Love Is a Many Trousered Thing Read online

  2:50 a.m.

  Masimo looked up at the clock. “Oh my God, my plane. I so, do not, want to leave you, Georgia, I wish I could stay here all night with you. I really like you. Please will you come and visit with me? I don’t want to wait for a month to see you. Will you try?”

  I tried to sit up and get my lips under control. They felt like they had swollen to about fourteen times their normal size. Masimo was speaking in Pizza-a-gogo land talk as he made sure he had his passport and tickets. Ummmm, how groovy does he sound? The fact that he was probably saying “Buggeration, where’s my sodding pants?” didn’t matter because he was speaking the language of luuurve. Not just some crap foreign language.

  Like German. It wouldn’t have sounded at all the same in Lederhosen talk. “I zink du bist ein gutten looken fraulein. Du bist wunderbar like ze big spangleferkel. Ich vant to frontal knutschen you!!! Oh ja oh jah!!!”

  Whilst my brain had been off to Loonland, Masimo had got his stuff together.

  He grabbed his coat and then as he was putting it on, got hold of me and pulled me toward him. He smelled sooooo nice, sort of him and a perfume thing all mixed up. He kissed me very hard on the lips for a long time and then put both of his hands round my head and looked me in the eyes. “We like each other, it will be good, Miss Georgia.”

  The doorbell rang and it was the cab.

  We bundled in the cab and carried on snogging and within seconds it seemed like we were at Jas’s corner and I had to get out and leave him. Nooooooooooooo. I think I am in luuuuurve….

  Masimo kissed me again and looked really sad. “I will miss you.”

  I got out in a sort of daze and waved to him as the cab pulled away.

  And then I realized that I actually was crying. Real tears. Not pretend tears. My heart felt really soft and full and sad. It all seemed like a dream. I could still feel his kisses on my mouth.

  I will never ever be able to sleep tonight. I don’t want to, I want to remember this forever. I walked around the back of the house. It was a beautiful night with a deep black sky and I could hear the soft hooting of an owl in the distance. Normally I would have been annoyed but tonight I thought “Good night, Mr. Owl, I hope you have a Mrs. Owl at home to keep you company…unless you are in fact a Mrs. Owl and then I hope you have a Mr. Owl at home, and if you don’t you could always join Jas in her bed if you like stuffed owls, that would be a hoot.”

  Yes, it is official, I am actually telling jokes to owls. I must be in love.

  I let myself in the back door and crept up the stairs of the silent house and into Jas’s room. There she was all curled up with her arm around Snowy Owl. Hmmmm. Well, live and let live, I say. I got undressed and settled down among my friends the owls.

  blah, blah, rubbish, rubbish, dribble, dribble, dribble, arse!

  sunday july 24th

  woke up at the crack of 9:30 a.m.

  Jas was still snoozing on her side of the bed. I forgot where I was for a minute, but then I remembered everything that had happened. Oooohhhhhh Masimo. I was missing him already. He would be in Rome by now. I wonder if he was thinking about me.

  Because I love the world so much, I may go down and ask Jas’s mum if I can have a cup of tea for me and my little fringey matey.

  Went downstairs. There was no one around. On the kitchen unit was a note that said:

  Dear Jas,

  We are out on a bit of a ramble, we have our flasks so may be gone for the day. There are eggs and stuff for brekky and I thought you and Georgia might like a pizza later so I have left you some money. Have a lovely day.

  Lots of love

  Mum

  Wow. Now that is PROPER hands-off parenting. Just leaving food and buggering off. Top. I made some tea and even boiled a little eggy for Jas, because I know how much she loves eggs. I put it on a tray and went into her bedroom.

  I put the tray on the bedside table and leaned over Jas. I got one of the smaller owls and made it kiss her with its little beak. She shot up in bed and was all surly and her fringe was standing on end like an electrocuted hedgehog.

  “What have you done? Did you get caught coming in?”

  I told Jas that her m and d had gone out rambling and then I said, “Do you want to know all that happened with me and my new boyfriend the Luuurve God?”

  She said, “No.”

  But I knew she wanted to know, really.

  in my bedroom

  4:00 p.m.

