A Midsummer Tights Dream. Louise Rennison

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СКАЧАТЬ my notebook because one day it may be comedy gold.

      Especially if I do a ‘Bird Opera’.

      Which I might. Following on from the triumph of my bicycle ballet.

      I could call it, “Feather!”

      Or maybe “Saturday Night Feather!”

      “We Will Flock You!”

      “Grouse!”

      “Pheasant of the Opera.”

      Right, I am going to officially start my daily jottings in my performing arts notebook. I wonder if it’s safe to hide it under my pillow? Then I could keep Alex’s letter in the back of it.

      I need a name for my secret notebook.

      What shall I call it?

      What does the book suggest? I looked at the cover. Plums, dark…

      Dark, fruit… unanswered questions… questions that need answering.

      Something like…

      The Darkly Demanding Damson Diary.

      That’s me, that is.

      It’s going to be my spontaneous stream of consciousness. Here goes…

      I’ll start a new page after the Labradad entry. I may need to add drawings, and so on, of the Labradad. So I’ll start a new blank page and begin. Right, I’m just going to go mad and improvise. I’m going to let myself go and not censor myself at all. Let my pen flow over the pages.

      Oh, hang on, I’ll just get a pen that has a thicker point.

      Hmmmm, good, good. Nice thick pen. Right.

      Now, my stream of consciousness begins… No, no, my feet are all wrong. No one can improvise with squirrel slippers on. I’ll put my ballet shoes on for inspiration. Yes, good, good. Ballet shoes, good. And… oh, crikey now I’ve got the squirrel slippers tail sticking in my bottom… I’ll just… anyway, off we jolly well go…

      Aaaah, once again I can smell the crowd and hear the roar of the greasepaint. This is where I belong. I want to go to the tippy top of the toppermost. I know that Sidone Beaver has said that we will pay the price of fame.

      She said, “Your feet will bleed before you wear the golden slippers of applause.”

      I am ready. I am girding my feet and my loins to suffer what I have to for my art. Here in the wilds of Yorkshire I feel the spirit of Charlotte Brontë filling my snug winter tights. And in my heart I hold the letter from Alex. And so my Winter of Love begins with his letter.

      Performance note:

      When I say I am holding the letter from Alex with my heart, I don’t mean this in a weird way.

      I know that hearts can’t hold letters really.

      Although I could make a papier mâché heart with little arms.

      When I went down the wooden stairs to the kitchen, Dobbins was trying to dress the lunatic twins for school. Max looked at me and smiled his sock animal smile.

      He looks even more not normal.

      Oh I see. He’s got goggles on. And a swimming hat. Cripes, it’s scary. Goggle boy came for his morning knee hug.

      “Ug oo, Lullah. I’s a wimmen.”

      What? He’s a woman now? Overnight?

      I managed to escape with minimal hugging. Dibdobs was red faced and breathless.

      “Hello, Tallulah dear, there’s a boiley egg for you, but I… will you take the goggles off, Sam dear, I can’t get your beret on.”

      Sam biffed her with his snorkel and knocked her glasses sideways.

      “NO, LADY. I’s a WIMMEN too!!!!!”

      Dibdobs was trying to put a beret over the top of his swimming hat.

      You can’t say she doesn’t try.

      Dibdobs said, “It’s not swimming till this afternoon.”

      Max said, “Shhhh, lady.”

      They were wearing snorkels and berets when they left. They’ll never make any normal friends.

      Five minutes later, I was staggering through the village to the path that leads to Dother Hall. For once it isn’t snowing or raining but there is a gale force wind blowing. Ruby yelled across at me from The Blind Pig, “Ay, come and say goodbye to Matilda, she wants to show you summat.”

      When I struggled over to the shelter of Ruby’s front door, Matilda went dogtastic.

      Leaping up at me.

      She has her ballet tutu on! It really suits her. And I notice she is wearing a little satchel on top of it.

      Ruby said, “She’s got her playtime snacks in it.”

      I said to Matilda, “Have you got your doggie treats in there? Have you got your ickle doggie bickies in there, have you?” She nuzzled me with her snout. Aaaah. I don’t normally like animals nuzzling me, but she is so cute.

      Then Ruby said, “Yep, she’s got her snack hoofs.”

      “Hoofs?”

      Ruby was going off down the path towards Blubberhouse. “Dad gets them from the farm when they slaughter a cow. He has the cow heels and Matilda has the cow hoofs.”

      This is not the kind of talk that a creative artiste listens to.

      Especially one who has had her face licked by a hoof eater (Matilda).

      And an animal in trousers (Cain).

      Two face-lickings in as many days.

      I was halfway to college in about ten minutes because the wind was behind me. As I passed by the sign that read ‘Woolfe Academy for Boys’ (at about 20 miles an hour) I couldn’t help thinking about Charlie again.

      What was it going to be like when we bumped into each other?

      I wish I could say he was a rubbish kisser.

      Like bat boy.

      But he wasn’t. It was softy and made my legs feel a bit droopy and… it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. Well, in fact, it was the second kiss I’ve ever had. For all I know it might have been a Number 4 on Georgia’s snogging scale, “a kiss lasting over three minutes without a break”. I will never know though, because I didn’t have a watch.

      Anyway, I’m not going to ever think about it again. About how he kissed me, and then said this is wrong, I’ve got a girlfriend.

      And another thing СКАЧАТЬ