Sunday August 1st

      8:00 a.m.

      I’ve persuaded Jas to come to church with me to thank God for making Dad have his shoes blown off and also for giving me a Sex God as a plaything.

      10:00 a.m.

      When I got round to Jas’s house she was sitting on her wall in the shortest skirt known to humanity. When I wear skirts like that my grandad says, “You can see what you had for your dinner.” I don’t know what on earth he is talking about but then neither does anyone else, except probably dogs.

      Jas leaped off the wall. Her skirt was about four centimetres long.

      I said, “Is it a long time since you went to church, Jas?” and she said, “It’s OK, I’m wearing really big knickers.”

      Church

      10:40 a.m.

      Good grief. Now I know why I don’t go to church much. It is not what is generally known as Fun City Arizona. I was forced to sing “All Things Bright and Beautiful” which is bad enough, but there was a further treat in store. The vicar, (“Call me Arnold”) tries to be “modern”. So to really get “with it” Call me Arnold had got some absolute saddos to play guitars as an accompaniment. One of the boys on guitar was called Norman and as if that is not cruel enough he had acne. And not just ordinary acne, he had acne of the entire head.

      But as we left I remembered that I was supposed to be being grateful so I said, “Sorry about Spotty Norman, God, I will be nice to him next time I see him,” (inwardly) and put a pound in the collection box.

      Monday August 2nd

      12:10 p.m.

      Still no news from the SG. I’ve been going to bed really early to make the hours pass more quickly.

      I tried snogging the back of my hand to stave off snogging withdrawal but it’s no good.

      3:30 p.m.

      Cor phew…boiling again. The sun was shining like a great big fried egg. Jas and Jools and Ellen and me went sunbathing in the park. I took off my shades and got the shock of my life: in the sunshine my legs looked like Herr Kamyer’s legs. They were all pale-looking. Not as hairy or German as his legs, obviously.

      I said, “Ellen, why are your legs so brown?”

      She said, “Oh, I used some of that Kool Tan stuff.”

      Maybe the SG noticed my Herr Kamyer legs? I must get some Kool Tan.

      Tuesday August 3rd

      10:30 p.m.

      When Jas came round for us to practise hairstyles I made her let me kiss the back of her calf to see if she could feel any teeth. She leaped about, going, “Erlack, erlack, get off, get off, it feels disgusting, like a sort of sucky Spotty Norman.” Which is not very reassuring.

      She said Tom touched her basooma the other night. In revenge I said, “How would he know it wasn’t your shoulder?” She honestly does think she is like Kate Moss. It is very, very sad.

      Midnight

      SG didn’t touch my basooma. I wonder if that is bad? Mind you, I had my arms folded for a lot of the time because of the nipple emergency.

      Wednesday August 4th

      4:00 p.m.

      Phoned Jas.

      “I’m really worried now. It’s been over a week. I wonder if it is my nose? Perhaps SG only likes little sticky-up noses like Wet Lindsay’s?”

      Jas said, “Maybe a headband would help. You should make more of your forehead and that would take the emphasis away from your nose.”

      “At least I’ve got a forehead, not like Wet Lindsay who has got a tiny little forehead. In fact, she is really just hair and then eyebrows. How could the SG go out with someone with no forehead?”

      “She’s got quite nice legs.”

      “What do you mean? Nice– not like mine? Shut up, Jas.”

      “OK, keep your hair on.”

      “Nauseating P. Green, on the other hand, has got the HUGEST forehead known to humanity. In fact, she is a walking forehead in a frock. I must get away from this forehead business, it’s making me feel a bit mad.”

      4:30 p.m.

      In the bathroom experimenting with a headband. Hmmm, headband seems to emphasise my nose. In fact, it’s like wearing a big notice on my head that says, “Hey, everyone!!! Look at my incredibly big schnozzle!!”

      4:40 p.m.

      While I had been doing headband work I hadn’t been paying much attention to Libbs. She had come into the bathroom and got up on the lavatory seat. Her hair was all sticking up like a mad earwig but she won’t let you comb it. I said, “Libby, things will start nesting in it,” and she said, “Aaahh nice.” Then she started going, “Bzzz, bzzz, bzzy bzz, bzz,” like a mad bee.

      I was experimenting with sucking in my nose to see if it made it look any smaller when Mum came barging in. (Not bothering to knock or anything.) Anyway, she went even more bananas than usual. Libby had put all of the loo paper down her knickers because she wanted to be a bumble bee. I’d heard her buzzing but I didn’t pay any attention. Mum was all red-faced.

      “Georgia, all you think about is how you bloody look. The house could burn down around you before you would stop looking in that mirror.”

      I raised my eyebrows ironically. Talk about the pot calling the other pot a black kettle, er…well whatever. She really has got a volatile temper; she should go to anger management classes. I will suggest it to her. But not just now as she has got a brush in her hand.

      4:50 p.m.

      My violent, bad-tempered mother has gone out. Nothing in the fridge. Oh, I tell a lie, there is a half-eaten sausage. Yum yum.

      4:55 p.m.

      Grandad said that as you get older gravity pulls on your nose and makes it bigger and bigger.

      5:00 p.m.

      Why couldn’t I come from a decent gene bank? Nice, well-formed parents, like Jas’s mum and dad. Nice and compact, nothing too sticky-outy. Instead I get massive “danger to shippings” from Mum and a massive conk from my dad. If Robbie doesn’t like me it is Vati’s fault. If it is true about the gravity business then Dad will need a wheelbarrow to carry his nose around in soon. Good, serve him right for ruining my life.

      7:00 p.m.

      I’m so hot and restless. Oh Robbie, where are you? My nose feels tremendously heavy.