‘… and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’

I said to the Ace Gang as we trailed out of Assembly to RE, “What started out as a scheissenhausen day has turned out to be a groovy gravy day.”

I am looking forward to RE because while everyone has their little snooze I can read my letter from the beloved.

RE

We all snuggled down at the back. RoRo was knitting something for the teenage werewolf party. I think it might be a full-length beard. Jools was doing her cuticles and Jas was reading her wilderness manual. She loves it because it has lots of photos of girlie swots building incomprehensible things out of twigs. Anyway, time to read my letter. Miss Wilson was beginning to ramble on about “world peace” and asking us for our views. I didn’t want to have to answer anything, I just wanted her to soothingly write stuff on the board or rave on. So I put my hand up. That startled her. I said, “Miss Wilson, I have been very troubled in my mind.”

That started Rosie off in uncontrollable sniggering. Miss Wilson looked at me through her owly glasses. She is the most strangely put together person I have ever come across. Where does she get her clothes from? Did you know that you could get dresses made out of red felt with matching booties for grown-ups? She has clearly been to the circus shop that Slim buys her wrinkly elephant-tights from.

Anyway, Miss Wilson was vair vair interested in my troubled mind.

“Is it something of a theological nature, Georgia?”

“Yes indeedy, Miss Wilson. This is what is troubling me. If God is, you know, impotent…”

Miss Wilson went sensationally red, so now her head matched her booties.

“Well… er… Georgia, erm, impotent means not being able to have any children… I rather think you mean omnipotent.”

“Whatever. Well, if He is, does that mean that He is with you even when you are in the lavatory?”

Miss Wilson started rambling on about God not being really a bloke like other geezers but more of a spiritual whatsit. Hmmm. She has a very soothing manner. Jools had finished her cuticles and was having a little zizz on her pencil case.

I opened my letter with trembly hands. I wondered how long it would take me to fly to Kiwi-agogo land.

Dear Georgia,

Sorry it has taken me S0 long to write to you but it has been full-on since I got here. The countryside around here is fantastic, it’s all formed from volcanic activity. There are volcanoes near here that are still live and there is a lot of geothermal activity.

Yesterday when we were eating our lunch outside, the table was heaving and lurching about. That’s because the molten steam trapped beneath the Earth’s crust makes the ground move and shake around. It was amazing! The sheep were going backwards and forwards, and the trees were going up and down. There are bore fields around the whole area where they tap the steam and make electricity out of it. The lads took me to see a rogue bore called Old Faithful that explodes every fifteen minutes.

Rogue bore? He could have stayed here and just sat still in our school for a few minutes; it’s full of rogue bores. Sadly, they do not explode.

And that is all the letter was about, just loads and loads of stuff about vegetables and sheep and lurching tables. Not one thing about missing me.

I couldn’t believe it.

At the end, it said,

Well, I must go, some of the guys are going down to the river. It has natural hot springs that run through it. We go down there at night and lie in it playing our guitars.

He was going down to a river and he was going to lie in it.

That was the big nightspot.

I wrote a note to Jas.

Jas,

SG just talked about opossums and rogue bores and a river and then at the end he said, “I hope you are well and happy. You’re a great girl. Gidday. Robbie x”

One measly kiss.

11:00 am

After RE I was in a state of shock. I could hardly eat my cheesy snacks. We sat on the knicker toaster in the Blodge lab and the Ace Gang had a look at the letter.

Jas said, “Well, he said you were a great girl.”

I just looked at her.

“And it’s really interesting about the molten steam and the geothermal… stuff.”

I just looked at her again.

Rosie said, “Forget him, he’s obsessed with marsupials. When he comes back he’ll be playing a didgeridoo and be like Rolf Harris. Move on.”

4:15 p.m.

Walking home with Jas. I said to her, “I cannot believe my life. I’ve kept reading SG’s letter over and over but it still rambles on about steam and vegetables.”

Jas looked thoughtful (crikey) and then she said something almost bordering on the very nearly not mad. She said, “Maybe it’s in code.”

“In code?”

“Yes, so that, erm, the customs people, or say it fell into the wrong hands, like your mum and dad… well, so that they couldn’t tell what he had really written.”

