Mum got out of the car and tore off across the field, shouting “Bob, Bob, where are you, darling?”
I could hear a muffled yelling. I supposed I had better go and see what had happened to the Portly One. Libbs and I ambled over to where Mum was looking down. And there he was, up to his armpits in a hole.
Even though I am in the depths of despairiosity and so on, it did make me laugh. A LOT. Dad was all red and shoutey. “It’s a bloody badger hole!!”
That made me go uncontrollably spazoid.
As Mutti pulled him out, he was all grumpy, like the very psychotic get.
“They’re a bloody menace. Badgers. I am going to inform someone of this. I could have injured myself quite badly. It’s not funny.”
As Mutti helped him back to the clown car, I said, “I think you should write to someone, Vati, and have badgers banned. Whilst you are at it get beavers banned because they may have been in cahoots with the badgers; they may have encouraged them to dig that hole for a laugh, and—”
“Shut up, Georgia.”
Oh that’s nice, isn’t it. Mutti was inwardly laughing but restrained herself on the way home. She had to drive the clown car because Vati was incontinent. Or do I mean incompetent? Both I think.
At home she made him some tea whilst he lay groaning and moaning on the sofa.
5:00 p.m.
I was in the kitchen hanging around and Angus was doing his famous staring at the door trick. I’m not falling for it, though. He sits and looks all longingly at the door for ages. Just staring and staring at it. Eventually some poor fool gets up and goes to open it for him. Angus looks out and then he looks at you, then he looks back at the outside. And you can see him thinking, “Nah, I won’t bother now.”
It’s very annoying. Mum was cutting the crusts off toast for Dad. Which she never does for me. I said to her, “Hey Mutti, if someone discovers that Vati just floods people’s homes as a job, and he gets the sack from the Water Board, he could always get a job as a badger finder. Say you wanted to know where the badgers were in a field; well, you just set Vati off walking and when he disappears from view you know there is a badger there.”
still only 8:00 p.m.
It’s so dark and gloomy. Like life. No phone calls.
I HATE Dave the Laugh.
Even though it is very nippy noodles, I can’t bear being cooped up in the house. I thought I’d go sit on the garden wall and try to calm down.
I was just sitting there in my big coat and scarf and hat in the streetlight, looking at all the houses where other people were doing stuff. Roasting chestnuts, snogging, etc., when Oscar, Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road’s son, came out onto his driveway on his bike. He was doing wheelies and all that pointless boy stuff that they do. Making the bike hop along, braking really suddenly, sitting on the seat backward and steering it behind his back. All boys are mad as snakes—which is why I must train myself up for lesbianism, even if it involves growing a mustache. If it involved growing a beard under each arm, I was practically home and dry. The orangutan gene is not having a winter vacation.
Anyway, Oscar saw me watching him and he winked at me. I just looked at him. What is he winking for? Then he winked again. Is he in training for owldom? He shouted over, “Do you fancy it then?”
Pardon? I said, “What?”
What is he talking about?
He leant back against his bike and crossed one leg over the other in what I imagine he thinks is a casual way.
He said, “Me and you.”
“Me and you what?”
“You know…getting it on.”
“Pardon?”
“You know, letting the monster out of the bag, setting free the trouser snake.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I said, “Oscar, forgive me if I’m right but you are twelve.”
“I know, but I like older women.”
Unbelievable. Now I am being propositioned by toddlers—soon it will be Josh, Libby’s little mate from nursery school.
Oscar was still winking at me whilst I was staring at him when Mark Big Gob came by on his way out. Oh brilliant. He said, “Clear off, Oscar, bedtime.” Oscar looked hard, but he cleared off all the same, saying, “Yeah, well, I was going to go in, I’ve got a chick phoning me. Dig you later.”
Has he gone completely mad?
Mark Big Gob looked at me—or rather, he looked at my nungas.
“You’re looking cool, Georgia. Why don’t you come for a walk with me Tuesday? I’ll be out by the back field at eight o’clock. See you then.”
I was just going “What??? What???” in my mind, but nothing was coming out of my mouth.
