Are these my basoomas I see before me?. Louise Rennison

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      Moan moan. Here we go. It will be, “In my day we used to enjoy ourselves just by picking our own noses.”

      I said, “Well, as it happens, Elvis, er, I mean Mr Attwood, I agree with you. You are clearly too old to be working. It’s cruel. In fact, I am going to have a word with our headmistress and suggest she gives you the big goodbye you so richly deserve.”

      Wet Lindsay had her usual spazerama attack.

      She said, “Shut up and grow up!”

      Charming.

      Slim’s office Oh, I am soooo bored with being told off. It is giving me the megadroop. I should be at home glamming myself up for the Luuurve God and practising my new sophisticosity. Just in case he forgives me. Instead of which I am in an office counting chins.

      Slim was completely jelloid. In fact, her whole body was having a chin-a-thon. Of course, it was me who got it in the neck. As if I started the bloody fire. I just did a bit of whooshing.

      Slim said, “It’s always you, isn’t it, Georgia? What happened this time? Is it another miscarriage of justice?”

      Well, at least she was being reasonable for once.

      I said, “Well actually, Miss, yes it is. You see it was minus 50 outside and we were terribly cold, so I mean we, decided to use our woodland skills that we learned on our magnificent camping trip with Herr Kamyer and…”

      Slim looked at me.

      “You mean you set fire to some rubbish in the fives court.”

      I said, “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

      Mr Attwood lurched to life.

      “I’m in agony, Headmistress, because of an act of senseless arson. By arsonists.”

      I don’t know what it is about the word arse-onists, but it does give me the inward hysteria. Mr Attwood had more or less said “arse” in front of Slim. I daren’t look at Rosie.

      Slim looked at me.

      “It’s always you, Georgia. Why can’t you grow up?”

      I nearly said, “I’m growing as fast as I can. Look at the size of my nungas!”

      Wet Lindsay had to put her oar in.

      “The trouble is, of course, that she does lead the others into it.”

      Oh yeah, that’ll be the day.

      I started to say, “Well actually, funnily enough, this time it was…”

      And Jas looked at me like an annoying fringey puppy. Dear God, she actually did want to be a prefect. It is vair nice of me to even be mates with her under the circs.

      It’s an act of charity really. And when I had mentioned my plan for sophisticosity she had said, “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

      But then she looked at me again. A bit tearful. Oh, bloody hell.

      It had to be done.

      I said, “Oh, OK, yes, it was my idea…”

      Rosie and Jools said, “Well, not really. We all…”

      But I ploughed on.

      “Whatever they say, they are my mates and they are covering for me. It was my idea, but it was only a tiddly tiny firey thing.”

      Mr Attwood said, “I bet that’s what the baker said about the fire he started that turned into the Great Fire of London.”

      What is he rambling on about? We’re not even in London.

      Anyway, the long and the long of it is that the others have got a ticking-off and reprimands and I have got detention…and worst of all…have to “help” Mr Attwood this term. Again.

      Oh, what larks we’ll have.

      Not.

      Detention 4:00 p.m. Jas squeezed my arm as she left for home and pressed a secret stash of Midget Gems into my hand. She said, “You are truly my bezzie mate of all time, Georgia.”

      And she is not wrong. I am without doubtosity top mate of all time.

      4:05 p.m. Luckily, I have got Miss Wilson as my prison guard so I will be able to make best possible use of my time.

      First of all, I am going to plan my Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

      Fifteen minutes later The Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

      1. “You are never alone with your lippy and mascara.” I am going to make a sort of pouch that fits under my bra and pants so that I have a secret supply at all times. Even if the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly (oo-er) I can refresh by reaching for my pouch.

      NB. Make my pouch out of nice softy soft material so that I can wear it in bed. In case the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly in the night. (Oo-er.)

      2. I will exude sophisticosity with just a hint of glaciosity. I think the European Luuurve God likes this sort of thing. He is not, after all, a crude Viking like Sven who quite frankly wouldn’t recognise glaciosity if it hit him in the face. On the contrary, Sven would think you were playing hard to get because you were a lezzie and that would give him the Horn.

      Four minutes later 3. Be nice. This means regrettably I will not be disco dancing like a tit any more. When the Stiff Dylans play, I will waft around like a…wafting thing on waft tablets. I will laugh lightly, but at no time don a false beard.

      False beards are over. I will never wear the beard again.

      Ditto horns. And finally…

      4. I will not do arm-wrestling or any kind of wrestling with Dave the Laugh.

      Dave the Laugh is no longer a laugh to me. He is Emma’s boyfriend and my mate.

      Actually, I wonder where he is? I haven’t seen him for yonks. Ah, well. Stop thinking about Dave the Laugh. He is not in this re-entrancing document.

      Five minutes later Blimey, I have finished my manifesto and it is still not time to go home. Miss Wilson is humming and reading something. It had better not be some humming idea she has for the school play. I am not doing a humming version of Rom and Jule and that is a fact. I am not humming in tights.

      Four minutes later I know what I will do next. I will make another scale for the Ace Gang. On how they too can become great mates like what I am.

      Ten minutes later Great mates scale.

      1 Offer a mate a Midget Gem without being asked.

      2 2. Share your last Jammy Dodger even though you really want it and your mate may be flicking her fringe about.

      3 Listen to СКАЧАТЬ