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Midnight
Pray God that Dad doesn’t take his Elvis Presley quiff with him. Sometimes for a “joke” he sticks the quiff on and starts shaking his hips about. It’s disgusting – and also probably very dangerous hipwise for a man of his years.
He and his lardy mates, the “lads” think it’s hilarious.
It isn’t.
12:05 a.m.
Anyway, what do I care, I am on Cloud Nine in Luuurve Heaven.
We go on 22nd May, which is eleven days away. I am sooooo excited.
12:10 a.m.
Hawkeye called me a ninny and said that I “had the attention span of a pea” but what she doesn’t know is that I have powers of discipline that would surprise a lot of people who accuse me of laziosity. When I put my mind to it I can do stuff. For instance, even though I’m tired now and it’s midnight, it is imperative that I get up and go to the bathroom and cleanse and tone my…zzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Thursday May 12th
Ten days to Hamburger-a-gogo land on the way to school
“Jas, I am so vair vair full to the brim with excitementosity. Aren’t you?”
“Hmmm.”
“Yes, so am I. Let’s sing ‘New York, New York’ to get us in the mood.”
“No.”
“That’s the spirit. You see, that is why coming to Hamburger-a-gogo is sooo good for you – it will broaden what there is of your mind.”
I started to sing, “I want to be a part of it, New York, New YORK!!!!!”
I stopped because of intense pensioner-glaring when we passed the post office.
Jas was slouching along by my side like a trusty…badger.
“Jas, why do they call it that? New York, New York? We don’t say London, London, do we?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Perhaps it’s because Hamburgese people are a bit on the slow side and don’t get it immediately, so they have to say it twice.”
9:30 p.m.
Vati made us watch a really old film tonight with John Wayne in it.
Midnight
I was right to be worried about them being a bit on the slow side. Crikey, John Waaaaaaayne speaks slowly. If all Americans speak so slowly, I’ll be there all day queueing up behind people as they ask for a cup of “caaaaaawwwwwfffeeeee”. (And I won’t even know why I am in the queue, as I don’t even like caawwfffee.)
Also, if Dad doesn’t stop singing Elvis songs I may go insane.
Friday May 13th
Nine days to Hamburger-a-gogo land Dawn
Dad burst into my room in his pyjamas and Elvis quiff, singing “Heartbreak Hotel”.
Still, now that I’m up, I’ll make a list of stuff to take to Hamburger-a-gogo.
7:25 a.m.
This is my packing list:
1 Make-up essentials
2 Really gorgey clothes
I’ve gathered my make-up essentials together and they fill a suitcase.
I wonder if I can get Jazzy to put some of my make-up in her bag. Mind you, knowing her, she’s already filled her bag with her ginormous knickers – or big “panties”, as we must learn to call them now.
Although “big panties” reminds me of incontinent knickers.
Still, let the Americans have it their way. I love them all. And I mean that most sincerely. Even though I have never met them.
Chaos headquarters 8:00 a.m.
Mutti was dragging Gordy out of Libby’s rucksack, and Libby was hitting Mum on the head with her spoon.
“Bad Mummy, bad.”
Libby had hidden Gordy in her rucky because she wanted to take him to nursery school with her. But even Mum noticed the rucksack walking around by itself.
Then the phone rang.
Mutti yelled at me, “Get that, Georgia, it’s bound to be one of your daft friends.”
Oh, that is nice, isn’t it? It’s much more likely to be one of her daft friends.
I answered it and said, “Yes, hello. Reception speaking, Hotel Insane.”
It was Dave the Laugh. Oh my giddy God, and I hadn’t even got any lip gloss on.
He said, “Hi, Sex Kitty, Hornmeister here. I’m in a hurry, but thought you would like to know that the extremely flash Masimo, who I personally feel might be on the gay side handbagwise—”
“Dave…”
“OK, OK. All I can find out is that he is staying in Manhattan and his surname is Scarlotti.”
I said, “Oh, thank you thank you, Dave.”
