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I noticed he had a belt round his elephant jeans. So now he didn’t look like a twit any more. He looked like a twit with a belt on.

      Mabs said, “Don’t look at them and they’ll get bored.”

      I said, “Can we get back to the matter I hold in my hand?”

      Rosie went, “Oo-er.”

      I gave her my worst look and went on, “What do you think ‘I am playing fun’ means?”

      Ellen said, “Well, erm, I don’t know but you know, well – well, you know when a boy says ‘See you later’, well, like when Declan said ‘See you later’ and that was, like, three days ago now. So, er, this is, like, later, isn’t it? Or something. And he hasn’t, like, seen me.”

      Even though we were actually officially having the official Ace Gang meeting officially for me (as I had officially called it), I did feel quite sorry for Ellen. And also it has to be said it would be a bloody relief if she did get off with Declan.

      Then she would leave Dave the Laugh alone.

      Not that it is any of my business whether she leaves Dave the Laugh alone or not.

      I mean, he has a girlfriend anyway.

      Probably.

      Unless he has told her about the accidental snogging and she is even now taking kickboxing lessons for when she next sees me.

      Anyway, shut up, brain. He has got a girlfriend, which is good because so have I.

      Well, not a girlfriend exactly, but an Italian person.

      Who incidentally does not have a handbag.

      Or a sports bra.

      Whatever Dave the so-called Laugh might say. Why is Dave the Laugh sneaking about in my brain???

      Jools said to Ellen, “Maybe he’s a bit shy.”

      Ellen said, “Yes, but he, I mean, he showed me his Swiss Army knife.”

      I looked at her. What is the right response to that? I said, “Well, maybe he is a bit backward then?”

      Ellen looked like she was going to cry. Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s Y-fronts, if she starts blubbing, I’ll never get round to talking about the Italian Stallion.

      I said quickly, “I know… Jas can ask Tom to get Declan and the lads to come along to Sven’s gig, and hopefully that will be a good excuse for him to get his knife out again (oo-er) and everything will be tickety-boo and so on.”

      Ellen looked a bit cheered up.

      I said, “Now, shall we get back to the official meeting? What do you think ‘I am playing fun’ means?” And that is when an elastic band hit me on the cheek.

      â€œOwww, bloody owww!!!”

      Amazingly, not content with being complete losers, tossers and spoons, the Blunder Boys were flicking rubber bands at us from behind our tree. And then hiding behind it as if we wouldn’t know where they were. Like the Invisible Twits. Not.

      I got up and went behind the tree where they were all larding about, puffing smoke from fags and hitching their trousers up. Dear God. I said to one of the speccy genks, “What is it you want?”

      And he said, “Show us your nungas.”

      They all started snorting and saying, “Yeah, get them out for the lads.”

      Rosie came up behind me and loomed over them. She is not small. She said, “OK, that’s a good plan. We’ll show you our nungas, but first of all we need to see your trouser snakes, to check that all is in order.”

      Ellen and Jools and Mabs and even Woodland Jas came and ganged up in front of them.

      I said, “Come on, lads, drop the old trouser-snake holders.”

      They started backing off, holding on to their trousers.

      Jools said, “Are you a bit shy? Shall we help you?”

      They started walking really quickly backwards as we kept walking. Then they just took off and got over the fence at the back of the park.

      Twelve minutes later

      The Ace Gang wisdomosity is that “I am playing fun” and “Are you playing fun?” roughly translated into Billy Shakespeare language is “I am having a nice time but am missing you. Are you having a nice time but missing me?”

      Which is nice.

      So all should be smoothy friendly friendly, except that there is always a Jas in the manger.

      After about two hours of talking about it, we were all going home and I just innocently said, “So what do you think I should wear when he phones up?”

      And Jas immediately climbed into the huffmobile for no apparent reason. She was all red and flicking her fringe around like it was a fringe-ometer.

      â€œWhy is it always like this with you, Georgia? Why don’t you just say and do normal stuff? For instance, if Tom wanted me to go to the nature reserve with him he would say, ‘Jas, do you want to go to the nature reserve with me? There is a conservation day and we could clear some of the canalside of weeds.’

      â€œAnd I would say, ‘Yes, that would be fab, Tom.’ Simple pimple, not stupidity and guessing what ‘playing fun’ means and what to wear on the phone.”

      What was she rambling on about now?

      I said, “Jas are the painters in, because I think you are being just a tad more mentally unstable than normal.”

      She really had lost her cheese now, because she shouted at me, “Look, I haven’t got any sun protector on and I am almost bound to get peely peely now thanks to you going on. And the short and short of it is that HE IS CALLING YOU TOMORROW AND YOU CAN ASK HIM WHAT HE MEANS!!!” And she stormed off.

      Blimey. We all looked at one another.

      I said, “I think it’s owl trouble.”

      In bed

      What am I going to wear for the phone call though? I wish I wasn’t so pale; I think people can tell if you are a bit tanned. Even down the phone. I bet I can tell immediately if he has a nice tan.

      Two minutes later

      Actually, if he is tanned I think I might faint. I can’t stand him being much more gorgey than he already is.

      Five minutes later

      Should I prepare a speech? Or at least a normal conversation. With some handy topics in case I mislay my brain or it decides to go on an expedition to Outer Loonolia.

      One minute later

      So let’s see, what have I done lately?

      Loads of stuff.

      Five minutes later

      I don’t think I will mention Miss Wilson exposing herself to Herr Kamyer.

      Two minutes later

      Or breaking my bum-oley in the river.

      Four minutes later

      In fact, perhaps it’s better to leave the

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