  So that was it. It is official news because I have told Radio Jas that Masimo is my new boyfriend. I’ve been into the cakeshop, I’ve dithered about for a bit, but I’ve finally chosen the Italian fancy.

  How many hours was it since I had last snogged him? I have already got snogging withdrawal and that is le fact.

  Phoned Rosie.

  “Ro Ro, have you ever had your neck stroked by Sven?”

  “Only when he is wearing his gardening gloves. Why?”

  “Well it’s just that Masimo did it last night, it was fab. Also we did number four, but it was times four.”

  At that point my vati came looming unexpectedly out of the front room and said, “What is number four?”

  My dad had accidentally entered my snogging space. Erlack. I just looked at him and said, “This is a private conversation, actually, Dad.”

  5:30 p.m.

  Uncle Eddie arrived. I scampered upstairs before he could tell me any “jokes.”

  I must try and distract myself from thinking about Masimo. I will do something that I can really get involved in.

  6:30 p.m.

  I must get some eyelash curlers. Everyone in CosmoGirl uses them.

  7:00 p.m.

  Doorbell rang.

  Now it’s some of Mum’s aerobics mates coming round. I wonder why. They normally only come round if there are firemen here.

  7:30 p.m.

  Oh please let that not be Abba playing.

  8:00 p.m.

  Libby is singing along to “Dancing Bean.”

  8:30 p.m.

  What are they doing down there? All I can hear is helpless laughing from Mum and Libby. And really crap loud music. With the occasional bang like someone has fallen over.

  9:30 p.m.

  Things are not getting any better, in fact they are getting worserer. I have never heard so much laughing and squealing. What are they doing down there?

  9:40 p.m.

  OK, I have had it. They are playing that song from The Full Monty—what is it called, when the blokes at the end take off their uniforms and dance about in their nuddy-pants. You Can Leave Your Hat On, it’s called. And all Mum’s mates are catcalling and yelling, “Get them off!!” I am going to have to tell them to be quiet.

  9:45 p.m.

  When I opened the living room door, Uncle Eddie was waggling his bottom around to the music. In his undercrackers.

  midnight

  I will definitely have to go into the priory for counseling. Uncle Eddie is going to be a stripper. Honestly. You know when you can order a policeman or a fireman or a James Bond–o-gram for a hen night or a birthday? Well apparently, and I cannot imagine the kind of people this involves, there is a demand for a baldy-o-gram. And Uncle Eddie is going to be it.

  Grown-ups are absolutely obsessed with sex. It’s horrific.

  12:35 a.m.

  Libby has seen a baldy bloke in his undercrackers. She will certainly be scarred for life and end up with a phobia about boiled eggs.

  It all adds up. Dad dying his hair, the leather trousers, the prancing around like a loon. He is having a midlife crisis even though in my opinion his life is two-thirds over.

  12:40 a.m.

  So if Vati cannot be relied upon to be a proper dad, I must take responsibility myself.

  12:45 a.m.

  This does not mean I will be growing a little beard.

  monday july 25th

  morning

  I have written a “Dad’s book of rules” and posted it under Mum and Dad’s bedroom door.

&
nbsp; This is what it says:

  DAD RULES.

  DO NOT ASK ME WHO I AM MEETING.

  IF I ALLOW YOU TO DROP ME OFF SOMEWHERE IN YOUR “CAR,” DO NOT EVER ROLL DOWN THE WINDOW AND SHOUT SOMETHING AFTER ME. EVEN THOUGH I WILL PRETEND I CAN’T HEAR YOU, SOME OF MY FRIENDS MIGHT HEAR YOU.

  DON’T GIVE ME MONEY IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

  NEVER ENTER MY ROOM UNASKED (YOU WILL NEVER BE ASKED).

  DO NOT SNOG IN FRONT OF ME AND LIBBY OR MY FRIENDS OR ANYONE. OR BETTER STILL, DO NOT SNOG. THERE IS NO NEED FOR IT AT YOUR AGE.

  WEAR PROPER DAD TROUSERS.

  BAN UNCLE EDDIE, OR THE BALDY-O-GRAM MAN, FROM OUR HOUSE. THE VISION OF HIM IN HIS COMEDY UNDERCRACKERS WILL BE WITH ME TO THE GRAVE.

  THANK YOU.

