Are these my basoomas I see before me?

Elepoon in your nick-nacks

Monday September 19th Woke up from a dream where Dave had come up to me and said, “I didn’t even mention pants and he went ballisticisimus.”

And Dave had a pair of pants on his head.

And they weren’t small.

8:15 a.m. A bit earlier than usual. I want to make sure Jas doesn’t get to Stalag 14 without me.

I want to know how Jazzy Spazzy is going to carry on her campaign of ignorez-vousing me when I refuse to be ignorez-voused.

8:25 a.m. Thar she blows! She senses I am here and she is putting a bit of speed on.

8:29 a.m. Aaaah, I have got her in my sights. Her bottom is waggling away only just in front of me. I am going to do my world-renowned speedwalking.

8:32 a.m. My nose is practically on the back of her beret.

She is still pretending I am invisible girlie, but she must be able to hear me panting.

I pulled out a Jammy Dodger and held it in front of her face. She loves a Jammy Dodger.

8:55 a.m. Even when I ate the Jammy Dodger walking backwards in front of her she didn’t slow down.

OK, I am going in.

I leaped on her unexpectedly and pulled her beret right down over her eyes. But even then she kept marching on like nothing had happened. It was only when she crashed into the postman, who was bending over filling his sack, that she had to stop and take her beret off.

The postman went bonkers and shouted at her to “stop playing silly beggars!!!!”.

I have said this before and I will say it again, how come anyone who puts a badge on goes immediately insane?

And anyway, why do they need a badge?

A badge that says “postman” or “caretaker”.

Don’t they know who they are?

I took advantage of the brouhaha and stepped in front of Jas. Eyeball to eyeball.

I said, “Jazzy, it’s me, your old pally.”

She was all red and her fringe looked like a tumble-dried ferret.

She said, “I know it’s you. I know it’s you because every time anything bad happens or someone is shouting, you’ll be around.”

I said, “That’s not fair. What about the time I helped you get off with Hunky by pretending that you were normal and popular?”

She shrugged and said, “Yeah, well…”

“And remember the puffball skirt incident?”

That got her.

She said, “It looked nice.”

“Wrong, Jas. You looked like you had a little elepoon in your nick-nacks, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, but she knew I was right really because Astonishingly Dim Monica had worn a puffball skirt to the school play and Rosie started singing, “Nellie the elephant packed her PANTS and said goodbye to the circus”!!

I had her on the ropes now and said, “Come on, little pally, think of all the larfs we’ve had. Come on, I need you…I need you because you are so vair vair wise. You are tip-top to the toppimost full of wisdomosity…and I am a fool.”

Jas was flicking her stupid fringe, but I didn’t strike her. She said, “You bring it on yourself.”

I put my arm round her and held her arm down so she would stop the fringe-fiddling business. I said, “I know, Jazzy, but that is because I am full of je ne sais quoi.”

Stalag 14 At least Jas and me are besties again. Hurrah!

Well, until she begins to annoy me again. In about a minute.

RE What is it with Miss Wilson? She’s obsessed with rudey-dudeyness. Since the camping trip when she, I think deliberately, exposed herself to Herr Kamyer in the shower, she’s gone sex mad.

I said to Rosie, “Is she wearing lippy? Or has she just eaten a strawberry Mivvy?”

Rosie was making a little beard for her pencil case so she was a bit “busy,” but she took the trouble to look up and said, “Most people wear lippy on their lips, not on their nostrils and chin. But at least she is giving it a go.”

I wish she wasn’t “giving it a go”.

We were having to discuss the Song of Songs from the Bible. It’s about some old ancienty bloke who was a king and a ye olde handmaiden-type person. I think it’s mostly about snogging, but not as we know it. I said to Jools, “What does ‘he put his hand on my lock’ mean when it’s at home?”

Jools said, “Ask her.”

I had nothing else to do, and Miss Wilson would go boring on if I didn’t interrupt her. And I had done all I could to pass the time, even my toenails, sooo…

I put my hand up. Well, actually, I put them both up as a sort of novelty. Like an orangutan.

I said, “Miss Wilson, if we translated ye olde Bible into modern language-you know, that made sense-well, what number on the Snogging Scale would ‘he put his hand on my lock’ be?”

Miss Wilson went sensationally red, nearly as red as her nostrils and chin.

“Well, Georgia, erm, yes, that is interesting…yes, making a connection between biblical love and rituals and so forth, and, erm, modern vocabulary, erm…”

Rosie put aside her beard because we sensed a comedy opportunity. We all stared at Miss Wilson’s bob.

We were not disappointed. The bob was in full bob.