I gave her a hug. “Jas, I am sorry that I ever doubted your sanity. You are a genius of the first water.”

In my room 4:45 p.m.

So let’s see.

5:30 p.m.

If I underline every fourth word, that might work.

6:00 p.m.

I think I have got it! Phoned Jas.

“Jas, I think I’ve got it.”

“Go on then.”

“OK. It’s sort of in shorthand even when it is decoded but… anyway… this is what it says:

‘Dear Georgia. Me, you fantastic. When we were heaving and lurching about it was amazing. Me explodes every fifteen minutes. At night me in it playing you. You’re great. Love Robbie.’”

There was a silence. Then Jas said, “Did you say, ‘me explodes every fifteen minutes’?” “Yes… keen, isn’t he?”

In bed 7:00 p.m.

It wasn’t in code. It was just a really, really crap letter.

Nothing can be worse than how I feel now.

7:30 p.m.

Wrong. I cannot believe my vati. He has sold our normal(ish) car and bought a Robin Reliant. You know, one of those really really sad cars that only the very mad buy? It has got three wheels. It is a three-wheeled car. I shouted down to Vati, “Why?”

He was all preened-up and dadish.

He shouted back up, “It’s an antique.”

I tried logic with him. “Vati, sometimes antiques are interesting – the crown jewels, for instance, they interest me – but this is just a really old crap car that only has three wheels.”

He was polishing it. It’s red and it has a racing strip.

Vati said, “Hop in and I’ll take you fora spin.” As if.

Dad started rustling around in the boot and shouted to Mum, “Connie, come on, I’ll take you and Libby fora ride in the Sexmobile.”

He is so ludicrously pleased with himself.

And Mutti was as bad. All dillydollyish and also she had a tiny skirt on. At least she had on a skirt though, unlike Libby, who was in the nuddy-pants.

8:00 PM

In the end they all went off, including Angus, who I actually thought was driving the car at first. He had his paws on the steering wheel and was looking straight ahead. Even though I am on the rack of love, it did make me laugh. Then Vati’s head popped up. Not content with the humiliatorosity of the Robin Reliant clown car, Vati also bought a Second World War flying helmet and goggles.

As they drove off, he wound down the window and shouted, “Chocks away!!!”

What does Mutti see in him? He must have been like this when she met him. Which means, in essence, that she likes porky blokes with badgers on their chins who are clearly mental.

At this rate I am going to spend the rest of my life with them, so I should get used to it, I suppose.

8:05 p.m.

I can’t. I would rather plunge my head into a basket of whelks.

8:10 p.m.

What is it with boys?

I may do some research on them for my part in MacUseless or The Och Aye Play.

I may as well, as my so-called mates can’t be bothered to ring me.

8:30 p.m.

Phone rang.

If it’s Dave the Laugh, I am going to give him the full force of my glaciosity. I hate boys.

It was Rosie.

“Gee?”

“Oh hi, I’m glad you rang because I am sooo—”

“Did you hear about the dog who went into a pub and said to the barman, ‘Can I have a pint and a bag of crisps please?’”

“Rosie, I don’t-”

“The barman said, ‘Blimey, that’s brilliant. There’s a circus in town. You should go and get a job.’”

“Rosie, I have-”

“And the dog said, ‘Why? Do they need electricians?’”

And she slammed down the phone.

I am seriously worried about her dwindling sanity. I’d just got back upstairs to my bed of pain when the phone rang again. Why can’t we have a portable fandango thing or, alternatively, a servant called Juan who answers it?

Is it so much to ask?

This time it was Ellen.

“Georgia, it’s me. I was, you know… for the party. Well, do you… think I… well, if you were me, would you or would you just kind of, you know… or not?”

What in the name of Hitler’s pants and matching bra set is she on about?

“Ellen, how can I put this? What in the name of arse are you talking about?”

“Dave the Laugh, should I, you know, well, would you?”

Oh marvellous, I have to be Wise Woman of the Forest for my mates. Also it reminded me that if Ellen found out about the Dave the Laugh snogging scenarios, there might well be fisticuffs at dawn.