As if!!! Meet him in the back field???? As if!!!!!
What had happened to his tiny girlfriend??
Anyway, it didn’t matter what happened to her, as if I would meet him by the back field or anywhere.
Boys are truly unbelievable.
monday march 14th
break
All huddled up in our Antarctic weatherproof tepee behind the five’s court. (The ace gang get all our coats and button them to each other around us, like a coat tepee.) Mmmm, nice and snug, but it does mean you can’t use your arms. We put the snacks in the middle of us inside the coat tepee. You have to eat them blind, grabbing stuff from any bag you can feel and forcing two fingers with the snack in them through the communal neck hole. Tricky if you all try to do it at the same time.
Rosie said, “That was a vair vair good party. I didn’t get to bed until eight A.M. and then I had to get up at ten because of my olds coming back.”
Ellen said, “I thought your olds were, you know, cool with you having parties.”
Rosie said, “Oh they are, it’s just that there were a lot of rogue sausage snacks to round up after Sven did his famous ‘Let’s go down the disco’ dance on the cocktail cabinet.”
Jools said, “Leslie Andrews is covered in lovebites, she is six inches deep in panstick and she still looks like she has been attacked by lemmings. She tried to wear a polo neck sweater in games, but Miss Stamp made her take it off and then tutted for England when she saw the state of her neck.”
Oh rave on, who cares about the stupid party? I don’t want to talk about it. In a fit of subtlosity I said, “What shall we get as a thoughtful leaving gift for Elvis? Handcuffs? A straitjacket? A T-shirt with ‘I am a complete and utter tosser’ written on it?”
However, I was ignorez-voused and Jools said, “You left early, Gee. Why…did you have the painters in?”
Jas looked at me. She is still not officially talking to me since the hat over the stupid head scenario.
Everyone looked at me.
Stop looking at me in that lookingy way.
Ellen said, “I am soo upset about Dave the Laugh. I thought he might have got over the thingy, you know, Horn stuff, but then he…you know, brought that girl, you know…er…”
Rosie said, “Rachel.”
Ellen said, “No, I’m, I mean I’m Ellen I you…”
Rosie said, “Ellen, get a grip…the girl, Dave’s Horn mate, she is called Rachel.”
Ellen went dithering on, “Yes, I mean Rachel, I couldn’t believe it when he turned up with her.”
I said, “I know.”
Ellen was rambling on for England (taking over from Jas, all-time world rambling champion). “I mean, you know, he’s supposed to be like a great guy…”
I said, “Yeah…he’s supposed to be a great guy but actually he’s a sniveling wormy-type guy who leads people on and he…then he…”
Everyone was looking at me (a bit cross-eyed because our heads were so close together). Oh dear, I have slightly blown my glacial disinterest in Dave. I thought quickly; “I mean, it’s not fair…on Ellen, is it?”
I said it like I was a great pal. Jas said in her mind, “You skunk girl.” So I said telepathically back to her, “Shut up, Wilderness Woman.”
home
6:38 p.m.
The kittykats are going to be sent away!! Mr. Across the Road came round partly to talk about the Lord of the Rings party they are going to have. He said, “I’m going as Gandalf and Oscar is thinking about going as a hobbit.” Hmm, that’s attractive in a twelve-year-old nymphomaniac. I let a smile play around my lips at the thought of my dad in green tights. However, Mr. Across the Road—who has taken an unfair dislike to me for some reason—said viciously, “I’ve found homes for six of those monstrous things, God help the people they are going to, but I can’t find anyone stupid enough to have the seventh, so it’ll have to go to the vets.”
Go to the vets??? I knew what that meant. One of the kittykats was headed for the big cat basket in the sky…. After he had lumbered off, Dad settled down on the sofa to read his newspaper. Angus was snoozing in front of the fire.
I said to Dad, “Dad, did you hear that??? Please, please can we save the kittykat, think how upset Angus will be. In fact I think he understands every word we say and he knows what Mr. Across the Road the kittykat abuser said. Look, look, Dad, I think he’s crying.”