German It’s not often that we get two comedy opportunities for the price of one, but happy days here we are.

Herr Kamyer had hardly had time to adjust his knitted tie before Rosie started.

She said, “Herr Kamyer, we have just had a sehr interesting talk with Miss Wilson.”

Herr Kamyer was blinking through his glasses in a kindly and interested way. It’s tragic really. He said, “Oh ja?”

Rosie said, “Ja, it is sehr sehr interesting. It was from the Bible. In der German Bible vas ist…”

Herr Kamyer said, “Der word für Bible in German is…”

Rosie said, “Vat ever. In der German Bible vas ist der translation für ‘he put his handchen on my lock’?”

Herr Kamyer looked like a goldfish in a knitted tie. He said, “I’m afraid I do not know dis expression.”

I said, “It is int der Bible, Herr Kamyer, int der Song of Songen. It ist about der Knutschen!”

Rosie was in her own German snogging world by now.

She said, “Would it be Abscheidskuss?”

I said, “Or perhaps AUF GANZE GEHEN!!!!!!!”

4:30 p.m. Walking home with the gang.

Funnily enough, I sort of forgot about the Luuurve God for a while. But after the others had gone I felt really miz.

I let myself in to my “home”.

No one in.

Do you know, Jas even knows what she is going to have for supper most nights.

More to the point, she GETS some supper.

Still, as long as my mum can waggle her enormous basoomas around in the swimming pool with her mates.

That’s what counts.

Two minutes later Had a bowl of Shreddies. The milk was past its sell-by date so with my luck I’ll get milkytosis. Which will make my nostrils flare up to twice their size, and I will start eating grass.

In the front room Libby, my charming but insane little sister, has christened the budgie Bum-ty.

Bum-ty doesn’t look very chirpy.

Who would with two cats staring at you.

Have they been there all day?

5:30 p.m. Ooooh, I am so vair bored. And depressed at the same time.

6:00 p.m. The Family Mad have come in.

And Uncle Eddie is here. Hurray!!!

They caught me by surprise so I couldn’t barricade myself in my room.

Uncle Eddie larged in first.

He said, “I’ve got one for you. Two nuns driving along at night on a lonely forest road and a vampire leaps out and on to the bonnet. The nun who’s driving says to the other nun, ‘Quick, show him your cross!’ and the second nun shouts, ‘Get off the bloody bonnet!’!!!!!”

And he went wheezing and cackling off into the kitchen.

Grown women pay money to see him taking his clothes off to music.

I don’t know what to say.

Yes I do.

I would pay him not to take his clothes off.

In fact, I might go along one night to one of his baldyman gigs and shout, “Get ’em on!!!”

No. I won’t do that.

I may as well go and get my jimjams on. When you are visiting the cakeshop of agony, they don’t mind what you wear in there. Most of their customers are in their jimjams. With big swollen eyes. And covered in dribble.

God, I am really depressed now.

In the lounge in my jimjams Vati came in with a pork pie. Taking his health seriously then.

He said, “What’s the matter with you?”

Not that he cares.

I said, “I’m depressed actually.”

He said, “Depressed, at your age? You’ll be saying you’re bored next.”

“That is what I was going to say next.”

Vati looked at me and sat down. He patted my knee with his pork-pie-free hand.

Oh dear God, he had touched my jimjams.

He said, “Do you know what my mum used to say when I was bored?”

Oh, this would be good. It was bound to be something to do with making hats out of eggboxes.

I was about to say, “I’m bored enough as it is without you telling me about prehistoric hats.”

But he was rambling on.

“She used to say, ‘I’ll tell you what…bang your head against a wall and that will take your mind off it.’”

Charming.

In bed 7:00 p.m. I can hear Libby trying to teach Bum-ty the words to “Dancing Bean”.

I think Bum-ty might not be long for this world. He’s got two cats staring at him night and day and now a mad toddler is shoving a sausage through the cage and singing.

Three pairs of mad eyes looking at you.

7:30 p.m. Was that a scooter coming near?

7:32 p.m. No.

Oh, good. Now I’m having hallucinations.

Of the earhole.

Ear-lucinations.

7:55 p.m. No.

Oh yes.

Oh my God.

It IS a scooter coming up the road.

I looked through the window.

It was Masimo!!!!

Oh merde.

I hadn’t got time to do anything.

I was in my jimjams.

I had plaited all my hair because I was so bored and depressed.

I ran down to the front room and said, “Mum, quick, I need you.”

For once, Mum did what I asked her.

I told her to tell Masimo that I was out.

