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I said to Mum, who was trying to get all the porridge out of Libby’s hair before she went off to kindergarten, “Mum, I can’t go to the cinema tonight, I…I’ve got to stay behind and help with…the school panto.”
She didn’t even look up. “I didn’t know you were in it.”
“I’m not, I’m just, er, helping backstage. Bye, Mutti. Byeeee, Bibbet.”
“Bye bye, Gingey, kiss Mr Cheese bye bye.”
It was disgusting kissing Mr Cheese. (Mr Cheese is a bit of old Edam in a hat.) Not as disgusting as it will be at the end of the day when Libby brings him home again from playschool. With a bit of luck Mr Cheese will have been eaten by one of Libby’s little pals.
I had a look at my pocket mirror as I walked round to Jas’s place. Eight out of ten on the hair bounceability front. I am sooo excited. I love the Sex God and it will be beyond fabulosity and into the Valley of Marv when we go on tour to America. I think I could easily write song lyrics myself.
I said that to Jas as we walked to school. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, this one is called “Sex God” and it goes like this: ‘Oh, Robbie, you’re the one for me, with your dark blue eyes and your…’ ”
I had a bit of writer’s block then and I said to Jas, “What rhymes with ‘me’?”
“What about ‘two-timer’? Or ‘crap mate’?”
“Jas, don’t start again…oh hang on, I know: ‘You’re the one for me, with your dark blue eyes and your…snoggability!!!’ I am clearly a genius.”
I put my arm round Jas in my happinosity and said, “You can show me your love bite when we get to Stalag 14.”
She went a bit red and said, “OK, but don’t tell anyone else about it.” Which is ironic coming from Radio Jas.
Assembly
Slim really on tip-top boring form this morning.
She bored us beyond the Valley of the Dim and into the twilight world of the Elderly Mad.
Speaking of which, we saw Elvis Attwood tapping at pipes with his hammer as we went out.
I said to him, “I think you should receive a knighthood, Mr Attwood, for your services to care taking. Surely you of all people deserve to be hit over the shoulders with an old sword.”
10:00 a.m.
What IS it with this place????!!! Rosie and I have got bad conduct marks AND have to stay behind and help with Peter Pan every night this week after school. I cannot believe it! Just because we have naturally high spirits and joie de vivre. (And also got caught doing our “Let’s go down the disco” dance to “There is a Green Hill Faraway” in assembly.)
It is so obviously hilarious. And not at all “indicative of stupendous childishness”, as Hawkeye said.
10:30 a.m.
Perhaps I am Spawn of the Devil in a skirt and have the third eye. No, I mean the second whatsit…sight. Because I told Mum that I was staying behind to help with Peter Pan, even though I wasn’t, and now I am. I may have special powers.
11:00 a.m.
No, I haven’t got special powers. I tried for about a million years to make the wall clock fall on to Hawkeye’s head, but it just gave me a very bad headache.
In the loos
I said to Jas, “For once in the entire existence of humankind my hair has got bounceability and whatsit and I am on detention.”
She said, “Well you shouldn’t be so silly.”
What is silly about disco dancing?
She wanted to show me her love bite, but I couldn’t summon up any interest.
RE
Miss Wilson has written on the board: “Relationships – what are the ingredients?”
Good Lord, she would be the last to know, and also I don’t think I have ever seen anyone over the age of six months wearing a pink smock, apart from her. Has she really not got one single mate who would have said to her, “Put the smock in the bin and we will never mention it again”?
I wonder if I should make Naomi a little pregnancy smock. In the spirit of Christmas?
Rosie has made some dreadlocks for her pencil and stuck them on to the end of it. She wrote me a note: As a Rastafarian he has strong views on religious freedom.
I wrote back: It’s a pencil, you fool.
And she wrote: That is what makes it even more remarkable.
But we are only trying to cheer ourselves up because of the Peter Pan fiasco.
What am I going to do about the Sex God? He is supposed to meet me after school. I wrote to Jas: If I tell SG I have been given detention duties helping complete twats into tights he will think I am a silly little schoolgirl.
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