Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? (3 page)

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.

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 mollusks. 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 about two centimeters high and 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 seventies 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 good-bye 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 safetywise 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 frog-marched 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, it makes her day.

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 fire starter, crazy fire starter 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 yelling into his walkie-talkie. “Z Victor one 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.

outside slim’s office

three minutes later

The Little Titches, also known as the Dave the Laugh fan club, were in the outer torture chamber
with the ace gang when I got there. Wet Lindsay went off to get Elvis.

I said, “Hello, Titches, what are you up for? GBH? Titchiness?”

Ginger Titch said, “We were making up a tribute to Dave the Laugh in the loos.”

And I said, “Where is the crime in that?”

And the littlest one said, “We broke the loo seat with our stamping.”

“There is no justice in this place. It squashes any sign of creativitosity.”

The Little Titches nodded. Ginger said, “Miss, do you like Dave the Laugh the bestiest? We do.”

All of the gang looked at me and I went a bit red.

Jas said, “Yes, do you ‘accidentally’ like Dave the Laugh, Georgia?”

Ellen was looking and blinking and started saying, “Why would…I mean, what…Dave and…well, what is that…”

Rosie started shouting, “FIRE!! I’m gonna teach you to burn, FIRE!!” and doing
whooshing
and flame dancing when Slim opened her door suddenly and said, “I’m glad that you are all in such a
jolly mood. Let’s see if we can change that. You two first formers in my office, now.”

The two Little Titches started to follow her. After her gigantic bottom had waddled off, they got to her door and looked round. I saluted them by putting my finger on my nose and making it stick up like a piggie.

They saluted back and even did a little grunt.

They are top girls for Little Titches.

five minutes later

We could hear muffled shouting and then a bit of crying.

Rosie said, “She is beating them with her chins.”

God, if Slim was going to go ballistic over a loo seat, we were deffo going to get a severe mental thrashing.

Then Wet Lindsay arrived, accompanied by Mr. Attwood. In a wheelchair. What????

Was he too lazy even to walk across the playground?

A man in his physical condition should not be in charge of the safety of high-spirited youth.

Or any people.

Or anything.

Wet Lindsay looked at me like I was snot in a skirt. It turned out that Elvis had slipped in his own foam and done his back in. I bet he hasn’t.

He was moaning on for England, as usual.

“How am I supposed to do my job now?”

I was going to say, “Oh, you know, the usual way, sitting perving in your hut.”

But I didn’t.

He was rambling on.

“You have no thought for others. When I was a boy, we had respect for our elders.”

Moan moan. Here we go. It will be, “In my day we used to enjoy ourselves just by picking our own noses.”

I said, “Well, as it happens, Elvis, er, I mean Mr. Attwood, I agree with you. You are clearly too old to be working. It’s cruel. In fact, I am going to have a word with our headmistress and suggest she give you the big good-bye you so richly deserve.”

Wet Lindsay had her usual spazerama attack.

She said, “Shut up and grow up!”

Charming.

slim’s office

Oh, I am soooo bored with being told off. It is giving me the megadroop. I should be at home glamming myself up for the Luuurve God and practicing my new sophisticosity. Just in case he forgives me. Instead of which I am in an office counting chins.

Slim was completely jelloid. In fact, her whole body was having a chin-a-thon. Of course, it was me who got it in the neck. As if I started the bloody fire. I just did a bit of
whooshing
.

Slim said, “So, Georgia? What happened this time? Is it another miscarriage of justice?”

Well, at least she was being reasonable for once.

I said, “Well, actually, miss, yes, it is. You see it was minus fifty outside and we were terribly cold, so J…I mean we, decided to use our woodland skills that we learned on our magnificent camping trip with Herr Kamyer and…”

Slim looked at me.

“You mean you set fire to some rubbish in the fives court.”

I said, “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

Mr. Attwood lurched to life.

“I’m in agony, Headmistress, because of an
act of senseless arson. By arsonists.”

I don’t know what it is about the word arse-onists, but it does give me the inward hysteria. Mr. Attwood had more or less said “arse” in front of Slim. I daren’t look at Rosie.

Slim looked at me.

“It’s always you, Georgia. Why can’t you grow up?”

I nearly said, “I’m growing as fast as I can. Look at the size of my nungas!”

Wet Lindsay had to put her oar in.

“The trouble is, of course, that she does lead the others into it.”

Oh yeah, that’ll be the day.

I started to say, “Well, actually, funnily enough, this time it was…”

And Jas looked at me like an annoying fringey puppy. Dear God, she’s not joking. She actually does want to be a prefect. It is vair nice of me to even be mates with her under the circs.

It’s an act of charity really. And when I had mentioned my plan for sophisticosity she had said, “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

But then she looked at me again. A bit tearful. Oh, bloody hell.

It had to be done.

I said, “Oh, OK, yes, it was my idea….”

Rosie and Jools said, “Well, not really. We all…”

But I plowed on.

“Whatever they say, they are my mates and they are covering for me. It was my idea, but it was only a tiddly tiny fiery thing.”

Mr. Attwood said, “I bet that’s what the baker said about the fire he started that turned into the Great Fire of London.”

What is he rambling on about? We’re not even in London.

Anyway, the long and the long of it is that the others have got a ticking off and reprimands and I have got detention…and worst of all…have to “help” Mr. Attwood this term. Again.

Oh, what larks we’ll have.

Not.

detention

4:00 p.m.

Jas squeezed my hand as she left for home, and she pressed a secret stash of midget gems into my hand. She said, “You are truly my bezzie mate of all time, Georgia.”

And she is not wrong. I am without doubtosity top mate of all time.

4:05 p.m.

Luckily, I have got Miss Wilson as my prison guard, so I will be able to make best possible use of my time.

First of all, I am going to plan my Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

fifteen minutes later

The Luuurve God re-entrancing plan.

1. “You are never alone with your lippy and mascara.” I am going to make a sort of pouch that fits under my bra and pants so that I have a secret supply at all times. Even if the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly (oo-er) I can refresh by reaching for my pouch. N.B. Make my pouch out of nice softy soft material so that I can wear it in bed. In case the Luuurve God pops up unexpectedly in the night. (Oo-er.)
   
2. I will exude sophisticosity with just a hint of glaciosity. I think the European Luuurve God likes this sort of thing. He is not, after all, a crude Viking like Sven, who quite frankly
   wouldn’t recognize glaciosity if it hit him in the face. On the contrary, Sven would think you were playing hard to get because you were a lezzie and that would give him the Horn.
   

four minutes later

Be nice. This means regrettably I will not be disco dancing like a twit anymore. When the Stiff Dylans play, I will waft around like a…wafting thing on waft tablets. I will laugh lightly, but at no time don a false beard.