As the scooter came to a halt outside, I was scarpering up the stairs and I whispered to her, “Don’t start a conversation with him, will you? Don’t tell him about yourself.”

She said, “Don’t make me change my mind.”

And at the top of the stairs I said, “Don’t let him see Dad in his leisure trousers. Please.”

Then the doorbell rang.

I bobbed down and looked through the banisters. I could only see the bottom bit of the open door.

I heard Masimo’s voice. He said, “Ciao.”

I had thought I might never hear “ciao” again. Oh, what was he here for???

Mum said, “Masimo, what a lovely surprise. You look, er…lovely.”

Oh nooooo, she was talking to him like he was a boy and she was a girl! Did she have her cardigan buttoned up? I couldn’t remember…

Masimo said, “Er, I have come, scusi for my English, I have come for to give Georgia…”

Mum interrupted. “I’m afraid she had to stay late for, erm, hockey.”

Masimo said, “Ah yes, she is good for hockey, I think…but I come for to give her…a letter. Grazie mille.”

And he was gone.

I crouched down by my window and looked out. Masimo accelerated away down the street. He was wearing a leather coat. My heart skipped a beat to see him.

In a way, I didn’t want to go down and get the letter.

What if it said, “Ciao, bella… you are…how you say in English…dumped.”

Mum came rushing up to my room.

She handed me the letter and said, “What does it say?”

I said, “It says, ‘What fine weather we are having for this time of year…’ Mum, I DON’T KNOW what it says because I haven’t opened it yet. I am waiting to open it privately. Do you see?”

She slammed out of the room saying, “Sorry for being interested in your life.”

I daren’t read it.

Five minutes later I’ve tried to psychically feel what it might say.

It’s not very nice to dump someone by post, is it?

Just because they had a bit of a twist with Dave the Whatsit.

Two minutes later Ripped it open.

Three minutes later Well, the nub and the gist is…

I think…

That Masimo says he thinks that he was a bit out of order. And that Dave had been to see him and said that we were just mates having a laugh.

But (and this is the worrying bit) Masimo said he thought that maybe I wanted just to have fun with my mates. And that maybe I am too young for a relationship with him.

He doesn’t know.

He is thinking.

He wants me to think too.

And that we can meet at the Stiff Dylans gig on Saturday, and then we will talk.

He just signed it “Masimo”.

No kisses.

Not a “I am missing you and want to snog you within an inch of your life.”

Hmmm. So am I semi-dumped?

Fifteen minutes later The one person I would like to talk to about this is the Hornmeister.

But I can’t.

I had to make do with Jazzy Spazzy.

Phoned Jas I told her about the note.

“I think what the note means is that I have got another chance. To show that I want to be with him. And that I am not a twisting fool. I am, in fact, a sophisticate wise beyond my years. And so on.”

She just went, “Hmmmmm.”

“He is, in fact, asking me to reveal my inner maturiosity, of which I have got bloody bucketfuls as it happens. And he is requesting me to put away my inner fool. That is what I think.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

What does she mean, “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”?

Midnight “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm” does not mean “Yes yes, I agree with you.”

It means “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”.

Anyway she can “hmmmm” away. I am going to start my campaign of maturiosity tomorrow.

FIRE!!! I’m gonna teach you to burn!

Tuesday September 20th Stalag 14 Break It’s bloody nippy noodles outside.

Mabs said, “Shall we work out a new disco inferno dance for Saturday’s gig? To warm us up?”

I said, “Er, well, it’s a bit soon after our last triumph, don’t you think?”

Rosie said, “No. A triumph is not a triumph until you have gone too far.”

Jas said, “I’m freezing.”

To change the subject away from mad dancing, that I am now eschewing with a firm hand, I said, “Well, Jas, we are all freezing. Why don’t you use some of your very well-known forest skills and start a lovely campfire? I bet you’ve got your special fire-making stick in your rucky, haven’t you?”

Jas said, “Don’t be silly.”

I said, “I’m not being silly. I’m being frozen to within an inch of my life. Anyway, you can’t do it without Hunky, can you? You’re frightened of fire.”

“I am not frightened of fire.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Look at me, Jas. I’m a flame and I’m coming near your fringe.”

And I started doing an ad-hoc flame improv, wiggling my body and making my arms all snakey, touching Jas’s fringe and making a whooshing noise.

Jas was getting quite red and there was deffo a touch of tomato about her ears.

Rosie, Jools and the rest of the gang started snaking and shaking about, going “Whoosh whoosh”.

Jas finally lost her rag and said, “I can make a fire! Go and get some twigs and I’ll show you.”

Excellent!

