‘Stop in the name of pants!’. Louise Rennison

They even arranged the pigeon so that it was looking towards the door and propped up so Mum could get the full benefit when she came in.

      She did get the full benefit and went ballistic, jumping on a chair and screaming etc. Angus and Gordy and the dead pigeon all looked at her.

      â€œBloody murdering furry thugs!!!” she yelled.

      I said, “Look, you are really hurting their feelings.”

      And then she threw the washing-up bowl at me. That is the kind of mothering I have to put up with.

      One minute later

      The postie has bravely got past Angus and disappeared from view as he posts our letters through the letter box. Angus has disappeared as well. Oh, I know what he is doing!

      He is doing his vair vair amusing trick of lurking in the top of the hedge to leap down on the postie’s head as he passes by. Tee-hee. Happy days. I wish I was a cat. At least I would get fed now and again.

      I wouldn’t be quite so keen on all the bum-oley licking. Although as mine is so swollen now, it would probably be easier to reach.

      Mum yelled up, “Gee, come down and have brekkie and say goodbye to your family.”

      I said, “Have I still got one? I thought that Father had left us and would never be back. That is what he promised.”

      Dad yelled up, “You think you are so bloody funny, but you won’t when I don’t give you your ten-quid pocket money. Nothing to spend on your eyeliner or nit cream or whatever else it is that you plaster yourself with.”

      Nit cream? Has he finally snapped?

      Mum said, “Stop it, you two. Oooh look, here is a foreign postcard addressed to Georgia – I wonder who it’s from?”

      Oh my giddy god’s pyjamas!!! I leaped downstairs, putting the pain of my bottom behind me. Tee-hee. Oh brilliant, my brain has gone into hysterical clown mode.

      Thirty seconds later

      Dad had the postcard in his hand and was reading it!!! Noooooo!

      He was saying in a really crap Pizza-a-gogo accent, “Ciao, Georgia, it is smee.”

      I tried to get the postcard from him. “Dad, that is private property addressed to me. If it doesn’t say ‘to some mad fat bloke’, it isn’t yours.”

      Dad just went on reading it. “I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my family.”

      Finally I ripped it out of his hand and took it upstairs.

      Mum said, “You are mean, Bob. You know what she is like.”

      Dad said, “Yes, I do. She’s insane like all the other bloody women in this family. Hang on a minute… what the hell happened to my car-washing bucket?”

      Mum said, “We had to hit it with a hammer in the end. Libby got her bottom stuck in it.”

      Dad said, “I rest my case.”

      In my room

      Oh God, I am sooooo excited, my eyes have gone cross-eyed. What does it say?

      Twenty seconds later

      Ciao, Georgia,

      It is smee. I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my family. I am hot. (You don’t have to tell me that, mate.) I am playing fun. Are you playing fun? I miss I you me.

      I call on the telefono on Tuesday for you. Ciao, bellissima, Masimo xxx

      An hour later

      After about three thousand years and a half, the Swiss Family Mad all crashed off to ruin other people’s lives and I could get on the old blower.

      I nearly dialled Wise Woman of the Forest before I remembered that she had practically called me the Whore of Babylon. She is so full of suspicionosity. And annoyingnosity. How dare she suggest in front of everyone that I had been up to hanky-panky and rudey-dudeys with Dave the Laugh? She knows very well that I am going out with a Luuurve God. Who is a) hot and b) playing fun.

      What in the name of arse does “playing fun” mean?

      I must consult with my gang.

      But not her.

      I am ignorez-vousing her with a firm hand and it serves her right. I hope she realises that I am ignorez-vousing her, otherwise it’s all a bit pointless.

      Two minutes later

      I may have to call her and let her know I am ignorez-vousing her, as she can be a bit on the dense side.

      Phoned Jas.

      Her mum answered. “Hello, Georgia. Gosh, you had a fabulous time camping, didn’t you? Jas said you sang and played games till all hours.”

      I said, “Er yes…”

      â€œYou had a great time, I bet.”

      â€œEr yes, it was very, erm, campey.”

      â€œGood. I’ll just call Jas, dear. I think she’s in her bedroom dusting and rearranging her owls and so on.”

      You couldn’t really write it, could you? If I wrote a book and I said: “I’ve got a mate who dusts her collection of stuffed owls and follows greater toasted newts about,” people would say: “I’m not reading that sort of stupid exaggeration. Next thing you know, someone will say they went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive. Or accidentally snogged three boyfriends at once.” Hang on a minute, everything has gone a bit déjà vu-ish.

      Jas came on the phone. “Yes.”

      â€œJas, it is me, the Whore of Babylon, but I am preparing myself to forgive you.”

      â€œWhat are you forgiving me for?”

      â€œBecause you are a naughty pally saying things about me being selfish and lax and having a million boyfriends.”

      Jas said, “It’s up to you how many boyfriends you have. I am not my brother’s keeper.”

      â€œJas, I know you aren’t. You haven’t got a brother.”

      â€œI mean you.”

      â€œI haven’t got a brother either, thank the Lord. I do, however, have an insane sister, who by the way is now probably going to be done for TBH.”

      â€œYou mean GBH – grievous bodily harm.”

      â€œNo, I mean TBH. Toddler bodily harm. Josh’s mum has complained about her and she is suspended from nursery school. She is staying with Grandfarty and he is looking after her. She is the first person in our family to get a restraining order besides Grandad.”

      Jas was not what you would call full of sympatheticnosity.

      â€œI don’t think she will be the last person in your family to get a restraining order, Georgia. I am a bit busy actually.”

      â€œJas, please don’t have Mrs Hump with me. I need you, my dearest little pally wally. Pleasey please, be frendy wendys. Double please with knobs. And a tiny little knoblet. And—”

      â€œAll right, all right, stop going on.”

      She deffo had the minor hump, but it was only