“It’s cool. I’m sure we can think of some way you can repay me – it may involve heavy snogging. Bye.”
And he put the phone down.
Yipppppeeeee!!!
Manhattan, here I come!
8:30 a.m.
Ran to meet Jas.
She was all flustered like a fringey loon.
I said, “Howdy.”
“Come on, Georgia, we’ll be late.”
As we galloped along, I said, “I am going to speak American all day today.”
Jas went, pant pant, “They speak English.”
I said, “Don’t be mad,” pant pant.
We arrived on time, but only just. Wet Lindsay was on sadist duty. She looked at us as we panted by her like we were a couple of turds in uniform.
“Can’t you two grow up and be on time for once?”
I gave her a big smile while gazing at her ear, and said, “Howdy. Now you all have a nice day. You hear?”
She stomped off to terrorise some first formers, but she was fingering her lugholes. Hahahahahaha. And also hasta la vista, baby.
Maths
God, maths is boring. And complete bollocks.
When I marry Masimo, I will have manservants to do my adding up for me.
And my quadratic equations, which I will never use.
Lunchtime Operation Track Down the Luuurve God
Made Jas come to the library with me.
Miss Wilson almost fell off her stool when we came in.
I calmed her by saying, “Alrighty? Now you all have a nice day.”
We lugged the big atlas to a table, and I leafed through the maps until I got to America and found New York, New York.
I said to Jas, “Now, where is Memphis, Memphis?”
Jas found it and said, “It looks a bit far down.”
For once she is not wrong. On the plus side, Manhattan is only about an eighth of an inch long.
But it is about two feet from Memphis.
Still, there must be buses. Surely?
4:30 p.m.
On the way home I was singing “Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play” to Jazzy. She loves a bit of a singsong.
I said that. I said, “You love a bit of a singsong, don’t you, Jazzy?”
“No.”
“See, I knew you did. You do a little dance while I sing the chorus. You could do a dance based on a deer. Go on, do the little deer dance, make your feet like—”
And that is when she kicked me. She can be very violent.
She said, “I haven’t told him yet.”
“What? Who?”
“Hunk—er, I mean Tom, about Hamburger-a-gogo land.”
I looked at her in amazednosity. Radio Jas, the voice of the nation, had not told Hunky something?
She said, “I can be just as independent and adventurous as him.”
I didn’t laugh, even though I have seen the amount of knickers that Jas thinks she will need for seven days.
I MUST sort out my clothes this weekend.
Le Weekend
11:00 a.m.
Now then, I am going to take a “capsule” wardrobe. It’s what Naomi Campbell and all the top models do. They just take the absolute essentials with them when they travel.
12:00 p.m.
I’m exhausted, but I have managed to whittle my capsule wardrobe down to six cases.
12:01 p.m.
And a rucksack.
12:03 p.m.
Apart from my shoes, which I can’t get in, but Mum will probably put them in her case.
12:30 p.m.
Nobody has yet told Libby that Angus and Gordy are not coming with us on our holidays.
12:35 p.m.
When someone does tell her, I’ll tell you one thing for free – it will not be me. I need all my limbs for my Luuurve Quest.
12:40 p.m.
Libby has made Gordy a paper bikini for his holidays, which might come in handy if he were coming on holiday.
And cats wore bikinis.
And if he hadn’t immediately destroyed it and then buried it in the rubber plant.
Sunday May 15th
Seven days to Hamburger-a-gogo land Midday
I hate my dad. He is so unreasonable. It’s like dealing with a spoiled child.
I asked Mum if she would be so kind as to slip my shoes in her case, and all hell broke loose.
Dad said, “Why don’t you put them in your case?”
And I said, “Because, Father, all of my cases are full.”
Vati came stropping into my bedroom, saw my cases, and said, “Don’t be ridiculous! You can take one case. That is it.”
I said, “Excuse me if I’m right, Dad, but do you want me to look like a poor person in front of the Hamburgese? I am representing the English nation abroad.”
