Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? (4 page)

False beards are over. I will never wear the beard again.

Ditto horns.

And finally…

I will not do arm wrestling or any kind of wrestling with Dave the Laugh.

Dave the Laugh is no longer a laugh to me. He is Emma’s boyfriend and my mate.

Actually, I wonder where he is? I haven’t seen him for yonks. Ah, well. Stop thinking about Dave the Laugh. He is not in this re-entrancing document.

five minutes later

Blimey, I have finished my manifesto and it is still not time to go home. Miss Wilson is humming and reading something. It had better not be some humming idea she has for the school play. I am not doing a humming version of
Rom and Jul
and that is a fact. I am not humming in tights.

four minutes later

I know what I will do next. I will make another scale for the ace gang. On how they too can become great mates like I am.

ten minutes later

Great Mates Scale

1. Offer a mate a midget gem without being asked.
   
2. Share your last Jammy Dodger even though you really want it and your mate may be flicking her fringe about.
   
3. Listen to your mate rambling on about themselves when you have got vair important things to do yourself (e.g., nails, plucking, etc.).
   
4. Be with your mate through thick and thin.
   Or even if they are both thick and thin. Tee-hee. I made a great mate type joke there. Did you see??? Which leads me to No. 5.
   
5. Always be game for a laugh even though you may be blubbing on the inside.
   

Crikey, I am coming out of this scale VAIR well indeed. But as everyone knows, I do not blow my own trumpet. I just blow my own HOOOOORN.

No, I don’t. And that brings me to my tip-toppy of the toppimost great mate score.

• 6. Even when she has all the reason in the universe to be Top Dog (i.e., when she is the girlfriend of a Luuurve God, even if it is slightly on a sale-or-return basis), a top mate does not blow her own trumpet. Or snitch on her less fortunate mates.
  

6:00 p.m.

On my way home at last. Miss Wilson said, “Well, now that’s over, I expect you are excited about our workshop for
Romeo and Juliet
.”

Oh no, the humming in tights.

Miss Wilson was rambling on.

“I’ve been busy coming up with some original ideas. I think it’s important to keep up with you modern girls. I hope we can make this a…erm…groovy production.”

Oh dear God.

I was walking along as fast as I could out of the school gates. She is wearing a knitted hat. It has a bobble on it.

That is all I am saying. I am not being bobble-ist.

She turned left out of the gate with me. Please, please let her not be going my way. I had done my detention!!!

She was still going on. What if she linked arms with me?????

“I know you girls might think that us teachers are not very, you know…hip.”

What? She was trying to be my mate! Please don’t let her tell me about her growing feelings for Herr Kamyer. Maybe she’ll call him by his first name. I don’t even know what that is. I don’t want to know. I bet it’s Rudi!!!! Stop being my friend!! I’ve got enough on my plate without having to be friends with knitted people.

She didn’t hear my inner screaming, though. She said, “Yes, I think you will see that I do listen
to your ideas and so on. For instance, when Jas suggested that perhaps Juliet could have a little companion—a sort of puppet dog—I thought ‘Bingo!!’”

I couldn’t stop myself, even though I had taken a vow of silence until she shut up or I died. I said, “Er, Miss Wilson, do you remember your last ‘Bingo’ idea? Do you remember, you said that juggling would be ‘happening,’ but what actually ‘happened’ was that Melanie toppled over with the weight of her own basoomas and the oranges bounced into the audience.”

Miss Wilson said, “Well, that’s the excitement of theater, isn’t it? The danger, the risk!”

“Yes, my grandvati said an orange nearly took his eye out, so…”

Miss Wilson fortunately saw a bus coming and scampered off to get it. Thank the Lord.

It really is tragic how keen she is to get on with us. Touching really, if you like that sort of thing. Which I don’t.

Thank goodness no one I knew saw me walking along talking to a teacher. I may just as well have gone to a leper colony if they had. Or become a policewoman.

twenty minutes later

My road at last. Angus was round in Naomi’s garden. He likes to go over to Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road for his evening poo.

Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road are vair unreasonable about it. They say he always chooses to poo in their rare heathers window box. I explained to them, that is because the soil is nice and softy and he doesn’t have to do any digging. But you can’t tell people.

When he last came over to complain, Mr. Across the Road said, “How long does his breed of cat live? Is it nearly over?”

I said with great dignitosity (I like to think), “Angus is half Scottish wildcat and sometimes he hears the call of the wild and longs to poo somewhere that reminds him of home. Hence the heather.”