  GEORGIA

  8:10 a.m.

  I scampered out of the house before anyone was moving around. I heard a lot of moaning from the bedroom, which serves everyone right. As Romulus or Remus or Ethelred the Unready says (anyway, one of the clever dick philosopher types), “Ye cannot have your fun and eat it.” Elderly men should learn to leave off the vino tinto and keep their pants on.

  10:30 a.m.

  careers talk

  Miss Wilson is in charge because Hawkeye is off girl-baiting (she says on a course, but we know what she does really). So the career talk, usually a very dull time, offers many, many comedy opportunities.

  Rosie started by saying, “Miss Wilson, what openings might there be in casual work for Viking brides? I am particularly interested in reindeers and vats.”

  Miss Wilson said, “Rosie, please try and be serious.”

  Rosie looked puzzled. “I am.”

  And the sadnosity is that she is telling the truth.

  Ellen says she is interested in nursing which is the first I have heard about it. I tell you one thing, I will not be going into any emergency department that has Ellen in it. The last thing you need when your arm is hanging off is to have Ellen saying, “Erm well, is it your left arm or, erm, do you or something, or is it the other one?”

  ten minutes later

  To think she showed us the bee film. Miss Wilson is very ill informed on courses for beekeeping and backing singing.

  4:20 p.m.

  As I was ambling home with Jools and Rosie, the two little titches came pelting up to me. All keen and red-faced.

  “Er, Miss, wasn’t it brillo pads at the gig??? Is it the singer one that you like? He’s like…”

  I said, “Brillo pads?”

  And they both went, “Yeah!!!”

  Like twin mini loons. Then Titch No. 1 said, “But, you know what, I think Dave is the grooviest of them all, I know he’s not a pop star or anything, but I think he’s lovely.”

  She went absolutely beetroot.

  The second little titch said, “We love him.”

  And then they ran off.

  Blimey. Dave the Laugh has a growing fan club.

  teatime at bonkers headquarters

  Grandad and Maisie are here. I wasn’t allowed to go to my room, but had to sit around listening to madnosity for hours.

  Grandad said, “I have an announcement to make. Maisie has just made me the happiest man alive.”

  I nearly said, Why, is she going on a knitting tour of the world? But I didn’t. Grandad reached over and took one of Maisies hands (well as much as he could as she was wearing multicolored mittens. Keep in mind this is July).

  “She has agreed to marry me.”

  kitchen

  10:00 p.m.

  Mum was making some coffee and the “swingers,” Grandad and Maisie, had staggered off home. Mum said, “It just shows you that you must never give up on love; it comes when you least expect it.”

  I said, “Mum, it is sad and weird.”

  She said, “I think it’s lovely and romantic.”

  I said, “You won’t when you have to wear a knitted jumpsuit for the wedding.”

  Mum was still in elderly loon land because she said, “Age isn’t everything. Grandad says she’s a fine body of a woman underneath all that wool.”

  Erlack a pongoes!

  Anyway, who cares about the knitted folk? Is now a good time to get Mum to agree for me to go to Pizza-a-gogo land? I am having very bad withdrawal symptoms from the Luuurve God. I have dreamt about him last night and it was a bit alarming. He had been doing the neck-stroking thing and my neck had started stretching like it was a piece of clay. You know, like when you see those programs about potters making vases and they stretch the clay. Anyway that was happening and then my head fell off.

  I think it is probably Freudian. I think it means I mustn’t lose my head. Especially as in the dream, my head rolled off into a corner and Angus came and started biffing it around like a ball.

  Where was I? Oh yes. Asking Mum when I could go to Pizza-a-gogo land.

  “Mum, which do you think would be the best week for me to go to Rome? I finish term next week and then there is the ludicrous camping weekend, but I could go the weekend after that.”

  She said, “Why are you talking rubbish about going to Italy?”

  I laughed in a lighthearted way.

  “Oooh Mum, you prankster!!! You know what I mean, I mean about going to visit Masimo’s family as we agreed.”

  “Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was I when we agreed?”

  “You were, er, near me, agreeing.”

