The Taming Of The Tights. Louise Rennison

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      I lay down on my squirrel bed and tucked a squirrel slipper beside me. I’m going to do my homework. Right, I’m opening the envelope from Sidone.

       Girls, my girls,

       Start to explore your feelings through Art and Theatre. Get used to tapping into your Inner You-ness. The You that makes you you-nique. Access your feelings and bring them to the surface.

       How do we do this? How do we share this inner world with our audience?

       Well, some examples:

       Are you happy? Happy to be back at Dother Hall? Feeling full of creative juices? Of course you are. Why not experiment with coloured scarves or tambourines.

       Or maybe you are angry? Frustrated by a world which is disinterested in art and artists. I myself often do an expressive stamping dance. To let my feelings free. I growl or shake my hair about angrily. You may feel like swishing your hair about. You need accompaniment. Choose an unusual instrument to pluck.

       A comb perhaps?

       And so on.

      That’s the bit, isn’t it?

      The ‘and so on’ bit. That’s when you’re on your own.

      Right, I’m going to express what I am feeling.

      What am I feeling?

      The wind is whining in the trees. I’m sitting in bed with a squirrel slipper and little Lullah and little Ruby have left me.

      I’m feeling lonely. Yeah, lonely.

      Lone-lee.

      So how shall I express that physically?

      I’ll stand up and slouch around in a lonely way. Slouch slouch. Yeah.

      Yeah, dragging my feet, good.

      Sighing.

      But I’m also feeling angry. Angry that Dr Lightowler hates me for no reason. Angry that the owls have left me. Angry that the Bottomleys have sent me a threatening letter.

      Anger-ee.

      Saying it out loud is quite good.

      “Lone-lee.”

      “Anger-ee.”

      It’s got a rhythm to it. Maybe I could do a sort of rap song. About anger and loneliness but …

      But the twist is – the words are about owlets, but it’s really about Dr Lightowler and the Bottomleys. I’m not going to think too much. I’m going to pace about and bang stuff like rappers do.

      Right, I’m pacing.

      Up to the door, back to the window, up to the door, back to the …

      Ow. I’ve just banged my toe on the bed leg. It’s making me quite angry actually. Because I can only do about four paces before I bump into something wooden.

      I want to hit something.

      I’m going to hit something. I’m banging a squirrel slipper on the dressing table. Yeah! It feels good.

      Right, I’m pacing, pacing and banging the slipper on the bed end. Now on the wardrobe door. Yeah yeah!! I’m stepping up the rhythm now, pacing and banging anything I pass. Pace, pace, bang, bang.

      Bang the window sill.

      Bang the door.

      Bang the bedhead.

      Bang the lamp … oh damn … pick up the lamp.

      It’s about owlets leaving and not even bothering to say goodbye after all I’ve done for them. Here we go:

       Oh yeah

       Everything leaves

       Oh yes uh

       (bang bang)

       Without warning

       Oh yes uh

       (bang bang)

       Squeaks from a beak

       Crunch in a cheek

       Mouse gone

       Owl gone

       Oh yes uh

       (bang bang)

       Everything goes

       Oh yes uh

       (bang bang)

       Without warning

       Not even in the morning

       Rastafari

       Uh.

      I wrote it down quickly in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. It looks quite cool. But why have I turned into a Rastafarian at the end?

      It was swishing my hair around that did it. I think I was imagining dreadlocks. Maybe that’s what Monty means about finding your Inner Maleness.

      Maybe I have an Inner Rastafarian Bloke.

      I think Blaise will get my rap though. At least she likes me. Well, she thinks I’m unusual.

      The wind had gathered, the temperature had dropped and it felt like snow was on its way. Brrr.

      I put my feet on the hot-water bottle that Dibdobs brought me. It’s got a knitted jacket on it. Harold made it at his men’s knitting circle. And I do mean a jacket. With a collar and buttons.

      I bet Harold will be able to help me a lot with The Taming of the Shrew – he’s constantly talking about his Inner Woman.

      Then something thudded against my window. Maybe it’s a branch blown off by the wind. Or … no …

      It had better not be Cain up to his old tricks!

      I flung back my curtains and opened a window to the chill night air. There on the window sill was little Lullah!

      Or maybe Ruby?

      No, it was defo little Lullah because her legs were so long and gangly.

      I felt tears prick my eyes as I looked at her. Her owly yellow eyes were staring and blinking back at me. Oh, oh, СКАЧАТЬ