Ten minutes later Brillopads.

Jas actually did it. She rubbed her special little fire-making stick in a wedge thing. She did happen to have her special “rubbing sticks” with her in her haversack. I don’t know why, but I knew she would have. She is very secretive about her rucky. I bet she has several changes of different type weight pants in there. And possibly a collection of molluscs. We may never know. At least, I may never know because I will never be putting my hand in there. My hand will never be upon her lock and that is a fact!!!

Anyway, it was really jolly sitting round our little campfire. It was made mostly out of crisp packets. To be fair, there was more smoke than flame, but we pretended we were really really warmey warm. I said, “Shall we sing the old traditional campfire song, little Ace Gang pallies?”

And they all went, “Yeah!!!”

And I said, “What is it?”

Then I remembered some old crap recording of Top of the Pops in the 70s that my dad had. I’d shown it to the gang. I said, “Let’s sing ‘Fire’ by that bloke who wore a helmet that was actually on fire. And when he sang on Top of the Pops, his helmet set fire to the ceiling. By the way, Ro Ro, do NOT mention that to Sven. He’s bound to want to do it and then it’s goodbye to any club that we go to.”

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, we were just sitting round our campfire singing, “FIRE!!! I’m going to teach you to burn. FIRE! I’m gonna teach you to learn!!!” when out of nowhere came Wet Lindsay. The octopus in the ointment. With her assistant fascist, ADM. She saw us round our innocent “campfire” and went absolutely ballisticisimus.

She was yelling, “You absolute twits!!!!! Step away, step away!!! Monica, get Mr Attwood and tell him there is a fire in the fives court…”

Twenty minutes later What a fuss and a kerfuffle.

Mr Attwood practically pooed himself with delight. He’s been standing by with flame retardant since MacUseless when somebody accidentally set fire to Nauseating P. Green. The fact that the “inferno” had gone out by the time he got there didn’t stop him. He came leaping up and made us stand and watch from “a safe distance” (the edge of the fives court) while he donned his special breathing apparatus. He was shouting through the mask, “There may be toxic fumes.”

I was yelling, “It’s out, Mr Attwood!”

But he couldn’t hear me.

He squirted his extinguisher thing until there was foam up to the top of his welligogs. Quite, quite extraordinarily bonkers.

Three minutes later He took off his mask and looked at the huge pile of foam.

He said, “I’ve made the area safe-I’ll just radio in to Headquarters to say I’ve achieved a result safety-wise and no casualties.”

From his “fire sack” he fished out an enormous walkie-talkie thing.

Wet Lindsay said, “Right, you lot, the headmistress’s office. NOW!”

Oh no, not Slim.

She frogmarched us off, chuntering on to ADM and giving me the evils every now and again. She just absolutely loves it times a million.

If she can upset me, she’s made up.

Jas said, “Oh, now I’ll never get to be a prefect. This is all your fault, Georgia. Again.”

I said, “Er, I think you are the firestarter, crazy firestarter Jas.”

Rosie said, “Do you think Slim will beat us to death with her chins?”

As we sloped along at one mile an hour, we could hear Mr Attwood shouted into his walkie-talkie. “Z Victor I to B.D. Are you receiving me? Over.”

Astonishingly barmy.

Jools said, “Who is he talking to?”

And I said, “He’s talking to Headquarters. And you know who that is, don’t you?”

Ellen said, “No, I…er…is it…erm, is it, like…Headquarters or something?”

We just looked at her.

I said, “He is talking to the radio in his shed. And do you know who is listening? No one.”

Outside Slim’s office I asked “permission” to go to the piddly-diddly department and Wet Lindsay came with me. Like I was going to escape through the loo window! Actually, I did do that once, but that is not the point. As I was in the cubicle, trying not to make any piddly-diddly noises because I didn’t want her to hear me, she said, “You really are the most appalling little tart, Georgia Nicolson. Robbie did the right thing dumping you and Masimo must be dying to get rid of you.”

I started to say, “Actually, I think boys like girls with foreheads…”

But she said, “Nicolson, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the term recovering from a very bad hockey injury, I advise you to SHUT UP right now.”

As I walked back under armed guard, I thought, how could Robbie kiss her?

Erlack.

I think he must have clinical depression after I stopped going out with him. When she had been yelling at me, I could see right up her nostrils. Also she didn’t have mascara on and her eyelashes were like albino mouse eyelashes. No, they weren’t as nice as that; they were like duck eyelashes. And ducks don’t have eyelashes.

I hate her times a million. When I get over enticing Masimo back into my web of luuurve, I will concentrate on ruining her life and saving Robbie.