Mr. Across the Road stomped off, though. Some people don’t understand the poetry of life. Or even the poo-etry of life. Hahahaha. I have just made an inward joke.

one minute later

When Angus saw me, he did his weird croaky
miaow
thing. And waved his tail about. His tail is
still a bit crooked from his car accident. (The accident being that the car wasn’t the huge mouse on wheels that Angus thought it was.) Otherwise, he is top dog catwise.

He came bounding over, purring around my legs. Which is nice, but it makes it really difficult to walk without falling over and breaking your neck. Now he has started his pouncey game. He pretends my ankles are his prey and hides behind something until my ankles loom in view. Then he tries to kill them.

I managed to beat him off with my rucky.

Then I noticed that Oscar, Junior Blunderboy and all-round idiot, was lurking around on his wall, pretending to talk on his phone to all his mates. A.k.a. the Blunderboys. He was going, “Yeah, check it…for real…awwwrite.”

Absolute bloody wubbish of the first water.

I’d be amazed if he can work his phone and keep his trousers up at the same time. I used to prefer him when he just played keepie-uppie for ages. Now he’s taking an interest in me, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

When he stopped pretending to talk on his phone, he shouted over to me. “Ay, girl! Do you
believe in love at first sight…or am I going to have to walk by again?”

Then he flicked his fingers and said, “For real.”

Good Lord.

I didn’t say anything.

What is there to say?

Besides “go away a LOT.”

As I walked in my gate, Naomi came slinking along, waggling her bottom about. She displays no glaciosity or sophisticosity. Things are very different in the cat world. If I was a pussycat, entrancing a Luuurve God, I would merely have to lie on my back and display my girlie parts to him. Or maybe lick my bum-oley area, and not only he but every boy in the area would be following me around like fools.

Angus and Naomi slunk off together under Dad’s useless clown car. Vati has got a fur driving-wheel cover now. There is absolutely no need for it. Mind you, there is no need for Dad, either.

I went into my “home” as I laughingly call it. Vati was in his recreational area, a.k.a. lying on the couch getting fatter.

He lurched into life when I tried to slope up the stairs.

He said, “Where have you been until now?”

I said, “Why? Have you been waiting to tell me how much you appreciate me as a daughter and that although you will never be seeing me again once I am twenty-one, you have liked me entertaining you through your twilight years?”

“No, I bloody well didn’t want to say that and stop being so bloody cheeky. Where have you been?”

“Erm, I was doing extra hockey.”

“What, without your boots or kit, which is thrown on the floor of your bedroom or ‘rubbish pit’ as I call it?”

I said, “Father, why have you been in my room? You know it is
verboten
. I may write to my MP and…”

He is sooooo violent. His slipper just missed my ponytail.

I wandered into the kitchen. Mum, Libby and Gordy were making some cakey thing. Which I will not be eating under any circumstances, including famine. Libby was covered in dough stuff. It was clinging to her raincoat and Wellingtons. She came running over to me, yelling, “It’s bad boy, it’s Gingeeeee! Kissy kiss, Ginger.”

Oh gadzooks. She started climbing up my legs like a mad monkey in boots.

Oh good, now I am covered in cake mix, hurrah. Things are really looking up.

Mum said, “What did you get detention for this time?”

Why is everyone sooooo suspicious? I am not surprised I get detention all the time because no one will give me a chance. I should show her my Great Mates Scale, but I won’t.

I grabbed a sausagey thing from the cooker. It may have some nutritional value, you never know.

I was just going up to my room when Mum said, “Dave popped round earlier. He’s a cool-looking boy, isn’t he? If I was a few years younger, I wouldn’t mind tangling tonsils with him.”

Oh, how very disgusting.

I took the sausage/spam thing out of my mouth. I felt besmirched.

I said, “Mum, what were you wearing when he came round?”

She looked at me.

“This. Why?”

I said, “What—that tiny skirt and even tinier top? I’m surprised he didn’t call the prostitute police.”

She snapped then.

“Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

Libby joined in then. She stood with her hands on her hips and yelled, “Yes, bloddy chinky.”

9:00 p.m.

I wonder what Dave was going to say?

I wish I’d been in instead of being a great mate. I would have really liked to see him.

And he’s not bad on the great mates list himself. He talked to the Luuurve God for me.

Maybe I should phone him. And thank him.

one minute later

No, I can’t because of my new re-entrancing a Luuurve God plan.

I am going to distract myself by making my little pouch.

9:15 p.m.

I am wearing my pouch. I am going to sleep in it tonight to make sure it is softy soft enough and so on. If I wake up in the night, I might feel for it (oo-er) and do a practice application.

9:20 p.m.

Libby is practicing her snogging skills on Mr. Potato Head. Surely this can’t be right at her age? Shouldn’t she mostly be pretending to be a fairy and playing with elves?