Still, I am not God and also I am very very busy with my own problems. My lurking lurker has to be dealt with before it makes a surprise appearance. Not that I will ever be going out again anyway. My lurker could grow to the size of my head if it wanted to. Erlack, now I feel sick.

Ellen was rambling on and on about Dave the Laugh and how to entice him and so on. In the end, in sheer desperadoes, I said, “Look, do you know why Dave the Laugh is called, you know, Dave the Laugh?”

Ellen said, “Er. No, why is that?”

I am being pushed to the limits of my nicosity, but I tried, God knows I tried.

“He’s called that because he likes a laugh, and well, to be frank, Ellen, you are a bit lacking vis-à-vis the laughometer scale.”

9:00 p.m.

I wish when I am speaking complete and utter bollocks people would not take me seriously. It’s not my fault that I have advised Ellen to develop an infectious laugh, is it? Oh, I am so tired.

9:30 p.m.

By the time the Circus Family came home, I was tucked up in my bed with the lights off. Not that it makes any difference whatsoever.

Sure enough, it was tramp, tramp up the stairs. Open door, blinding light as Mutti switched it on. Swiss Family Mad came and sat on my bed. Angus now had the goggles on and a scarf round his neck.

Mutti said, “Oh, it was really good fun, Georgie.”

Libby got in bed with me and started prodding my lurker, going, “Spottie bottie boy.”

Then Vati came in. Into my bedroom. He was looking at me and I was only wearing my pyjamas.

I said, “Did anyone notice that my light was off and that I was asleep? Did anyone get that?”

But they just went on chattering and giggling, and Vati was playing tickly bears with Libby and Mutti.

Please save me.

Thursday March 10th Maths

I am going to have to kill Rosie – she is soo overexcited about the return of Sven. Every time Miss Stamp turns round she does mad disco dancing. Miss Stamp turned round a bit sharpish and caught Rosie nodding her head like a loon. She said, “Rosemary Mees, what are you doing?”

Rosie said, “I was agreeing with your excellent point on the roundness of circles.”

She got a bad conduct mark for cheek, but she is still as mad as a hen.

She sent me a note: What swings round and round a cathedral wrapped in cellophane?

I tried to ignore her but she kept looking and raising her eyebrows until I thought she would have a nervy spaz. So I mouthed back, “What?” and she sent another note:The lunchpack of Notre Dame.

Dear God, am I never to be free?

English

Oh rave on, rave on. Not content with boring us to death with MacUseless, we are also doing two more books. Wuthering Heights, or Blithering Heights, as we call it, and Samuel Pepys’ Diary, about this horrifically boring bloke called Samuel Pepys. He quite literally, from what I can gather, peeps about. He just looks up ladies’ skirts most of the time and says “prithee”. Still, we all have to accept he is a genius. On the plus side, the dirty bits will make Miss Wilson go completely spazoid.

4:30 p.m.

Walking home with Jas and Rosie when we saw Dave the Laugh and Rollo and Tom. Jas went ludicrously girlish, even though she has been seeing Hunky for about a zillion years. I should know – I am like that bloke, Pepys’s mate… Boswell, who had to write down all the boring stuff that Pepys did because he was his secretary or something.

I could write a diary about Jas: “Prithee it bee Thursdayee and Missee Jas gotte uppee this morning and puttee on her pantee forsooth and lack a day, her bottom I declareth groweth by the minutee.”

I had a bit of a nervy spaz when I saw Dave. He was all cool. Rats. He said, “Easy girls, don’t be selfish, there’s more than enough of me to go round.”

I gave him my glacial look but he just winked at me. I couldn’t smile even if I wanted to because I had got so much lurker eradicator (cover-up) on that I couldn’t move my face.

Rosie said, “Are you coming to Sven’s teenage werewolf party on Saturday? There will be snacks.”

Rollo said, “It’s not fish fingers, is it?”

Rosie looked pityingly at him. “Rollo, keep up, this is a teenage werewolf party.”

Dave the Laugh said, “Babies’ tiny heads then, is it?”

Rosie said, “Now you are ignoring the sophisticosity of the occasion. It is of course sausages with lashings of tomato ketchup.”