  “Georgia, A, I did not agree and B, nothing you say will make me agree. And C, the first two—times a million.”

  five minutes later

  I HATE my family. Why do they want me to hang around all the time—why can’t they make their own fun??? Well, this time I will show them. If they won’t let me have the money to go to Italy to see my boyfriend, then I will get the money myself.

  I will sell something.

  ten minutes later

  Looking through my cupboards.

  How much would I get for my slightly worn leather boots? Where do you take stuff to sell it? I don’t know. Oxfam? A selling shop?

  I like them and anyway, what would I wear in Italy for disco wear?

  And also, I am very, very tired. It’s the end of term, I have been working like a dog, I haven’t got the energy to go traipsing around earning my own money.

  midnight

  I am going to not speak to my mum and dad until they let me go to see the Luuurve God.

  tuesday july 26th

  breakfast

  Mum asked me if I wanted some toast and I ignorez-voused her. It won’t be long before she snaps.

  As I was silently leaving the house, Mum said, “If you are planning to keep up the silent treatment, I’ll just have to guess what you would say. Which is quite handy actually as I want you to babysit tonight. I’m guessing that you want to. Yes yes, I can see you do. That’s good. Tatty bye.”

  Damn!!!

  2:00 p.m.

  I can’t believe I’m being made to go on this camping fiasco. In German, Herr Kamyer showed us a lot of things you can do with a Swiss Army knife. All of them indescribably useless and naff.

  I said to Ro Ro, “In my humble opinion, if a horse gets a stone stuck in its hoof, that is just carelessnosity. Why should I have to lug a heavy knife around just so I can get it out?”

  Ro Ro gave me the Klingon salute. “You are all heart, Georgia. Do you want to practice a sheepshank knot with me?”

  I just looked at her. Jas adores doing sheepshank knots. Please make this camping trip go away, God!

  4:15 p.m.

  Detention! I can’t believe it!!! Hawkeye has only been back about five minutes from her girl-baiting course and she has given me detention.

  I was three minutes late for her class because I had to go to the piddly diddly department after German and noticed a lurker situation that I had to deal with by squeezing the living daylights out of it and then covering it with soap. I don’t know why, it seemed a good idea at the time. Anyway, when I panted into class, Hawkeye said, “Y
ou should have been here at three o’clock.”

  And I said, “Why? What happened?” in a tone of interest and curiosity. And the next thing you know I am in detention writing “Rudeness masquerading as wittiness results in detention.”

  Unbelievable.

  in my room

  6:30 p.m.

  Still thinking of ways to get to my beloved. I wonder if he will ring me from Pizza-a-gogo land? I would ring him if I were him. Well, you know what I mean. Mind you, I would have rung me on Monday.

  five minutes later

  I wonder—why he hasn’t phoned me?

  I’d phone Jas and ask her what she thinks but she is in Twig land. If I hear one more thing about this bloody camping trip I will go insane. Also, and this is annoying, Jas would not do sharesies in her tent. She is dossing down with Ellen and Mabs, she says they are more “reliable.” What does that mean? I don’t care, I am sharing with Rosie and Jools which will be more fun anyway. Jas will have all these stupid “tent rules” like “Toothbrushes should be kept in the toothbrush jar” and “When you go to bed at night, check that your sleeping bag is not crushing some unusual wildlife.” Rubbish stuff.

  What are you supposed to take clotheswise for a camping nightmare scenario?

  We got a list somewhere from Miss Wilson. Where is it?

  two minutes later

  Warm evening clothing.

  A rainproof.

  Walking shoes.

  Casual daywear.

  Good lord. Oh and this is a terrifying bit: “Bring your bathing suits, girls, because there is a river nearby, and of course if you have any instruments that you play, bring those along to make the evenings lots of fun!”

  It is going to be a cross between a “Call-Me-Arnold the Vicar guitar extravaganza and “carry on camping.” I can guarantee that the mountain rescue people will be called out. It will possibly be something to do with Melanie Griffiths running and her basoomas sending her out of control and into the river. That or Herr Kamyer will be savaged by sheep (with a bit of luck).

  7:00 p.m.

  Rosie rang.

  “Gee, I am taking the horns with us on the camping trip. Pip pip.”

  I said, “Why?”

  She said, “So we can brush up on our Viking disco inferno dance and also we can don them if we are attacked by rampaging cows.”