But you might as well be talking to yourself.
2:00 p.m.
I’ve repacked, but there are still three cases of essentials. Sacré bloody bleu.
Jas phoned to tell me that she told Hunky about her trip and he has had the boy version of a nervy spaz. He phoned her eighteen times in two hours.
“He was so upset.”
“Yes, you said.”
“Really really upset. He phoned me eighteen times in two hours.”
“Er…I know.”
“Eighteen times.”
“Wow…How many times did you say he phoned?”
I said it ironically, but Jas didn’t get it. She just went on and on. “Eighteen times, and then he came round this morning really early and posted a love-poem-song-type thing through my door.”
Oh no. Not a love poem.
“Do you want to hear it?”
“No.”
“It’s called, ‘You are the only fish in my sea’.
Good Lord. Tom’s whole family is obsessed with livestock.
To cheer her up and to get me out of my packing nightmare scenario I called a gang meeting.
The park, sitting on the swings 4:30 p.m.
Jas has read her poem to everyone, so I hope she’s got it out of her system now. It is truly crap. That is a fact. But I didn’t say so; I wanted Jas to perk up for our big adventure. I was soooo excited, and I was standing up swinging on a swing, singing “I want to be in America! Everything’s free in America!!!”
Then Ellen said, “Georgia, have you actually snogged Masimo yet?”
I laughed in a sultry way. “Have I snogged Masimo? Have I—”
Jas said, “No, she hasn’t. Well, not unless you count two seconds, which I don’t, and anyway it’s not on the snogging scale, so it’s not…on the…snogging scale.”
Oh, thanks, bestest pally NOT. I wish I had told her what I thought about Fish Boy’s poem now.
Jools said, “Do you think Wet Lindsay has snogged him? You know, when they went to Late and Live. She must have, you know…wanted to.”
Ohhhnooo. Get out of my head.
I said, “Who in their right mind would snog Wet Lindsay?”
Jools said, “Well, actually, Robbie must have snogged her because they went out together and—”
I started humming in my head so I didn’t have to listen to this; it was making me feel quite sick.
Jas said, “Perhaps some kinds of boys like tiny foreheads. Tom said that he knows a boy who’s mad for girls who wear really thick glasses.”
Good grief. Still, at least, there was a chance for Nauseating P. Green.
Ellen was obviously in her own dream world. “That mate of Tom’s – Speedy – asked me out when I was down the square, but…oh…I don’t know, it’s just there is something. I mean, he’s nice but I still…you know…have feelings for…well, you know…Do you think?”
I said, “Can I ask you something, Ellen? What are you raving on about?”
I wished I hadn’t asked.
“I mean Dave the Laugh. Is he going out with Rachel still…or…er…what?”
Jas said, “He wasn’t with her when we saw him the other day, was he, Gee? Did he mention her when you went for a coffee?”
Oh shutupshutup about Dave the sodding Laugh.
Ellen was just about to start the “I didn’t know that you saw Dave the Laugh, what did you talk about, did he mention me, how come you went for a coffee with him?” scenario when Mabs saved my bacon (ish).
She said, “How do you know that Masimo wants to see you?”
“Well, he asked me for my telephone number and I couldn’t give it to him because my head was about to drop off from redness. So he said, “OK, Miss Hard to Get, I will see you later, when I get back from America.”
Ellen was looking at me. “So he said ‘See you later’ then?”
I said, “No, not just ‘see you later’ like in ‘s’later’ but more—”
But Ellen was locked into her own ramblosity. “Dave the Laugh said ‘see you later’ to me and I did the flicky hair and everything and dancing by myself and so on…and then he went off with Rachel.”
The gang started nodding wisely (not).
I said, “Yes, but Masimo said ‘see you later’ after I had become Mystery Woman.”
Rosie said, “Mystery Woman?”
“Yes, after I had accidentally treated him to my glaciosity.”
Rosie had her face really close to mine.
