‘… and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’. Louise Rennison

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      Rosie said, “Yeah right, well, let’s see what happens when she gives you double detention.”

      “Do you know what I saw on TV the other night? Ostriches fall in love with human beings. On ostrich farms they go all gooey and even more dim when humans come to feed them. They try to snog them.”

      “Ostriches try to snog humans?”

      “Yes.”

       “Non.”

       “Mais oui, mon petit idiot, c’est vrai. It is very very vrai.”

      “How can they snog when they have beaks?”

      “You are being a bit beakist, Rosie.”

       Lunchtime

      The Ace Gang are going on and on about the teenage werewolf party. Jas said, “Tom and I are going to wear matching false ears!” And then she had an uncontrollable laughing spaz.

      I said, “Jas, when was the last time you saw a teenage werewolf with false ears?”

      That made her stop snorting like a fool. She was all shuffily on the knicker toaster (radiator). “Well… it’s, well… I mean…”

      Rosie – who is in an alarmingly good mood now that Sven is winging his way home on his sleigh – slapped me on the back and said, “What do you get when you cross a mouse with an elephant?”

      We all just looked at her and she put her glasses on sideways and said, “Massive holes in the skirting board!”

      I feel like a bean in a bikini, tossed around on the sea of life. Set apart from my mates because of heartbreakosity. I love them but how childish they seem, chatting on about false eyebrows. I may never wear extra body hair ever again.

       3:00 a.m.

      We should be having Hawkeye for English but she is too busy torturing people, so Miss Wilson will be taking most of our lessons this term. She is a tremendous div, so English will be more or less a free period.

      Oh, what larks! We are doing Macbeth as our set play. Although Miss Wilson says we are not allowed to say its name: we have to call it “The Scottish Play”, because it’s bad luck to say its name. As I said to Rosie and Jools, “Hurrah! A play about blokes in tights talking in Och Aye language for a thousand years.”

      We’ve all been dished out parts and, tragically, Jas is going to be Lady MacScottishplay. Rosie, Jools and Ellen are the three witches and I am some complete twit in tights called Macduff. Nauseating P. Green is my wife, Lady Macduff. She is thrilled and keeps mooning over at me.

      I don’t see how I am supposed to be a bloke, because they are – as we all know – a complete mystery.

       4:15 p.m.

      On the way home Jas was looking at her hand and going, “Out damn spot.”

      I said, “It’s not the spot on your hand you have to worry about, Jas, it’s the huge lurker lurking on your chin.”

      That shut her up and got her feeling about.

      Actually, she hasn’t got a lurker on her chin, but if she goes on fingering it long enough she will have.

       Home (ha)5:00 p.m.

      Oh brilliant, Angus has gone into my wardrobe and found some of my knickers to attack. He was ambling out of my room with his head through one of the legs like some sort of Arab sheikh. I kicked at him but he dodged out of the way. He was purring really loudly; he loves it when you get rough with him. He is a good example of the benefits of rough love. I should really give him a good kicking every day.

       Kitche 5:30 pm

      Oh yum yum and quelle surprise, we are having les delicieuses fish fingers and frozen peas for our tea! I am sure that I am developing rickets: my legs look distinctly bendy. Vati came in in a hilariously good mood. He kissed me on the head even though I tried to dodge him. I said, “Father, I need my own space and frankly you are in it.”

      He just laughed and said, “I’ve just seen Colin and he and Sandy are having a Lord of the Rings party and we’re all invited.”

      Mutti said, “What a hoot.”

      I said with great meaningosity, “Vati, I will never – and I repeat, never – be wearing an elf’s outfit in this lifetime, and for the sake of any sensitive people on the planet – that is, me – I beg you not to consider green tights.”

      He just smiled and said, “I know you are secretly very thrilled, Georgia.”

      He and Mutti laughed. And Libby joined in with a very alarming sort of laughing. Like a mad Santa Claus and pig combined. “Hohohogoggyhoggyhog.”

      I don’t know what they teach her at nursery school, but it’s not how to be normal.

       Only 6:30 pm

      I wonder what time it is in Kiwi-a-gogo land? They are twenty-four hours ahead of us and it’s Monday here, so it must be Tuesday there.

       6:35 p.m.

      Does that mean that SG knows what I will be wearing for the teenage werewolf party before I do?

      Not that I will be going.

      Will I?

      I will be the last to know as usual.

      Oh Baby Jesus and your cohorts, please make something really great happen. Otherwise I am going to bed. But I will wait for half an hour because I trust in your ultimate goodnosity.

       7:35 p.m.

      It’s not much to ask, is it? But oh no, Baby Jesus is just too busy to make anything interesting happen. Maybe he is holding the pensioner inferno against me.

       In the loo

      Sitting in the loo of life contemplating my navel.

      My navel sticks out a bit. Is it supposed to do that? I hope it’s not unravelling. That would be the final straw.

      Vati keeps books in the loo. How disgusting is that? Pooing and reading. What is he reading? It’s called Live and Let Die. How true.

       8:3O p.m.

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