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

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СКАЧАТЬ without your boots or kit which is thrown on the floor of your bedroom or ‘rubbish tip’, as I call it?”

      I said, “Father, why have you been in my room? You know it is verboten. I may write to my MP and…”

      He is sooooo violent. His slipper just missed my ponytail.

      I wandered into the kitchen. Mum, Libby and Gordy were making some cakey thing. Which I will not be eating under any circumstances, including famine. Libby was covered in dough stuff. It was clinging to her raincoat and wellingtons. She came running over to me yelling, “It’s bad boy, it’s Gingeeeee! Kissy kiss, Ginger.”

      Oh gadzooks. She started climbing up my legs like a mad monkey in boots.

      Oh good, now I am covered in cake mix, hurrah. Things are really looking up.

      Mum said, “What did you get detention for this time?”

      Why is everyone sooooo suspicious? I am not surprised I get detention all the time because no one will give me a chance. I could show her my “how to be a great mate” scale, but I won’t.

      I grabbed a sausagey thing from the cooker. It may have some nutritional value, you never know.

      I was just going up to my room when Mum said, “Dave popped round earlier. He’s a cool-looking boy, isn’t he? If I was a few years younger, I wouldn’t mind tangling tonsils with him.”

      Oh, how very disgusting.

      I took the sausage/spam thing out of my mouth. I felt besmirched.

      I said, “Mum, what were you wearing when he came round?”

      She looked at me.

      “Why? This.”

      I said, “What-that tiny skirt and even tinier top? I’m surprised he didn’t call the prostitute police.”

      She snapped then.

      “Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

      Libby joined in then. She stood with her hands on her hips and yelled, “Yes, bloddy chinky.”

      9:00 p.m. I wonder what Dave was going to say?

      I wish I’d been in, instead of being a great mate. I would have really liked to see him.

      And he’s not bad on the great mates scale himself. He talked to the Luuurve God for me.

      Maybe I should phone him. And thank him.

      One minute later No, I can’t because of my new re-entrancing a Luuurve God plan.

      I am going to distract myself by making my little pouch.

      9:15 p.m. I am wearing my pouch. I am going to sleep in it tonight to make sure it is softy soft enough and so on. If I wake up in the night, I might feel for it (oo-er) and do a practice application.

      9:20 p.m. Libby is practising her snogging skills on Mr Potato Head. Surely this can’t be right at her age? Shouldn’t she mostly be pretending to be a fairy and playing with elves?

      This is disgusting. Libby is going “mmmmmmmmm naiiice” and making lip-smacking noises.

      I shouted downstairs.

      “Hello, my sister Libby, also your daughter, is snogging a potato in my bed. What are you going to do about it?”

      Dad started yelling uncontrollably. I wonder if he is having the male menopause? If he starts growing breasts, I will definitely be running away with the circus. Although to be fair, he would have a better chance of getting a job with them.

      I could hear him going on.

      “Connie, have you been using my bloody razors again? I’ve nearly cut my chin off.”

      Ah well, time for bobos.

      I went back into my room and shut the door.

      Libby is now doing a sort of smoochy dance with Mr Potato Head. It involves a lot of botty-wiggling.

      What do they teach her at playschool? When I was little, we used to do face-painting and so on. Our tiny faces covered with little flowers and hearts. Libby wrote BUM on Josh’s face in indelible marker.

      I said to Bibbs, “Don’t you want to take Mr Potato Head into your nice bed? In your own room. In your own lovely, snugly…”

      She put her face really near mine and said, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

      Midnight I had to read Heidi to Libby and Mr Potato Head. She never tires of tales of cheese. I do.

      The bit that makes her laugh the most is when the little crippled girl falls out of her wheelchair.

      It’s not right.

Suddenly he got his maracas out

      Wednesday September 21st Assembly 9:00 a.m. Oh, hurrah! We are having an “ad-hoc” assembly. No proper hymns that we can improvise hilarious lyrics to. No “Breathe on me BREAST of God” or “There are some green PANTS far away without a city wall…”

      Hang on a minute though, things are looking up. On to the stage came Herr Kamyer in a check shirt and a cowboy hat. With a guitar. And he is accompanied by Miss Wilson on ukulele.

      I said to Rosie, “I didn’t even know she could play the ukulele.”

      Two minutes later She can’t.

      This is torture. I don’t know if you have ever heard the Country and Western version of “All things bright and beautiful,” but I thoroughly don’t recommend it.

      I said to Rosie, “Quickly leap on stage and grab Herr Kamyer’s guitar and kill him with it.”

      She said, “Righty-o,” and started moving along the line. When she got to ADM on guard duty, she said to her, “Women’s trouble” and skipped off to the loos.

      Damn.

      Fifty-five million years later we were set free. Well, free if you think double maths is freedom. Which it isn’t.

      Maths Oh, shut up about numbers, why don’t you?

      Lunch Behind the fives court. Right, this was my chance to introduce the question of sophisticosity into the whole boynosity area.

      I began, “I’d like to open this meeting of the Ace Gang…”

      They were all looking at me attentively. Well, if you call people chewing and fiddling with their fringes and being fools attentive.

      I СКАЧАТЬ