‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’. Louise Rennison
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you have to ask yourself this: what sadist decided to feature a family called Koch in our textbooks? They know that they are going to be read out by the naff and the sad (German teachers) to a load of giggling and hysterical girls obsessed with boys and rudey-dudeyness. The family could have been called anything, couldn’t they? Schwartz or Schmidt, for instance, but oh no, it had to be the Kochs and their spangleferkels. How many sausages can one family eat? In the Kochs’ case, the answer is A LOT.
I put my hand up because I am sehr interested in the Kochs.
Herr Kamyer said, “Ja, Georgia?”
I said, “Herr Kamyer, did all the Kochs go camping, or was it just the little Kochs and the big Kochs stayed behind? Or was it a mixture of little and big Kochs that came out?”
The whole class was in uproar. Herr Kamyer was, as usual, completely bewildered. He said, “Vat is zo funny about the Kochs? Do you not haf the Kochs in England?”
Happy days.
As we lolloped off I said, “German is such a restful and amusing language, isn’t it? Incomprehensible, obviously. As, indeed, are the lederhosen that the Germans go yodelling in.”
Jas was in Jasland and said, “You think The Sound of Music is what Germany is like, don’t you? That’s why you always rave on about singing nuns and yodelling.”
“Well, The Sound of Music is, of course, a documentary-style film. You can’t argue with facts, and I do know what I’m talking about because Libby has made me watch it twelve times.”
“It was set in Austria.”
“Yes…and?”
“Last term you said that Germans were obsessed with goats and cheese.”
“Yes…and?”
“That was because you had read Heidi, and that was set in Switzerland.”
“Jas, what in the name of Beelzebub’s stamp collection are you going on about?”
“You are crap at geoggers.”
Oh, rave on, fringey nitwit. (I didn’t say that bit aloud because I am grooming her to be my sidekick on the Road to Romance.)
Still, in the interests of world peace I might be forced to get the old atlas out and look at where Memphis is and so on.
Work work work, I’m so vair tired. And I still have to walk all the way home.
I wonder if Jazzy will give me a piggyback?
4:30 p.m.
No.
5:00 p.m.
I’ll be bloody glad when Gordy is allowed out. When I arrived home he had the rubber plant on his head. I’ve put the stump back in the plant pot and superglued some of the leaves back on. With a bit of luck it will be all right till we go away, and then I can blame it on whatever fool cat-sits for us.
In my bedroom
How can I find out exactly where Masimo is?
Five minutes later
I can’t trust Radio Jas to ask Tom to find out where Masimo has gone in Hamburger-a-gogo land. Anytime I ask her anything private it’s usually on the Radio Jas airwaves in about two and a half minutes. Her idea of being subtle and finding out things is that she goes out into the street and shouts, “Anyone know anything about this secret thing I am never going to mention?”
Hmmmmmmmm.
I hate to admit it, but I need the assistance of Dave the Laugh.
Donner and Blitzen!
If I could just accidentally bump into him on the way home then I wouldn’t have to phone him.
Ten minutes later
Because if I phone him and Rachel is there I will feel like a facsimile of a sham. I mean he is officially (ish) going out with her.
Five minutes later
Even though he keeps snogging me.
Ten minutes later
Anyway, how can I trust anything he says – it was him, after all, who said he fancied my mum!
But then he is also my mate and official Hornmeister.
Also, he said that I have accidentally done the right thing and become Mystery Girl with Masimo.
Tuesday May 10th
on the way home
Jas and me were ambushed by four Foxwood lads. Two of them deliberately ran into my legs on their bikes, fell off, got back on backwards and started circling us really fast yelling, “You slags!!”
Why?
We were just looking at them and then they fell off their bikes again, this time down a ditch. While they were climbing out we set off walking. After a couple of minutes we noticed they were lurking along behind us, pretending not to follow us. Then Dave the Laugh and his mates appeared round the corner. Dave smiled. He has a great smile and he looked as if he was really glad to see me. He has grown his hair a bit since I last saw him and it looked very cool. Oh shutupshutup, voice of the Horn.
He said, “Hello, Sex Kitty and pal.”
Then he saw the boy bloodhounds following us.
“Well, if it isn’t Tosser Thompson and his band of trainee tossers. On your way kids.”
Dave really is quite well built and he was just standing looking at them.
One of the trainee tossers said, “Come on, it’s not worth it.” and they shuffled off, shoving each other and making pretend farting noises.
Wow! It was a bit like Gladiator. But not set in Roman times, and Dave was wearing his school trousers and not a goatskin…More’s the pity. Shutupshutup.
Dave put his arm around me.
“You entice them, you know, with your sparkling personality and magnificent nungas.”
He is soooo annoying. And rude. I tried to have a strop, but he is notoriously difficult to do that with.
As we walked along Jas said, “S’later” and went off home. Dave’s mates all said “S’later” until it was just me and Dave.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m surpressing my red bottom, but he does seem to be getting better-looking all the time. But no, no, he is not the only one and only. He is yesterday’s news. Last week’s snog. Anyway, I said to him, “Aren’t you rushing to meet your GIRLFRIEND? Won’t your GIRLFRIEND be upset if she sees you with me?”
And he started that, “Are you mad?” thing. I managed to stop myself joining in, otherwise it would have developed into tickly bears and then possibly number six. Who knows?
Who knows what goes on in my mind? I will be the last to know. Even when I am totally and without doubtosity in luuurve, absolutely wouldn’t dream of being with anyone else, etc. etc., still the Cosmic Horn rears its ugly head. And there is something about Dave and his special lip-nibbling technique. In fact he is one of the best snoggers I have come across, and I haven’t even snogged Masimo yet. What if Italian boys are useless in the snoggosity department? What if Masimo looks cool but is a nunga-pouncer like Mark Big Gob? Or kisses all wet and sucky like Whelk Boy?
Dave interrupted my brain, thank the Lord.
“So,