‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’. Louise Rennison

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Jas, forget about Hunky. He will be too busy lying around in streams with Robbie and hugging marsupials to get up to anything. This is about you and me on the road.”

      “What road?”

      “OK, this is it: when I go to Hamburger-a-gogo…you come with me! Do you see? Driving across America, you and me. We will be like Thelma and Louise!”

      “We’re not called Thelma and Louise.”

      “I know that, I am just saying we will be LIKE THEM.”

      “And we’re not American.”

      “I know that, but I—”

      “And neither of us can drive.”

      Oh dear God.

      I said, “Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.”

      12:00 p.m.

      Ahahaha, Jazzy Spazzy has finally come to her senses (ish). She has got the scent of funosity in her nostrils and wants to come to Hamburger-a-gogo land. A LOT. So now all we have to do is get our parents to let us. We have a two-pronged plan.

      Prong One is a charm offensive on our muttis and vatis to persuade them to let Jas come to America with me. (And also to give her sqillions of squids for spenderoonies.) We are going to be really nice and sweet and listen to them ramble on about the Beatles. I’ve been practising my pleading and they would have to be made of stone not to give me the entire contents of their wallets.

      However, if that fails and they say no, we launch Prong Two: relentless moaning. You know the kind of thing – “All my other friends are allowed to take a mate on holiday with them. How come I am the ONLY person in the universe who is not allowed to take a mate on holiday? Why is it just me? Why? Why oh why oh why?”

      “Why?”

      “It is sooo unfair.”

      “Why?”

      Outside the front-room door 9:10 p.m.

      Right, this is it. I’ve got my old Teletubbies jimjams on for maximosity on the loveablenosity front.

      Front room

      Mutti and Vati were on the sofa, curled round each other. I could clearly see Mum’s knickers. Erlack. And the curtains were open; anyone could see in. A fat bloke passing by might think it was a brothel for the porkier gentleman. I was going to say that but then I remembered my prongs. So I said, “Good evening, Mother, Father.”

      Vati said, “How much?” without even looking at me. I laughed attractively.

      “Oh, Papa, this is not a material matter, it’s to do with friendship and love and—”

      Mum said, “I don’t care how many of your friends have had their navels pierced. You are not.”

      “But I—”

      But she was still rambling on. “Ditto tattoos.”

      “But I—”

      Vati joined in. “And no, you cannot have a flat in Paris and a manservant to help with your homework.”

      Oh, how I nearly laughed. Not. I thought about telling Dad that Rosie said he looked like a brothel madam in his flying helmet and leather jacket, but then I remembered my charm prong and forced a little grin to play around my mouth.

      “You two!!! Always kidding about you cheeky minxes! Anyway, all it is really is that, well…you know…Jas is all miz because of Tom going to Kiwi-a-gogo and, well…You know she’s my pal, and…well…it would be nice for me if you know…anyway, can she?”

      Vati said, “Can she what? Move in? Levitate? What?”

      I bit the whatsit. “Can she come with us to Hamburger-a-gogo land?”

      10:00 p.m.

      Both of our parents have said yes. Unbelievable. Actually, I am not that amazed that Jas’s parents said yes because they are, on the whole, not entirely mad. But my parents?

      Weird.

      It is a miracle for which I would normally thank Jesus. He does seem to be coming up trumps lately. I left Robbie to the snogging possums but then Jesus sent me a replacement Luuurve God. Hurray! As I say, I would normally thank him personally by laying gifts at his feet (or foot, actually, because one of his feet snapped off), however there is a bit of a problem. Libby has been rifling around in my room and she has nicked my statue of him. I’m afraid Jesus has not quite been himself since. The last time I saw him he had a frock on and Libby was calling him “Sandra”, Barbie’s new bestest pal.

      I don’t think God will hold it against us, as he is, after all, a merciful God.

      10:10 p.m.

      Unless you happen to be that snake in the Garden of Eden. Snakey only asked, “Anyone fancy a bit of apple?” and then God made him crawl around on his belly for eternity. Seems a bit harsh. (Although, as I pointed out to Miss Wilson in our interesting talks in RE, if you were a snake in the first place, being made to crawl around on your belly for the rest of your days doesn’t actually seem that bad. Almost like being a snake in fact. I mean this with all reverencosity. I just have a lively mind.)

      Oooohhhhh, I am so excited. I can’t wait to tell the Ace Gang.

      I even kissed my own father AGAIN. This is twice in two days. I must be a bit feverish.

      In my bedroom

      Libby, Gordy, Sandra and Barbie are all snoozing. They look so lovely and cosy. Our Lord, now heavily rouged, is next to Libby’s feet. I don’t know why she likes to sleep upside down. Perhaps because it is very scary waking up to see Gordy looking cross-eyed at you.

      I looked out the window as I did my alternate nostril breathing. It is vair vair calming. You pinch one nostril closed and then breathe in through the other one, and then hold your breath and let the pinched-up one go and breathe out of that. And then you…well, anyway…all I can say is that the Lord Buddha did it, and he didn’t just do it for nothing.

      One minute later

      I hope it’s not like body building. I don’t want to be really calm and have massive nostrils.

      Two minutes later

      For once Mr Next Door has done something nice. He has built a sort of anti-cat fence on the top of his wall made out of barbed wire. Angus will really like it. He gets a bit bored with leaping down on to the Prat Poodles and riding them round. He is the sort of cat who needs a bit of a challenge.

      Five СКАЧАТЬ