This is disgusting. Libby is going “mmmmmmmmm naiiice” and making lip-smacking noises.

I shouted downstairs.

“Hello, my sister, Libby, also your daughter, is snogging a potato in my bed. What are you going to do about it?”

Dad started yelling uncontrollably. I wonder if he is having the male menopause? If he starts growing breasts, I will definitely be running away with the circus. Although to be fair, he would have a better chance of getting a job with them.

I could hear him going on.

“Connie, have you been using my bloody razors again? I’ve nearly cut my chin off.”

Ah well, time for bobos.

I went back into my room and shut the door.

Libby is now doing a sort of smoochy dance with Mr. Potato Head. It involves a lot of botty-wiggling.

What do they teach her at playschool? When
I was little, we used to do face painting and so on. Our tiny faces covered with little flowers and hearts. Libby wrote BUM on Josh’s face in indelible marker.

I said to Bibs, “Don’t you want to take Mr. Potato Head into your nice bed? In your own room. In your own lovely, snugly…”

She put her face really near mine and said, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

midnight

I had to read
Heidi
to Libby and Mr. Potato Head. She never tires of tales of cheese. I do.

The bit that makes her laugh the most is when the little crippled girl falls out of her wheelchair.

It’s not right.

wednesday september 21st

assembly

9:00 a.m.

Oh, hurrah! We are having an “ad hoc” assembly. No proper hymns that we can improvise hilarious lyrics to. No “Breathe on me BREAST of God” or “There are some green PANTS far away without a city wall…”

Hang on a minute, though, things are looking up. Onto the stage came Herr Kamyer in a check shirt and a cowboy hat. With a guitar. And he is accompanied by Miss Wilson on ukulele.

I said to Rosie, “I didn’t even know she could play the ukulele.”

two minutes later

She can’t.

This is torture. I don’t know if you have ever heard the country and western version of “All
Things Bright and Beautiful,” but I thoroughly don’t recommend it.

I said to Rosie, “Quickly, leap onstage and grab Herr Kamyer’s guitar and kill him with it.”

She said, “Righty-o,” and started moving along the line. When she got to ADM on guard duty, she said to her, “Women’s trouble,” and skipped off to the loos.

Damn.

Fifty-five million years later we were set free. Well, free if you think double maths is freedom. Which it isn’t.

maths

Oh, shut up about numbers, why don’t you?

lunch

Behind the fives court. Right, this was my chance to introduce the question of sophisticosity into the whole boynosity area.

I began, “I’d like to open this meeting of the ace gang…”

They were all looking at me attentively. Well, if you call people chewing and fiddling with their fringes and being fools attentive.

I went on, “I have called this meeting of the ace gang…”

Jools said, “One for all and all for one and one in all for one of us and so on?”

I said, “Yes, well, shall we get on?”

Ellen said, “Shall we do the group hug?”

I said, “I think we can take the group hug as done.”

Mabs said, “I really like the group hug.”

Oh dear
Gott in Himmel
.

four minutes later

The group hug practically turned into a love-in. Rosie would not let me go. She knows it annoys me so she keeps doing it.

Eventually, though, I beat her off and started again.

“The thing, the serious thing I want to discuss is…”

Rosie said, “My Viking wedding?”

“Well, no, I…”

But it was too late. She had her beard out.

afternoon break

I will try again.

Mr. Attwood wheeled past us, tutting. Tut away, lunatic man.

two minutes later

We watched while he got stuck trying to get up the ramp into the science block. Unfortunately, the Titches were passing and he harassed them into pushing him up the ramp. While they were huffing and puffing, he actually opened a sandwich and started eating it.

I said to the gang, “He luuurves ligging about in that wheelchair. I bet he hasn’t even got a bad back.”

Rosie said, “Have you thought about being a nurse? I think you’ve got the hands for it.”

I didn’t get the chance to mention the sophisticosity question because Jas started going on about Tom. Is he going to go to college in Hamburger-a-gogo land? Blah blah blah. He wants to go visit the maybe college after Chrimboli. Should she go with him? Blah blah blah.

What she actually said was, “Should I go with him? It’s an area very rich in wildlife.”

I said, “Oh well, you must go then. You can set fire to most of Texas and gather crusted newts to your heart’s content. I only wish I could come.
However, I have a life and maybe a boyfriend….”

Jas got into her huffmobile. Typico. Anything to do with Hunky or her fringe and she gets the hump. She was doing fringe-fiddling to the max.

I said, “Look, Jas, all I am saying is that we decided that you should let Tom ping off elastic-bandwise and then he can come pinging back. Possibly with gifts. Maybe some new owls.”

