Skinny Melon And Me. Jean Ure

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      Tuesday

      Slime stew for dinner today. It had a cardboard lid which I thought they had forgotten to remove before heating but John Lloyd said it was pastry. All I can say is it didn’t taste like it.

      I told Skin about Slimey and his stupid goldfish and she said that as a matter of fact you can communicate with goldfish “in a sort of way”. She said that they get used to you and will come to the surface for food. I said, “Oh, brilliant! Do they speak to you? Do they play games? Can you take them for walks?” Skinny told me not to be stupid. She said, “A fish is not a dog.” I said, “I know that, thank you very much.” She then informed me that I was just being horrible “because the fish were Roly’s idea and nothing that he thinks of is ever right for you.”

      Cheek! What does she know about it?

      On the way home from school we had a bit of an argument. Well, a bit of a quarrel really, I suppose. The Skinbag revealed to me that she thinks wearing a bra makes it look as if she has a real bust. Ho ho! What a laugh! I told her she was kidding herself and she got quite snappish and said, “Well, you needn’t imagine you’d win any prizes! Two goose pimples is all you’ve got.”

      I thought that was uncalled for. I mean, that was a very personal sort of remark to make. You don’t expect it from someone calling herself your best friend. We grouched at each other all the way home. Skinny said I was a midget, which isn’t true because there are at least two people in our class that are shorter than me, and I said she didn’t have any waist, which is true, and she can’t deny it. She hasn’t any shape at all. Then she said I had a nose like a squashed tomato, and I said she had a face like a Frankfurter, and by the time we got to her road we weren’t talking any more, just stomping along in a simmering silence.

      I went on simmering all through tea, because I think it’s good to let people stew in their own juice for a bit otherwise they think you’re crawling. I mean, I didn’t see why I should be the one to ring when she was just as much to blame as I was. In fact she was the one who started it, going on about the goldfish. If she hadn’t gone on about goldfish, I wouldn’t have said that about her kidding herself over her bust. I know the goldfish were earlier, but it really maddened me her saying what she said. That is, about me being horrible to Slime. She ought to try living with him.

      For instance, all the time I’m simmering he’s sitting there at the table cracking his fingers, which is this thing that he does. Crack, crack, crack, going off like pistol shots. And then he starts making more of his stupid jokes like, “What do you get if you cross a witch with an ice cube? A cold spell,” until I couldn’t stand it any more so I went and tried ringing the Skinbag, only her number was engaged, but then seconds later she rang me and said she’d tried to get me before but my number was engaged, and I said, “That was me trying to get you,” and she said, “Oh, right,” and there was this awkward pause, and then we both spoke together in a rush.

      I said, “I’m really sorry I said that about your face looking like a Frankfurter,” and Skinny said, “I apologise for saying you were a midget.” And so then we were friends again and started talking about our maths homework.

      Why couldn’t Mum and Dad be like that?

      Wednesday

      Scum and matter pie, and a dollop of cold sick. Well, that’s what it looked like. Skinny and me have this theory about school dinners. We reckon they take all the stuff that’s scraped off the plates and recycle it. Then they dish it back up as slime or slush or squidgy messes and give it fancy names such as Cheese and Onion Tart or Lentil Bake. No wonder the staff don’t eat with us. Mrs James says it’s to avoid the rabble (meaning us). She says, “We like a bit of peace and quiet.”

      I bet! They like a bit of proper food and not regurgitated yuck.

      Thursday

      Rat hot-pot. Slimey Roland wouldn’t have touched it! He’s a cranky vegetarian. He said to me yesterday, “You wouldn’t eat a puppy, would you? So why eat a lamb?” He has a nerve, talking about puppies. If it weren’t for him I could have one. I’m going to see them tomorrow.

      Friday

      I saw them. They are gorgeous! They look like little balls of fluff.

      But all of them have been spoken for except one. I came rushing home to tell Mum and she said, “Oh, Cherry, don’t start that again!” in a pleading sort of voice, which shows she’s got a guilty conscience. I said, “But Mum, they’re so gorgeous!” and at that point Slimey Roland came barging into the conversation. He said, “Oh, Cherry Pie, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Don’t go on at your mum!”

      I hope he isn’t going to make a habit of calling me Cherry Pie. It makes me want to throw up.

      Saturday

      Slime said to me at breakfast this morning, “By the way, little lambs are rather gorgeous, too.”

      What’s that to do with anything? I’m not asking for a lamb!

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