Unfortunately at that moment Angus woke up and leapt straight through the newspaper Dad was reading, tearing it completely in half. Dad got hold of Angus, who also had surprised himself with his insane leap, and flung him across the room. Of course, old nimble paws landed on his feet and ambled off.
Dad was full of lividosity. He said, “Absolutely not in a million years, never, ever, not ever, do you get it, Georgia, NO.”
7:00 p.m.
In the kitchen Mutti was pretending to iron something. I said, “Mutti, that’s an iron, you know, they can get quite hot.”
She said, “Shut up.”
in my bedroom
7:15 p.m.
Libby was just doing a spot of housework; she has a handbrush and she brushes and mutters to herself; she was saying “Bloody thing, bloody thing” as she worked. Obviously gaining her knowledge from my parents. When I lay down on my bed of pain she came and nuzzled me; “Georgia, Georgie Porgy…I LOBE you, kissy kiss kiss.”
I wish she had more snot control. I told her, “Angus’s kittykats have to go away.”
She said, “NO.”
I said, “Maybe Mummy will let you have one if you ask her.”
Libby gave me a very very scary smile and toddled off with her brush.
I heard her clanking down the stairs singing, “Mummy, Muuuummmmmmeeeeee.”
ten minutes later
I can hear mumbling going on in the kitchen. Libby said, “Nice Muummmeee.”
I couldn’t hear what Mum was saying but I could tell she was using a reasoning sort of voice.
Then there was banging and shouting. Mutti yelled, “No Libby. Stop that!! No biting and not on my best…oh hellfire!!”
10:00 p.m.
Our new kittykat is called Gordon. Libby LOBES Gordon very much. She has put him in his pajamas and tucked him up with me and her other toys. He is very very gorgey but he is a bit on the cross-eyed side.
Gordy is happily sucking on Libby’s dodie and all is quiet.
tuesday march 15th
Gordy woke up at six A.M. and crawled under my chin like a little ginger beard. He is so adorable.
7:00 p.m.
Stalag 14 was indescribably boring today. We had Blithering Heights followed by double French. I told the ace gang about the absolute cheek of Oscar and Mark Big Gob.
Jas pretended to be giving me her icy shoulders, but even she got interested when I described Oscar looning around trying to get off with me. She said, “Were you wiggling your hips like in the book?”
“Jas, I was sitting down on the wall; anyway, he’s twelve.”
She looked all Wise Woman of the Forestish (i.e., stupid).
“Perhaps you were doing internal hip wiggling.”
What is she raving on about?
Still, she is talking to me by mistake and so I win the glaciosity game hahahaha.
7:45 p.m.
I don’t know why I have applied makeup to stay in my room.
Mutti and Vati have got Uncle Eddie round and a few of their crap mates. Uncle Eddie popped his head round my door almost blinding me with the glare from his baldiness.
I began to say, “Er, Uncle Eddie, this is a loon-free zone…” but he said, “What has a hundred legs and can’t walk?”
“Uncle Eddie, I am sixteen years old, I—”
“Fifty pairs of trousers…hahahahah it’s the way I tell ’em!”
And he looned off to the loon gathering.
I cannot have any peace. I am forced out of my own home because of the high loon count.
7:59 p.m.
I crept out of the house into the back garden. I would just see if Mark Big Gob has the audacity to turn up for our “date.” And I can tell him to bugger off.
8:00 p.m.
He’s not there. God, even someone I was going to stand up has stood me up before I had a chance to stand them up.
8:02 p.m.
Mark Big Gob came out of the shadows smoking a fag. He really has got the biggest gob known to humanity. He said, “You’re keen.”
How annoying is that. I was going to say, well, actually I was just here to tell you to bugger off, when he said, “Fancy a fag?”
Er…
I said, “No thanks, I only smoke cigars.”
What am I talking about?
He held out his hand.
“Come on then.”
I honestly have no control over any part of my body, because even though I had no intention of doing it, I took his hand. Which was a mistake in very many ways, mostly because I had forgotten that I am taller than him and I have long arms. So I had to do the crouchy orangutan thing to keep at the same height as him.