“But you don’t know that for sure, do you? I mean in
Rom and Jul,
Jul wakes up after pretending to commit suicide and Rom actually has committed suicide.”

I looked at her.

“Jas, what has some old play got to do with it? It’s a made-up story.”

“It might not be.”

“Well, it is.”

“How do you know—were you there?”

I wanted to kill her. I hate her in this mood.

“No, Jas, I wasn’t there. I am not four hundred and fifty-five.”

“Well then.”

“Well.”

This could go on for years. I decided to call a truce with old arsey pants.

“Look, Jas, Tom is not going to commit suicide,
is he? He’s just going to go to Hamburger-a-gogo land for two weeks. That’ll be enough for him. When he sees the size of their shorts, he’ll come scampering back.”

“Well, maybe.”

“Of course he will, and also they say ‘aluuuuuuuuminum’ there, don’t they? He won’t put up with that. Will he?”

“Well…”

“And mostly of all, he doesn’t wear tights like Rom, does he?”

She didn’t say anything, just went a bit red.

“Jas, whatever Tom has under his trousers is between you and him.”

That did it. It doesn’t take much for her to expose her violent side. She really hurt my ankle. I’m glad that she doesn’t have a sword in
Rom and Jul.
But does she have a dagger at the end? It could be a bloodbath if her fringe doesn’t go right.

gym

rom and jul
workshop

2:00 p.m.

The “workshop” exceeded even my very high expectations. Miss Wilson was in a sort of all-in-one
“playsuit.” She was tremendously excited.

We were lolling around on the mats when she started clapping her hands and waving a clipboard around wildly.

“Now then, girls, attention please on this very exciting day. Now, here we are. We are all in Verona. Can you hear the swish of the light summer wind in the blossom trees? The gay calls of the street sellers?” (Rosie started honking with laughter.)

But Miss Wilson was immersing herself in the gay calls and the breeze.

“We are all young, full of life and passion. Come on, girls, let’s get up and show that passion. Feel the passion. Just go with the flow. Grab a tambourine or a drum if you like!!! Use the whole space!!!!”

ten minutes later

I have rarely seen anything more alarming than Miss Wilson being free and passionate. And keep in mind I have seen her in her nuddy-pants and with her soap on a rope.

She was careering around, banging her tambourine…

At one point she got on the wall bars and threw beanbags around.

She was yelling, “Waaaaaaaaaa, waaaaaaaaa.”

Quite sensationally mad.

I said to Jools mid-leap, “Poor Rudi Kamyer has no chance.”

twenty minutes later

As a climactic end to the workshop, Rosie showed her inner passion by pulling her nick-nacks down and mooning at us.

I am aching with laughter. My ribs hurt.

Hey and guess what? When I popped to the piddly-diddly department because I thought I might have an accident, I saw Elvis Attwood having a sly fag. And he was walking about normally. He can walk!

home time

Hurrah hurrah!!!

Just walking out of Stalag 14 main building, all sweaty and shiny with our berets pulled down to our eyes for comedy effect, when we noticed that Tom and Robbie were waiting at the gates.

Hell’s teeth.

Jas said, “How’s my head?”

I said, “Alarmingly red. How’s mine?”

She looked at me and went, “Blimey.”

We had to think quickly. The boys hadn’t seen us because they were chatting with a few passing girls that they knew. So we dashed off to the science block loos to do emergency repair work.

I put my head upside down under the hair dryer. My hope was that Robbie secretly liked the Coco the Clown look. Jas opted for the hair pulled back in a tight little ponytail, which frankly I think is a bit of a mistake, as it exposed her very, very red ears.

I didn’t say, though, because I didn’t want her to have a complete tizz and to-do.

As we were doing lippy and mascara (thank goodness for my pouch), Jas said, “Anyway, why are you bothering about Robbie? Masimo is your one and only, isn’t he?”

“I know, but once you have been out with someone you have to keep up appearances so that every time they see you, they think, ‘Oooh, I wish I could snog her to within an inch of her life.’ That is just the dating code.”

“Apart from if it was Mark Big Gob.”

“Please don’t mention him.”

“Or Whelk Boy.”

“Jas, just shut up and turn your skirt up.”

At the gate, I was casualosity personified until Robbie said, “Hello, Georgia.”

He’s a good-looking bloke. And nice. With very blue eyes, and a firm but tender mouth. Also he has charming snogging skills, his varying pressure technique for instance…hang on a minute, was that him or Dave the Laugh?

Robbie was looking at me. Had I said anything out loud?