“You are Mystery Woman?”
All the gang looked at me.
Jools said, “You are MYSTERY Woman?”
Then Mabs said, “YOU are Mystery Woman?”
What is this, a parrots’ convention?
Rosie said, “Mystery Woman. You are Mystery Woman. Not as you used to be – ‘Oooooooh my boy entrancers have stuck together’ Woman?”
Home 5:30 p.m.
Oh boo. Now I’ve got the screaming heebie-jeebies and doubtosityall rolled into one. Perhaps Masimo says “See you when I get back, Miss Hard to Get” to everyone.
5:45 p.m.
Just when you think things couldn’t get any worse, they take a turn for the worserer.
Grandad has cancelled his cat duties because he’s going on a bicycling tour to the Lake District. He says he has heard the call of the wild and is setting out tonight with his backpack.
I cannot believe the utter selfishosity of the elderly.
5:50 p.m.
Family “conference” (aka Dad shouting a lot).
We can’t think of anyone stupid…er…kind enough to look after Angus and Gordy.
6:15 p.m.
Mum has tried all her so-called aerobics friends and none of them will come over.
I said to her, “Did you tell them about the mice cream incident?”
Of course she has, so she has only herself to blame.
6:30 p.m.
Sadly I have also shown off about Angus and Gordy’s “adventures” and alluring little habits vis à vis woodland animals, pooing, etc. So none of my friends will have anything to do with them. Rosie said that Sven said he’d look after Angus and Gordy in a cave he has found. But the whole idea of that is far, far too weird.
Vati said, “What about a cattery, then?”
That’s when Angus came in with a spade. We all just looked at one another.
Vati said, “Well, there is only one thing for it. I’m going to have to ask for a bit of neighbourly support.”
7:15 p.m.
Dad went to Mr Next Door first. As he went through the door he said, “Alfred and I have always had a bit of an understanding, although I know we’ve had our differences vis à vis the damage Angus has done to his rhododendrons—”
I said, “And when he rounded the Prat Poodles up and trapped them in the greenhouse.”
“Yes, well…”
“And then rode them round like little horsies.”
“Yes, well…”
“And the dog psychiatrist having to come in.”
Dad took his coat off.
7:25 p.m.
Dad said, “I’ll just pop across the road to Colin and, you know, see if maybe he could just keep an eye on feeding them.”
7:28 p.m.
Dad’s back.
He said, “He laughed.”
Dad has slammed off to the pub to talk to Uncle Eddie and see if he knows any fools who might help us out.
7:33 p.m.
Doorbell rang. I looked down the stairs from the safety of my bedroom.
Mutti answered. Uh-oh. It was one of our beloved boys in blue. And as policemen go, he didn’t look pleased. Now what?
I scampered down the stairs to give my mutti moral support. Although, as it happens, basooma support would have been more appropriate. Hasn’t she got one single piece of clothing that doesn’t reveal far too much flesh?
I put an interested look on my face. It’s the one I use when Hawkeye asks me where my homework is. It usually results in double detention, but you can’t have everything. The constable looked at me, and it wasn’t his guardian-of-the-community-and-servant-of-the-people look.
He said to Mum, “Good evening, madam, can you tell me if you know this person?” And he held up Grandad’s O.A.P. card, the one with the photo of him with the earring in.
Don’t ask.
Mum said, “Yes, it’s my father…Oh My God, is he all right?”
The officer said, “Yes, he is, madam, but he is a danger to himself and others.”
I said, “You can say that again, officer. I don’t need a helmet and truncheon to figure that out.”
Mum said, “Shut up, Georgia.”
Which I think is probably abusive behaviour, but I let it go.
It turns out that, for once, the officer was the bearer of glad tidings. Grandad had set out on his six-hundred-mile bike ride to the Lake District and fell off at the end of his street. But not before he knocked the policeman off his new community bike.
“I’d only had it for a week, madam.”
I tried to look concerned.
