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put on a really loud record and danced about to get rid of my excess snogosity.

      8:05 p.m.

      When I looked in the mirror I could see my basoomas bobbling about. Good grief and sacré bleu!! They look like they are doing their own dance!

      In Mum’s Vanity Fair it says that all the posh type ladies go to a special woman behind Harrod’s to get their bras properly fitted.

      8:15 p.m.

      The Queen must go there, then. Apparently this woman who does the bras is such an expert that she can just look at someone and say what size bra they should have. No suggestion of pencil cases. I wish I could go to her.

      8:30 p.m.

      When the Queen goes, this woman must just look at her and yell to her assistant, “Get the Queen a bra in size forty-eight D.” Or whatever size the Queen is.

      9:00 p.m.

      The Queen is about five foot high, so if she was a size sixty D that would make her like a five-foot ball.

      9:30 p.m.

      I wish I didn’t have that in my head.

      Midnight

      Should I call him? Oh I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

      Thursday August 5th

      Still boiling

      4:00 p.m.

      Jools, Ellen, Rosie, Jas and me went to town to try on makeup in Boots and Miss Selfridge. I cheered up a bit, especially as we did this limping thing on the way home. You link up and all limp together. And you’re not allowed to break arms no matter what happens. This tremendously old bloke got shirty with us because we accidentally stampeded his Labrador. After that we went into the park and sat on the swings for a rest. Rosie said, “Oh I fancy a fag.”

      I was shocked. I said, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

      And she said, “It’s just to relax.”

      Rosie put a cigarette in her mouth and got out her lighter. We were all looking. Unfortunately she must have set the flame too high because when she flicked it a flame shot up about twelve centimetres and set fire to her fringe. We beat it out but the hair was all singed and short. She went home with her hand over her fringe. After she had gone the rest of us swang backwards and forwards for a few minutes.

      I said, “Rosie smokes quite a lot, doesn’t she?”

      And then we all got the helpless laughing. You know, that laughing that makes your tummy hurt and makes you cry and gulp and choke? And you’ve laughed for long enough and you want to stop but you can’t. Then you do stop and you think it’s all right but then someone starts again. I just couldn’t stop. And that’s when I saw HIM. The Sex God. With his mates from The Stiff Dylans. He looked like he was coming across to say hello. And you know when you really, really should stop laughing because otherwise it will be really bad and everyone will hate you? But you can’t? Well I had that.

      10:00 p.m.

      Rang Robbie. His mum said he was at rehearsal. Still he likes a laugh himself, so it will be all right.

      Midnight

      On the other hand I wasn’t by any means doing my attractive half-smiling when he saw me. I had a look at myself in the mirror doing proper, unadulterated laughing, the kind of laughing where you just let your nose and mouth go free and wild.

      12:15 a.m.

      That is it, my life is over; I must go to the ugly home immediately.

      Friday August 6th

      11:00 a.m.

      A letter arrived for me. From Robbie. My hands were shaking when I opened it.

      11:30 a.m.

      Back in bed. I CANNOT believe my life. It is beyond pooiness. It has gone well beyond the Valley of the Poo and entered the Galaxy of Merde.

      11:45 a.m.

      I re-read the letter from Robbie again. It still says the same thing though.

      Dear Georgia.

      I have been thinking and thinking about this. And although I think you are great, and I really do like you, well, I saw you with your mates yesterday having a laugh and you seemed so young. The facts are that I am seventeen, nearly eighteen, and if anyone knew I was even thinking about going out with a fourteen-year-old I would never hear the end of it. Where would we go for our dates? Youth club or something? You see what I mean, don’t you?

      I think it is best we stay away from each other for a year or so. You need to see someone more your own age. My brother has a really nice mate called Dave. He’s a good laugh. You’d like him.

      I’m really sorry.

      Love Robbie xxxxxxxxx

      Midday

      On the phone to Jas. I was shaking with rage.

      Jas said, “Well, erm…if he’s a good laugh, maybe you should meet him.”

      “Jas, are you really saying that I should just stop liking one person and start liking another one, just like that? What if I said, ‘Hey, Jas, forget about Tom, why not go out with Spotty Norman? He’s got a really great shaped head underneath the acne’?”

      Saturday August 7th

      6:20 p.m.

      I hate him. I hate him.

      On the phone to Jas.

      “How dare he find another boyfriend for me? I hate him!!!”

      Sunday August 8th

      3:50 p.m.

      That is absolutely it for me now. He can’t treat me like that. I have my pride. How dare he question my maturiosity?

      On the phone to Jas. “Jas?”

      “What?”

      “You don’t think I should just pop round to his house and sort of beg and plead, do you?”

      Monday August 9th

      11:40 a.m.

      I will never get over this, never.

      Mum says there are plenty more fish in the sea. Why is she so obsessed with fish? At a time like this! She doesn’t care about my feelings anyway.

      No one does.

      Wednesday August 11th

      2:49 p.m.

      Took Angus for a long, moody walk. Part of me really hates the Sex God. Sadly it’s only a little tiny part of me (near my knee), the rest of me really, really likes him!!!!

      3:00 p.m.

      Even my breasts like him. They want to break out of my T-shirt and yell, “I love you, I love you!!!”

      3:32 p.m.

      I hope I am not being driven to the brink

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