Are these my basoomas I see before me?. Louise Rennison
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said, “I’m growing as fast as I can. Look at the size of my nungas!”
Wet Lindsay had to put her oar in.
“The trouble is, of course, that she does lead the others into it.”
Oh yeah, that’ll be the day.
I started to say, “Well actually, funnily enough, this time it was…”
And Jas looked at me like an annoying fringey puppy. Dear God, she actually did want to be a prefect. It is vair nice of me to even be mates with her under the circs.
It’s an act of charity really. And when I had mentioned my plan for sophisticosity she had said, “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”
But then she looked at me again. A bit tearful. Oh, bloody hell.
It had to be done.
I said, “Oh, OK, yes, it was my idea…”
Rosie and Jools said, “Well, not really. We all…”
But I ploughed on.
“Whatever they say, they are my mates and they are covering for me. It was my idea, but it was only a tiddly tiny firey thing.”
Mr Attwood said, “I bet that’s what the baker said about the fire he started that turned into the Great Fire of London.”
What is he rambling on about? We’re not even in London.
Anyway, the long and the long of it is that the others have got a ticking-off and reprimands and I have got detention…and worst of all…have to “help” Mr Attwood this term. Again.
Oh, what larks we’ll have.
Not.
Detention 4:00 p.m. Jas squeezed my arm as she left for home and pressed a secret stash of Midget Gems into my hand. She said, “You are truly my bezzie mate of all time, Georgia.”
And she is not wrong. I am without doubtosity top mate of all time.
4:05 p.m. Luckily, I have got Miss Wilson as my prison guard so I will be able to make best possible use of my time.
First of all, I am going to plan my Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.
Fifteen minutes later The Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.
1. “You are never alone with your lippy and mascara.” I am going to make a sort of pouch that fits under my bra and pants so that I have a secret supply at all times. Even if the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly (oo-er) I can refresh by reaching for my pouch.
NB. Make my pouch out of nice softy soft material so that I can wear it in bed. In case the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly in the night. (Oo-er.)
2. I will exude sophisticosity with just a hint of glaciosity. I think the European Luuurve God likes this sort of thing. He is not, after all, a crude Viking like Sven who quite frankly wouldn’t recognise glaciosity if it hit him in the face. On the contrary, Sven would think you were playing hard to get because you were a lezzie and that would give him the Horn.
Four minutes later 3. Be nice. This means regrettably I will not be disco dancing like a tit any more. When the Stiff Dylans play, I will waft around like a…wafting thing on waft tablets. I will laugh lightly, but at no time don a false beard.
False beards are over. I will never wear the beard again.
Ditto horns. And finally…
4. I will not do arm-wrestling or any kind of wrestling with Dave the Laugh.
Dave the Laugh is no longer a laugh to me. He is Emma’s boyfriend and my mate.
Actually, I wonder where he is? I haven’t seen him for yonks. Ah, well. Stop thinking about Dave the Laugh. He is not in this re-entrancing document.
Five minutes later Blimey, I have finished my manifesto and it is still not time to go home. Miss Wilson is humming and reading something. It had better not be some humming idea she has for the school play. I am not doing a humming version of Rom and Jule and that is a fact. I am not humming in tights.
Four minutes later I know what I will do next. I will make another scale for the Ace Gang. On how they too can become great mates like what I am.
Ten minutes later Great mates scale.
1 Offer a mate a Midget Gem without being asked.
2 2. Share your last Jammy Dodger even though you really want it and your mate may be flicking her fringe about.
3 Listen to your mate rambling on about themselves when you have got vair important things to do yourself (e.g. nails, plucking etc.).
4 Be with your mate through thick and thin. Or even if they are both thick and thin. Tee-hee. I made a great mate-type joke there. Did you see??? Which leads me to Number 5.
5 Always be game for a laugh even though you may be blubbing on the inside.Crikey, I am coming out of this scale VAIR well indeed. But as everyone knows, I do not blow my own trumpet. I just blow my own HOOOOORN.No, I don’t. And that brings me to my tip-toppy of the toppimost great mate scale.
6 Even when they have all the reason in the universe to be top dog (i.e. when they are the girlfriend of a Luuurve God, even if it is slightly on a sale-or-return basis) a top mate does not blow their own trumpet. Or snitch on her less fortunate mates.
6:00 p.m. On my way home at last. Miss Wilson said, “Well, now that’s over, I expect you are excited about our workshop for Romeo and Juliet.”
Oh no, the humming in tights.
Miss Wilson was rambling on.
“I’ve been busy coming up with some original ideas. I think it’s important to keep up with you modern girls. I hope we can make this a…erm…groovy production.”
Oh dear God.
I was walking along as fast as I could out of the school gates. She is wearing a knitted hat. It has a bobble on it.
That is all I am saying. I am not being bobble-ist.
She turned left out of the gate with me. Please, please let her not be going my way. I had done my detention!!!
She was still going on.
What if she linked arms with me?????
“I know you girls might think that us teachers are not very, you know…hip.”
What? She was trying to be my mate! Please don’t let her tell me about her growing feelings for Herr Kamyer. Maybe she’ll call him by his first name. I don’t even know what that is. I don’t want to know. I bet it’s Rudi!!!! Stop being my friend!! I’ve got enough on my plate without having to be friends with knitted people.
She didn’t hear my inner screaming though. She said, “Yes, I think you will see that I do listen to your ideas and so on. For instance, when Jas suggested that perhaps Juliet could have a little companion-a sort of puppet dog-I thought ‘Bingo’!!”
I couldn’t stop myself, even though I had taken a vow of silence until she shut up or I died. I said, “Er, Miss Wilson, do you remember your last ‘Bingo’ idea? Do you remember, you said that juggling would be ‘happening’, but what actually ‘happened’ was that Melanie toppled over with the weight of her own basoomas and the oranges bounced into the audience.”
Miss Wilson said, “Well, that’s the excitement of theatre, isn’t it? The danger, the risk!”
“Yes, my grandvati said an orange nearly took his eye out, so…”
Miss Wilson fortunately saw a bus coming and scampered off to get it. Thank the Lord.
It really is tragic how keen she is to get on with us. Touching really, if you like that sort of thing. Which I don’t.
Thank