‘… and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’. Louise Rennison
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Mr Mad. I spoke clearly and loudly. “You need another broom to beat him off with.”
I said again, “YOU NEED ANOTHER BROOM TO BEAT HIM OFF WITH.”
He said, “There’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf.”
And I said, “Pardon?”
Which is an excellent display of humourosity in anyone’s book. Except Mr Mad’s. In the end, I lassoed Angus with the clothesline and dragged him home and locked him in the airing cupboard. Dad’s “smalls” (not) will be in tatters by morning, but you can’t have everything.
Sunday March 6th
Dreamed about the Sex God and our marriage. It was really groovy and gorgey. I wore a long white veil, and when I was at the altar SG pushed it back and said, “Why… Georgia, you’re beautiful.” And I didn’t go cross-eyed or speak in a stupid German accent. I even remembered to put my tongue at the back of my teeth to stop my nostrils flaring when I smiled. The church was packed with loads of friends, and everyone looked nice and relatively normal. Even Vati had shaved the tiny badger off his chin, and Uncle Eddie had a hat on so that he didn’t look quite so much like a boiled egg in a suit.
The choir was singing “Isn’t She Lovely?” and for some reason the choir was made up of chipmunks and Libby was in charge of them. It was sweet, even if the singing was a bit high-pitched.
And then the vicar said, “Is there anyone here who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?”
I was gazing into the dark blue of Sex God’s eyes, dreamy dreamy. Then from the back, Jackie Bummer (smoking a fag) shouted, “I’ve got a reason: Georgia has got extreme red-bottomosity.”
And Alison Bummer (smoking two fags) joined in, “Yeah, and the Cosmic Horn.”
And I could feel myself getting hotter and hotter, and I couldn’t breathe. I woke up crying out to find Libby sitting on my nungas with Charlie Horse and singing, “Smelly the elepan bagged her trunk and said goodguy to the circus.”
8:15 a.m.
It’s only 8:15 a.m. On Sunday. I want to sleep for ever and ever and never wake up to life as a red-bottomed spinster.
8:30 a.m.
Maybe if I make a special plea to Baby Jesus for clemency he will hear me. If I promise to put my red bottom aside with a firm hand, he might send the SG back to me.
8:35 a.m
I can’t pray here – Baby Jesus won’t be able to hear a thing above Libby’s singing. Maybe I should make the supreme sacrifice and go to God’s house. Call-me-Arnold the vicar would be beside himself with joy; he would probably prepare a fatted whatsit… pensioner.
9:05 a.m
What should I wear for church? Keep it simple and reverential, I think.
9:36 a.m.
My false eyelashes are fab.
9:37 a.m
Maybe I shouldn’t wear them, though, because it might give the wrong impression. It might imply that I’m a bit superficial. I’ll take them off.
9:38 a.m
It has taken me ages to stick them on, though. Anyway, if God can read your every thought because of his impotence ability, He will know that I really want to wear my eyelashes and have only taken them off in case He didn’t like them. They didn’t have false eyelashes in ye olde Godde tymes so it is a moot point
Perhaps He will think they are my real ones.
9:40 a.m
But that would make Him not an impotent all-wise God, that would make Him a really dim God. Who can’t even tell the difference between real and false eyelashes, even though He has been watching someone put them on for the last half an hour.
And I say that with all reverencosity.
Anyway, surely He is looking at the starving millions, not sneaking around in my bedroom.
Intheloo 9:50 a.m.
Is He watching me now? Erlack.
In the street out side my house 10:10 a.m
Quiet, apart from Mr and Mrs Across the Road’s house. As I passed by, there was loads of shouting and yowling. I hope Mr Across the Road is not ill-treating Angus’s children. He looks like a kittykat abuser to me. And he has a very volatile temperament. The least thing sets him off. He’s like my vati. He appeared shouting and yelling at his kitchen door as I went by to God’s house. At first I thought he was wearing a fur coat and hat until I realised the coat and hat were moving. He was completely covered in Angus’s offspring.
Naomi as usual is not taking a blind bit of notice. She is a bit of a slutty mother: mostly she just lolls around in the kitchen window enticing Angus with her bottom antics.
Last week the kittykats, who are ADORABLE, if a bit on the bonkers side, burrowed their way under the fence and were larking around in Mr and Mrs Next Door’s ornamental pond.
I said to Mutti, “I didn’t know the Next Doors had flying fish in their pond.”
And she said, “They haven’t.”
The flying fish turned out to be goldfish that the kittykats were biffing about in the air. When the mad old next-door loons noticed and came raging out of the house, the kittykats cleared off back under the fence. I don’t know what the fuss is about: they got the boring old goldfish back into the pond. Even the one caught in the hedge. Anyway, as punishment, the kitties were caged up in the rabbit run. Not for long it seems.
Mr Across the Road was trying to get the kittykats off him, but they had dug their claws in. They are sooo clever.
He shouted at me, “They’re going, you know. They are going.”
Rave on, rave on. I bet he loves them really.
Church
Call-me-Arnold was alarmingly glad to see me. He kept calling me his child. Which I am clearly not. My vati is an embarrassment in the extreme, but he is not an albino. Call-me-Arnold is so blondy that his head is practically transparent
I really gave up the will to carry on when Call-me-Arnold got his guitar out to sing some incredibly crap song about the seasons. Why can’t we just sing something depressing like we do at school and get on with it? I even had to shake hands with people. But I must remember this is God’s house and also that I am asking for a cosmic favour.
At the end, after most people had filed out, I noticed that some people were going to a side chapel and lighting a candle and then praying.
That must be the cosmic request shop. Fab! I would go light a candle and plead for mine and Robbie’s love.
I went up and got my candle and lit it, ready for action, but an elderly lady was kneeling right in front of the display thing. I could hear her mumbling. She had a headscarf on. On and on she went, mumble mumble. Bit greedy, really. She must have had a whole list of stuff to ask for.
Ho hum, pig’s bum.
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