Anyway, we loped off up the hill, it was bloody dark and extremely nippy noodles. I had worn my big cardigan, but I still felt a bit chilly because it only buttoned up halfway. Mark is not a big talker and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. We got up to the bit at the top we call the bushes; it’s really snog headquarters. There was no one there tonight, though. Mark let go of my hand and put his fag out. Then he alarmed me by putting his hand round the back of my neck and pulling me to him quite roughly. Blimey. Just as I was deciding what to do he shoved his tongue in my mouth. No warmsy upsies, not even “My your skin is looking nice,” or “What a lovely blouse.” Not even a nodding acquaintance with one two three four on the snogging scale.
It wasn’t that nice actually. His tongue had more than a passing similarity to Angus’s. Not that I have snogged Angus, but there has been the odd occasion when he has licked my face and the tongue has inadvertently slipped into my gob. I didn’t quite know what to do with my tongue or my teeth. My tongue was sort of being forced back to keep out of the way of his. For one horrible moment I wondered if there was something called “tonsil snogging” that no one had told me about. Mark seemed to be enjoying it even if I wasn’t. He was sort of groaning and holding me really close. I was just thinking I might try and get my hands free (they were sort of trapped in between us) when Mark did this thing. He stuck his hand (which was freezing) down the front of my T-shirt and into my nunga-nunga holder. Number eight, upper-body fondling!! Actually it gave me such a shock that I jumped back and Mark was left off balance; he stumbled into the bushes. He came out a minute later covered in twigs. He didn’t look pleased.
He said, “What did you do that for?”
I said, “Well. Er, it was all a bit…I don’t know that I want you to…”
He lit a fag and said, “What did you come here for…a chat?”
I said, “Well…I…”
What did I come here for? Very good question. Excellent point, well made. Boredom mostly, I suppose. I didn’t think I should say that. Mark seemed really angry. He said, “Do you go all the way or not?”
I said, “Well, no I…”
Mark star
ted walking off. “Girls like you make me sick.”
And he was gone. I was left at the top of the hill alone. What had I done now? I felt really weird. And lonely.
I walked back down the hill. When I went through our gate, Angus was lying in wait and pounced on my trousers round the ankle. With a heavy heart and even heavier trousers I dragged him indoors.
midnight
What does Mark mean, “girls like me”?
wednesday march 16th
Walking to school with Jas.
“Jas, what number have you got up to with Hunky?”
She went all red and girlish. “Er…”
“Come on, Jas, I tell you everything.”
Jas said, “I know and I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Jas.”
“Well. Er, when we went camping we, you know, had a bit of quality time together.”
“Snogging time you mean?”
“Well yes.. we, er, got up to six and a half.”
“Ear snogging…is that all?”
She got huffy then and started adjusting her knickers. “There is more to life than snogging, you know.”
I said, “Oh yeah like what, going off into the forest snuffling out truffles?”
“Pigs do that.”
“Yeah, and your point is?”
Jas said I am being all mean and moody because of Dave the Laugh, but what she doesn’t know is that it’s not just Dave the Laugh, it’s Oscar, and now Mark Big Gob as well. I feel all ashamed somehow. Like I am tainted love.
break
Rosie and I managed to escape the storm troopers (Wet Lindsay and her pathetico pals). Jas wants to read her book about twig houses, so she has gone off to the five’s court with the other girlie swots. Hawkeye insists that we have windows open, even in Antarctic conditions. She says it is good for us but she also says reading absolute bollocks is good for us, so I don’t trust her. It is, after all, she who thinks that Blithering Heights, as we call it, is a “classic.” When in fact it is a load of Yorkshire people hurling themselves around a moor in the wind singing “Heathcliff, it’s me Katheeee come home again.” And so on. We’ve only read three pages and already I want to slit my wrists. Anyway, where was I before I so rudely interrupted myself? Oh yes, so because Hawkeye has windows open all over the school, we could get in through the Science block window.
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