Dave said, “Of course it is. See you later, chicklets. And Georgia, it is useless trying to ignore me – it just gives me the Mega Horn.”

And he and the lads went off whistling the theme from The Italian Job.

4:45 p.m.

How annoying is that?

I could kill him.

He completely ignored my glaciosity.

Rosie and Jas were looking at me in a looking-at-me sort of way. Which I hate. Tom walked along with us. Jas was wittering on to him and holding his hand.

“I’ve found this stuff in the library about different kinds of fungi you can eat. You know, for our wilderness thing. Well, if we got lost away from the others in the group we could eat it and not starve.”

I said, “Forgive me if I’m right, but are you talking about mushrooms?”

Jas got all huffy. “Well. All YOU are interested in is Dave the Laugh.”

I tried to look as bewildered as a bee who finds itself in an egg-cup hat.

“I am not at all interested in Dave the Stupid Laugh – it’s just that I am even less interested in grey shapeless things that lurk about the woods.”

They were all looking at me still.

I tried again. “Oh come on, get real… Dave the Laugh, I – me – I mean…”

Tom said, “So you do like him then?”

Jas said meaningfully, “Yes, well, SOME people know SOMETHING about SOMETHING.”

Oh good point, well made. Not.

I wanted to kill her and make her eat her fringe. And her knickers.

Rosie, who had been practising being blind and using me as her guide dog, said, “I’ve got an uncle in Yorkshire who eats cow udder as a treat.”

That can’t be true.

Can it?

5:00 p.m.

Walking home all alone.

I let myself in when I got to our house.

I opened the door and yelled out, “Hello Georgia darling, take your coat off and come and warm yourself by this blazing fire! I’ve made a nourishing stew for you, and when your father comes home from being really masculine and rich we can talk about the four hundred pounds a week you need for a decent pad in London.” As if.

6:00 p.m.

Mum is out tossing herself around a room full of red-faced loons in leotards. Again. Who knows where Dad is. Out in his clown car causing havoc.

Brrr, it is so nippy noodles and dark.

Got into bed it was so chilly bananas.

Oh I am so cold and bored.

7:00 p.m.

Phone rang. It was Ellen.

“I heard you saw Dave on the way home and he’s definitely coming on Saturday because he said he was and that means he is. Do you think?”

I said, “Put it this way, there will be snacks and Sven possibly in a Viking outfit, of course Dave the Laugh will be there.”

And then Ellen started doing this thing. I thought she was having a fit at first. She was snorting and going “Hnnurknurkhhhhnuuuuuurkkk.” “Ellen, what are you doing?” “I’m practising my infectious laugh.” Good grief.

Bedroom

I am so depressed and bored I may even have to do some homework.

In Mutti’s bedroom 7:15 p.m.

I wonder if Mutti has got anything new I could wear to the party.

Ho hum.

I have squirted my lurker with her Opium. I think it might be retreating to where it came from. Although with my luck it will probably re-emerge on the end of my nose, giving me that two-nosed look that is so popular amongst the very very ugly.

7:30 p.m.

I haven’t even got the heart to write to the Sex God, otherwise known as Marsupial Man. He’ll probably be lying in a river somewhere anyway.

7:40 p.m.

My new address is:

Georgia Nicolson

Crap House

Crapton-on-sea

Crapshire

Crapland

7:45 p.m.

What is this book that Mutti has hidden in her knicker drawer?

How to Make Anyone Fall in Love with You.

8:00 p.m.

This is amazing.

8:30 p.m.

Phoned Rosie.

“Rosie.”

“Quoi?”

“Do you know how to make anyone fall in love with you?”

“Well, in Sven’s case I reel him in with snacks and snogging.”

I’ve seen the two of them snogging and eating snacks at the same time, so I didn’t really want to talk about it much.

I went on, “My mutti’s got a secret book and it tells you how to make anyone fall in love with you, even normal boys, boys who are not Svens.”

Friday March 11th

Odds bodkin, what is the matter with grown-ups? They are all mad as hens (madder). Usually when you do plays you just read them out in order and so on. Not at this hellhole. Miss Wilson decided we had to “get into” our parts by improvising. How crap is that? Very, very very and thrice very crap.

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