised her eyes. Something must be done.”
I had a flash of total whatsit … wisdomosity. “Mes huge amis I have given this seconds of thought, and I know what the answer is.”
They were all as agog as two gogs. Jools said, “What?”
I brought out my gloves and beret from my rucky. “Voilà … glove animal!!”
Rosie said, “What in the name of Slim’s gigantic knickers are you talking about?”
Good grief. It is very tiring being the girlfriend of a Sex God and a genius at the same time.
“Glove animal!!! A way of dressing sensibly and snugly using both beret and gloves. You pin a glove over each ear so that it hangs down like big dog ears and then you pop the beret over the top.”
I clipped my gloves over my ears and popped the beret over the top (risking my hair’s bounceability factor).
“Voilà glove animal!!!”
Magnifique, I think everyone will agree.
8:00 p.m.
Home again. To my lovely delicious supper of … er …
Mutti and Vati and Loonsister out AGAIN. Still. In Love Heaven you are never really alone.
Angus is tied up to the kitchen table leg. I gave him a hug to cheer him up and he lashed out at me. Also I notice that he has a pair of Vati’s Y-fronts in his basket. Good grief. He has gone beyond sheer desperadoes. He is really sad without Naomi, I know how he feels, every minute without the Sex God seems about sixty seconds long.
9:10 p.m.
OOOhhhhh. If the SG was here now we could practise our ear snogging skills.
11:30 p.m.
Halloween tomorrow.
It’s impossible to sleep in my bed with Libby’s turnip lantern in here.
I suppose I should be pleased she hasn’t insisted on having her witch’s broom and…
“Libby, no not the broom and…”
“Move over, bad boy.”
Sunday October 31st
Halloween 10:30 a.m.
I immediately annoyed Dad this morning by pretending that he was wearing a scary Halloween costume. In fact his leisure slacks and Marks & Spencer’s cardigan ARE very scary but he didn’t get it.
Libby is in toddler heaven because some of her little mates from kindy are coming across this afty for apple bobbing and lanterns and stuff.
11:00 a.m.
In a rare moment of sanity Vati has been over to see Mr and Mrs Across the Road and pleaded for Angus’s manhood. He was all pleased with himself when he came back.
“I thought I’d take a look at that garden fence, Connie, see if we can keep Angus in a bit more. Then he might not have to have his biscuits nibbled.”
Biscuits nibbled? What planet does he live on?
He started rooting around in the toolbox. I wish he would get a job and then he wouldn’t be interested in DIY any more.
Mum said, “Bob, I beg you, please get someone competent to do the fence. You’re only just back on your feet again.”
Vati got all Daddish.
“Connie, I can fix a fence, you know.”
We laughed. I helped Mum out: “Dad, there was the unfortunate leg through the ceiling incident when you last went into the loft.”
“There was a