The policeman opened his notebook. “The gentleman we have now positively identified as your father was wearing Lycra shorts and kept falling off his bike. I asked him to walk a straight line.”
Mutti said, “Oh my goodness, had he been drinking?”
The officer said, “I don’t know, madam, but he refused to walk the line on account of an old war wound. Then he said…” The officer looked down at his notes again. “…‘Do you want to come back to my place, constable, and have one for the road?’”
You have to give Grandad full marks on the lunacy scale.
8:00 p.m.
The policeman radioed into his station and Grandad was released from chokey after being charged with careless biking and not having a bell. Apparently the budgie bell he had Sellotaped on to the handlebar doesn’t count.
He now has a criminal record.
Mum was all flustered and kept apologising to the policeman as he went off. “I am so sorry, officer. I hope you can mend your bike and you haven’t been hurt at all.”
The policeman said, “No, well, I’m quite tough, madam.”
“Yes, well you do seem very fit. I do a bit of aerobics myself; it’s awfully good for keeping in shape.”
The policeman winked at her (honestly!) and he said, “Yes, I can see that. Anyway, madam, I’d better be on my way.”
And then he said that classic thing that you think you’d only see on TV. He said, “Mind how you go, it’s a jungle out there.”
Mum practically wet herself with laughing. She is so so sad and embarrassing. After the policeman had gone I just looked at her, and she said, “What? What?”
I said, “You know what. You were practically slavering over him.”
“Well, he was a nice young man – of course, far too young for me.”
Unbelievable!!!
In my bedroom
How very embarrassing my family is.
Midnight
Still, on the plus side, Grandad’s cycling days are over and he can now be on house-burning-down duties for when we go to Hamburger-a-gogo land. Hurrah! And also zippety doo dah!!
Tuesday May 17th
Five days to Hamburger-a-gogo land Evening
Oh, I just can’t stand this hanging around waiting to go on the Luuurve Plane.
Come on come on!!!
I’ve been trying out arrival outfits. Boots or shoes? It’s hard to know what to do weatherwise. Also, I may have to go from day wear to evening wear, depending on the timezone business.
I am practising speaking Hamburgese, even in my own head. The key seems to be to add stuff, so instead of weather you say weatherwise. Timewise. Daywise. Luuurvewise, etc.
But on a more seriouswise note, this time business is v.v. aggravating fashionwise.
I said to Jas on the phone (she is opting for sensible sports casual for travelling)…I said to her (Mistress of the Time Lords), “Are we flying backwards in time, or what?”
“Yeah, they are six hours behind us.”
“Why are they? Why can’t they just keep up with us? Didn’t we invent time?”
“What?”
“You know, Greenwich Mean Time – didn’t we invent it? So why can’t they just be the same as us?”
“Because they would be getting up in the middle of the night.”
“So?”
But you can’t reason with Jas.
Wednesday May 18th
Four days to Hamburger-a-gogo land Evening
Grandad has come round for instructions about looking after the house and cats.
I am still in a ditherspaz about what to wear. I’ve been through all of my clothes about a million times.
Still, on the plus side, I have definitely decided what to wear nailwise. I’ve chosen Pouting Pink.
I am absolutely full of exhaustiosity.
8:15 p.m.
Dragged myself downstairs for a reviving snack.
In the front room
Grandad started fiddling about in his pockets.
“I’ve got something for you.”
Oh, joy unbounded. A boiled sweet.
I love him and everything, but why does he have to be so, you know…so…grandadish?
The TV was on, with my extremely unfit vati lolling around in front of it. As I sat down to try and get my tights away from Gordy, Vati said, “Now then, Georgia, why don’t you tell me how much spending money you expect for the holiday. Then we’ll have a good laugh and go from there.”
Vair vair amusing. Sadly though, I have to humour him. I said, “Well, it’s only for a week, isn’t it? And we’ve got the hotel rooms and food and so on, so actually, all in all, I think a thousand quid would just about cover it if I don’t buy anything extravagant.”