‘It’s OK, I’m wearing really big knickers!’. Louise Rennison
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of those pedigree Burmese ones, all leaping around. In a sort of fenced enclosure. They are very expensive, pedigree Burmese cats. They are the Naomi Campbells of the cat world. Not that they do a lot of modelling. Too furry. And not tall enough. Although they would be really good on the catwalk!!! Hahahahaha. Lalalalala. I think I am a comedy genius. Now if only the SG would phone and say, “I’m coming round now, oh gorgeous one. I didn’t realise how close I came to losing you. I am mesmerised by your beautosity.” Life would be beyond fab and entering the marvy zone.
Midday
Met Jas and we went to the park. I’ve got a spot on my chin but I’ve made it look like a beauty spot with an eyebrow pencil. With my shades on I look a bit like an Italian person. I think Jas was embarrassed about me not going to NZ after what she said. I am too considerate to mention it so I just said, “Do you really love me, Jas?”
She went all red.
As we strolled by the tennis courts we saw Melanie Griffiths sunbathing. I may have mentioned this before but she has got the largest breasts known to humanity. Some lads went by and went “Phwooar!”. One of them pretended to be juggling. Sometimes I feel that boys will always remain a mystery to me. I’ve felt that particularly since BG from up the road rested his hand on my basooma for no particular reason. Mel saw us looking so I said, “Oh, hi Mel!” sincerely.
She said, “Hi!” but I don’t think she meant it.
I said to Jas, “Where does she get her bras from? They must be made by those blokes who built the Forth Bridge, Ted and Mick Forth.” I just made that up; I don’t know what they were called.
We lay down on the grass to sunbathe and Jas said, “Do you think I should get a bra?”
I was thinking what I should wear when I saw Robbie again. I said, “Robbie hasn’t phone yet, you know.”
Jas was silent. I squinted round at her and she was sort of wobbling her shoulders around. I said, “What in the name of pantyhose are you doing?”
She said, “I’m seeing if my basoomas wobble.”
Jas can be spectacularly dim. I think that if I dressed Angus in her school uniform probably no one would notice for days. Unless they tried to take a snack away.
I said, “Do the pencil test. You put a pencil under a breast and if it falls out you are OK. If it stays there, sort of trapped by your basooma, you’re not and you should get help and support in the bra department.”
She was full-on, attention-wise, then. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sadly my mum can get a whole pencil case up there.”
Jas was rummaging about. “I’ve got a pencil in my rucky, I’m going to try it.”
“Jas, Tom hasn’t said anything about Robbie, has he?”
As per usual Jas had gone off into the twilight world in her head. She was fiddling about with a pencil up her T-shirt. She said, “Hahahahaha, it fell out!!! I passed, I passed…you try it.”
I wasn’t interested. “Why would SG snog me and say ‘see you later’ if he didn’t mean ‘see you later’? Do you think he’s worried about me being younger than him? Or do you think it’s my nose?”
You might as well be talking to a duck. Jas was shoving the pencil at me. “Go on, go on…you’re scared.”
“Try it, then.”
“No I’m not. I’m not frightened of a pencil.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake.”
I grabbed the pencil from her and pulled up my top and put the pencil underneath my right basooma. Actually it stuck there, but I jiggled a bit. I said, “Yeah, it falls out.”
Jas said, “You jiggled.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I saw you.”
“I didn’t. You’re a mad biscuit.”
“You did. Look, let me do it, I’ll show you.”
She grabbed the pencil and was trying to put it under my basooma when Jackie and Alison, the Bummer Twins, came round the corner of the tennis courts. Jackie removed the fag from her mouth long enough to say, “Well, well, well, our lezzo friends are out for an afternoon fondle.”
Oh no, here we go again with the lesbian rumours. That will be something to look forward to next term.
Monday July 26th
2:00 p.m.
Phew, what a scorcher!!! Sun shining, birds tweeting. Mr and Mrs Next Door in their garden. They are wearing shorts– again. Mr Next Door’s shorts really are gigantic in the bottom department. You’d think that out of courtesy to others he’d keep out of public view when he was wearing them. What if a very, very old person– even older than him– came along unexpectedly? And what if they weren’t in peak medical condition? The sight of Mr Next Door in his shorts could bring on a dangerous spasm. Still, that is another example of the bottomless (oo-er!) selfishosity of so-called grown-ups for you.
Teatime
4:50 p.m.
Fabulous day…not. Grandad came round. Even he was wearing shorts. As I said to Mum, “There is really no need for that.”
He is so bow-legged that Angus can walk in between his legs with a stick and Grandad doesn’t even notice. Mind you he doesn’t notice much as he lives in the twilight world of the elderly mad. After fiddling in his prehistoric shorts he gave me twenty pence and said, “There you are, don’t spend it all at once.” Then he laughed so much his false teeth shot out. He was wheezing away for so long I thought he’d choke to death and then I’d have to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. Miss Stamp (Sports Kommandant) made us learn it in First Aid. If someone swallows a boiled sweet or something and chokes, you grab them from behind and put your arms round below their breastbone. Then you squeeze them really hard until the sweet shoots out. Apparently some German bloke called Mr Heimlich made it up. Why Germans have to go round grabbing people innocently choking on sweets I don’t know. But they do. That is the mystery of the German people.
8:00 p.m.
Well, that is it. No call from the SG. He must be back. I can’t call him because I have pride. Well actually, I did phone him but there was no reply. I didn’t leave a message. I don’t understand boys. How could you do number six type snogging and then not call someone?
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