‘…startled by his furry shorts!’. Louise Rennison

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      12:31 a.m.

      Well, more of them, anyway.

      12:36 a.m.

      Everyone has gone to bed. And the kittykats are out. I can hear them yowling and spitting in the garden somewhere. Cross-eyed Gordy is practically a teenager in cat years now. I’ll bet he is doing keepie-uppie like Oscar, the so-called son of Mr and Mrs Across the Road, otherwise known as Perv Boy. No, what I mean is, he will be pretending to do keepie-uppie but really keeping his eyes out for female-type kittykats.

      12:39 a.m.

      Actually, Gordy would be much better at keepie-uppie and girl spotting than Oscar because he could quite literally do them at the same time – keep one eye on the ball and use the other one for spotting girly kittykats. His spaggy eye would be a blessing in disguise.

      12:41 a.m.

      Oooh, I can’t sleep. I must read a book of wisdomosity.

      12:42 a.m.

      It says in my (well, officially Mum’s) book How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You that if you pretend to feel how you feel, then you will feel like you feel.

      Pardon?

      12:45 a.m.

      For instance, it says, “If you go to a party and you feel shy, enter the room with a wide smile. Put your shoulders back, hold your head high, let your arms hang loosely by your side. Then, even if you don’t feel confident, no one will ever know!”

      Okey dokey, I’ll try that in the mirror.

      Wide smile, arms loosey loose and swing. Big smile, shoulders back, head high, swing swing. Loosey loose arms and swing swing.

      12:52 a.m.

      Yep, I definitely look confident. There is one tiny drawback, though: hanging my arms loosely and swinging them makes me look like an orang-utan. An orang-utan called Ralf, probably. And who wants a confident orang-utan as a girlfriend? That is what I ask myself.

      12:54 a.m.

      Ralf the confident orang-utan wearing Teletubbies pyjamas. Which I only wore for comfortnosity. I had no idea I was going to have to go out to a party in them looking confident.

      Shut up, brain.

      Sunday June 19th

      My bedroom

      10:00 a.m.

      Same rack of love.

      Same oven of pain.

      Same bakery of… shutup shutup.

      I would usually consult with Dave the Laugh about the Luuurve God scenario. He is after all the official Hornmeister and Pants King. It still makes me laugh like a drain when I think of him singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of pants!” I would ask him to give me the benefit of his wisdomosity about boys and so on, but he’s gone a bit weird with all that “What if we should have really been together?” fandango, so I feel a bit funny about seeing him again.

      11:00 a.m.

      Mutti popped her head round my door. “We’re going to Waterworld. Do you want to come?”

      I said, “Are you mad?”

      I said it in a polite and inquiring way, but she still went ballisticisimus. “You are so bloody rude.”

      I very nearly said that swearing shows a lack of vocabulary, but I didn’t because I am so vair vair tired.

      11:30 a.m.

      The Swiss Family Mad have “roared” off in the clown car – otherwise known as Dad’s ludicrous three-wheeled Robin Reliant – leaving me alone at Château Sheer Desperadoes.

      11:35 a.m.

      I’m going mad. I am going to have to phone The Big Knickered One, and hope she doesn’t ramble on about bat droppings.

      Phoned Jas.

      Jas was so much in Jas ‘n’ Tom land that she didn’t even notice I was in the bakery of pain. She just went on rambling for Europe. “Oooh, it’s so groovy that Tom’s back!

      I only saw him briefly yesterday. He is going to bring around his flora collection from Kiwi-a-gogo land in a bit and that will be soo… oh…”

      I said, “Indescribably dull?”

      She said, “I have to go now.”

      “Jazzy Wazzy, can I come and see you? I need your help.”

      “No.”

      Jas’s bedroom

      Lunchtime

      I am lying amongst Jas’s sad collection of stuffed toys, mostly owls, while she ponces around in front of a mirror. What is she doing?

      I said, “Jas it’s very distracting trying to tell you stuff, important stuff full of tragicosity about me your very bestest pally, when you keep pouting like a goldfish. What are you doing?”

      “I’m practising puckering.”

      “What?”

      “Puckering. I had, well, a bit of a problem vis-à-vis snogging with Tom last night.”

      Despite my world coming apart at the seams, I am always interested in snogging tales. “Tell me.”

      “Well, I was quite nervy at first when I was waiting for him.”

      “Were you doing your annoying flicky-fringe thing?”

      “I don’t know; anyway, when he came in, I was sort of jelloid. But then it was all right because he got his whatsits out.”

      “Pardon?”

      “His, you know, snapshots from Kiwi-a-gogo land, so we looked at them for a bit. Until I felt calmed down. Actually there was a really cool one of Robbie…”

      Oh brilliant. On top of everything else I was now talking about someone I had vowed I would never talk about this side of the grave.

      I said, “Was Robbie playing the guitar and dancing with marsupials?”

      Jas СКАЧАТЬ