Then I told her about the James fandango.
She said, “Erlack-a-pongoes. Did you encourage him? Maybe you gave out the wrong signals.”
“Jas, I was not in the nuddy-pants.”
“Well I’m just saying, he must have thought he could rest his hand on your basooma. Why is that? He has never rested his hand on my basoomas, for instance.”
“What are you rambling on about?”
“I’m just saying, this is not the first time this has happened to you, is it? There was Mark the Big Gob—”
“Yeah but—”
“You say it just happened. That just out of the blue he put his hand on your basooma. No one else was there so we will never really know for sure.”
“I didn’t … it was—”
“Perhaps James has heard about your reputation. Perhaps he thinks it’s all right to fondle your basoomas.”
I hate Jas. I slammed the phone down. I will never be talking to her again. I don’t forget things. Once my mind is made up that is it. The friendship is finito. She has made a mockery of a sham of my nunga-nungas. I would rather eat one of Libby’s night-time nappies than talk to Jas again.
She is an ex-best mate. Dead to me. Deaddy dead dead. For ever.
Phone box 5 mins later 4:55 p.m.
Phoned Jas. “Jas, are you suggesting I am an easy fondleree?”
“I don’t know. I might be.”
“What do you mean, you might be?”
“Well, I might be … but I don’t know what a fondleree is.”
It is like talking to the very very backward. I explained to her as patiently as I could, “Well, it’s like dumping. If you dump someone you are the dumper. And they are the dumpee.”
“What has that got to do with fondling?”
“Jas, concentrate. The verb is ‘to fondle’: I fondle, you fondle, he, she, it fondles, etc. But I am the recipient of the fondle so that makes me the fondleree.”
She wasn’t really concentrating, though, she was in a dreamworld of her own. She was probably looking at herself in the mirror in their hall … imagining she is Claudia Schiffer … Just because some absolute prat told her she looked a bit like Claudia. Yeah … Claudia with a stupid fringe.
Walked back to Cottage Crap.
My room
6:00 p.m.
Brilliant. Miles away from civilisation and my so-called mate says I am an easy fondleree … Still, she is mad as a badger, everyone knows that. I went into the kitchen for a glass of soda and James came in behind me. He said, “I’ll get a glass for you, Georgia.” Then he sort of pressed himself into me and pretended he was reaching up for a cup from the cupboard.
Good grief. He’s Stalker Cousin.
You would think that Mutti and Vati would notice but all they do is enjoy themselves and giggle.
9:00 p.m.
Sitting around in the tartan lounge in Cottage Crap. Sitting as far away as possible from James just in case he looms around me. Mutti and Vati and Grandad and Uncle Eddie are actually playing Snap. James is pretending to be reading his stupid boy comic but I bet he is secretly looking at my nunga-nungas. My breasts are making me a mockery of a sham. They are like two sticky-out beacons attracting all the sadsacks in the universe.
11:00 p.m.
Mutti came into my bedroom to get Libby out of my wardrobe. She’s made a sort of nest in there which she says is a “wee-wee house” – I think she means treehouse.
Over the shouting and biting I said to Mutti, “Do you think you could ask Dad if you and he could club together to let me have some money for breast reduction surgery?”
It took her about a year to stop laughing.
It’s pointless asking for money. I can’t get a fiver out of Dad for some decent lip gloss. He would never give me the money. Even if my breasts were so big that I had to have two servants called Carlos and Juan to carry them around for me.
Tuesday October 26th 10:00 a.m.
The postman came this morning. He didn’t have any post; he just said, “Good morning to you. Welcome to Scotland.” He was quite groovy-looking.
10:15 a.m.
Oh, Blimey O’Reilley’s pantaloons, I think I have got general snoggosity syndrome.
8:00 p.m.
James followed me around all day, waiting for an opportunity to “accidentally” touch me. I have tried hanging around with Mutti and Vati but it is too sad.
Oh, Robbie, where are you now? Rescue me from the Valley of the Loons.
9:00 p.m.
How soon can I get them to set off for home tomorrow? If we set off at dawn we could be back in Normal Land by about four p.m.
9:30 p.m.
I wonder if the Ace Gang might arrange a surprise welcome home party for me? It’s half term now so I am no longer an ostracised leper on my own. So ha-di-ha-ha. She who laughs the last laughs, erm, a lot. Slim thought she was banning me for a week but she was banning me for two weeks!!!
10:00 p.m.
In “my” bed, with usual crowd. Libby and the entire contents of her travelling toybox: scuba-diving Barbie, one-eyed Teddy, Pantalitzer, Panda the Punk (Libby shaved his head). The only difference is that to celebrate our holiday in Tartan-a-gogo Libby has replaced Charlie Horse with Jimmy. Jimmy is a haggis with a scarf on. Don’t even ask. Libby made him this afternoon and she “lobes” him.
I am sleeping in a bed with a stuffed sheep’s stomach. With a scarf on.
Wednesday October 27th 6:00 a.m.
Up and packed. I tried to get Mutti and Vati to get up and make an early start but when I went into their bedroom Vati threw his slipper at me.
9:00 a.m.
At last! Escape!!!! Soon I will be back in the arms of my Sex God. At last, at last. Thank the Lord!!! I love you, Jesus, really really I do. Uncle Eddie, James and Grandad drove off in the Loonmobile. Uncle Eddie was wearing his souvenir bagpipe hat but I didn’t care. They were goney gone gone. Hurrah hurrah!!! With a bit of luck I can avoid them for the rest of my life. Arrow looked all mournfully at Angus when we left. He will miss his furry partner in crime. Angus and Arrow, Los Dos Amigos Bonkeros. Angus didn’t even look back; he just shot into the car and started wrestling with the car rug.
11:00 a.m.
Meanwhile