I said, “Hi, Robbie, nice to see you.”

My brain went on chatting to him, “Yeah, nice to see you, you hunky brute. Why are you with old Ms. No Forehead when you could be in a triple-sided manwich with me and the Luuurve God?”

Shut up, brain. That is disgusting!!!!

Tom said, “Hi, Lindsay, alright?”

And it was Ms. No Forehead herself. The Bride of Dracula…I looked down at my watch (which I haven’t got) and said loudly, “Oh, is that the time? I must dash.”

And I hiked up my rucky. I said to Jas, “Are you walking?”

And she looked a bit dithery.

Hang on a minute. She wasn’t choosing between
walking with me or walking with Hunky, his brother and WET LINDSAY, was she?

Oh yes she was.

Lindsay ignored me as if I was invisible girlie and said, “Jas, are you going on Saturday? Maybe we could meet up before, that’s if Robbie can do without me. Can you, babe?”

And she went and kissed him on the cheek. Then she pointed to her own cheek. And sort of pouted. And he had to kiss her cheek.

Dear God.

It got worse. I was sort of mesmerized by horror.

She put on an ickle girlie voice and said, “Can ickle Lindsay go to de big club all by her ickle lickle self?”

Christ on a bike.

It was horrific. It was like when Mr. Next Door came to tell me off and he was wearing his shortie dressing gown and I could see his legs.

As I walked off—walking home without my so-called bestie—Tom called after me, “See you later, Gee.”

And Robbie said, “Yeah, see you Saturday.”

I noticed that Jas didn’t dare say anything. I don’t know why I bother being a really great mate
to her. Boys are nicer than girls.

I’m going to show her my Great Mates Scale and suggest she tries being one. (A great mate, not a scale.)

home

Bum-ty has got a ladder. He’s crouching at the top of it. I don’t think he likes his ladder. I think he is up there because it makes him slightly farther away from the staring cats.

He hasn’t said a word and his feathers are starting to fall out. Libby has been showing him pictures of cheese.

7:00 p.m.

I’ve got German homework. I have to write about the Kochs. Hurrah!!! When he set the homework, I said to Herr Kamyer, “Can it be about the Kochs going out? Because the little Kochs like to go out, don’t they? Although the bigger Kochs prefer to stay in.”

The ace gang had a mini larf-fest but Rudi didn’t get how full of hilariosity I truly am. He just looked at me with his blinky eyes and said (seriously), “
Ja,
Georgia, zat is a
gut
idea, vy not haf ze Kochs havink a wild party???”

Which made us laugh even more.

I have said it once and I will say it again, I luuurve the Kochs and the comedy magic that is the German language. Also, Herr Kamyer’s idea of a wild party is probably a game of Scrabble with Miss Wilson where they don’t keep the score.

7:30 p.m.

I am looking through my German slang book for inspirationosity.

two minutes later

“Bottom” is
arsch
. To fall arse over tit is
auf die Schnauze fallen
.

two minutes later

This cannot be true. “With knobs on” is
mit Schnickschnack
.

I think, in all honesty, the first person to make up
der
German language was a clown. Or alternatively, a
Blödman
(berk).

looking through my window

8:00 p.m.

Aaah, there is cross-eyed Gordy stretching out on the wall.

Now he is half sitting up, swatting at something. What is he doing?

Oh, it’s a bee. He’s up on his hind legs swatting at the bee.

He’s sort of hopping along on his hind legs swatting the bee.

one minute later

Angus has joined him on the wall.

He’s watching Gordy hopping along swatting the bee and he is moving his head about. Following the bee.

It’s the bee dance. Hop hop, swatty swat, movey head, movey head. Super cats do the bee dance.

one minute later

Not anymore. Angus has eaten the bee. He just leapt up and ate it.

He didn’t even chew it.

two minutes later

Lying down on my bed, recovering from the excitement of bee dancing.

I wonder who is going to be Rom? Everyone who has tried it so far has been an utter fiasco. Miss Wilson said she might have to look outside
our year. Crikey, what if she asks Rudi Kamyer to do it?

phone rang

Aha! This will be my so-called bestie ringing up to apologize.

Mum yelled up, “Georgia, it’s for you.”

I lolloped downstairs, taking my time, building up my dignitosity. I said formally into the phone, “Yes. What is it you want to say?”

“Usually, I like you to say, ‘What is it you want to say, Hornmeister’ but I’ll let you off because I am in a casual Devil take the hindmost mood.”

Dave the Laugh! My heart skipped a little beat. I said, “Guess what? Wet Lindsay talked like an ickle girl to Robbie. It was horrific. Do boys like that sort of thing in girls?”