Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me Read online

  No. I won’t do that.

  I may as well go and get my jimjams on. When you are visiting the cakeshop of agony, they don’t mind what you wear in there. Most of their customers are in their jimjams. With big swollen eyes. And covered in dribble.

  God, I am really depressed now.

  in the lounge in my jimjams

  Vati came in with a pork pie. Taking his health seriously then.

  He said, “What’s the matter with you?”

  Not that he cares.

  I said, “I’m depressed actually.”

  He said, “Depressed at your age? You’ll be saying you’re bored next.”

  “That is what I was going to say next.”

  Vati looked at me and sat down next to me. He patted my knee with his pork pie free hand.

  Oh dear God, he had touched my jimjams.

  He said, “Do you know what my mum used to say when I was bored?”

  Oh, this would be good. It was bound to be something to do with making hats out of egg boxes.

  I was about to say, “I’m bored enough as it is without you telling me about prehistoric hats.”

  But he was rambling on.

  “She used to say, ‘I’ll tell you what…bang your head against a wall and that will take your mind off it.’”

  Charming.

  in bed

  7:00 p.m.

  I can hear Libby trying to teach Bum-ty the words to “Dancing Bean.”

  I think Bum-ty might not be long for this world. He’s got two cats staring at him night and day and now a mad toddler is shoving a sausage through the cage and singing.

  Three pairs of mad eyes looking at you.

  7:30 p.m.

  Was that a scooter coming near?

  7:32 p.m.

  No.

  Oh, good. Now I’m having hallucinations.

  Of the ear hole.

  Ear-lucinations.

  7:35 p.m.

  No.

  Oh yes.

  Oh my God.

  It IS a scooter coming up the road.

  I looked through the window.

  It was Masimo!!!!

  Oh merde.

  I hadn’t got time to do anything.

  I was in my jimjams.

  I had plaited all my hair because I was so bored and depressed.

  I ran down to the front room and said, “Mum, quick, I need you.”

  For once, Mum did what I asked her.

  I told her to tell Masimo that I was out.

  As the scooter came to a halt outside, I was scampering up the stairs and I whispered to her, “Don’t start a conversation with him, will you? Don’t tell him about yourself.”

  She said, “Don’t make me change my mind.”

  And at the top of the stairs I said, “Don’t let him see Dad in his leisure trousers. Please.”

  Then the doorbell rang.

  I bobbed down and looked through the banisters. I could only see the bottom bit of the door.

  The door opened and I heard Masimo’s voice. He said, “Ciao.”

  I had thought I might never hear “ciao” again. Oh, what was he here for???

  Mum said, “Masimo, what a lovely surprise. You look, er…lovely.”

  Oh nooooo, she was talking to him like he was a boy and she was a girl! Did she have her cardigan buttoned up? I couldn’t remember…

  Masimo said, “Er, I have come, scusi for my English, I have come for to give Georgia—”

  Mum interrupted. “I’m afraid she had to stay late for, erm, hockey.”

  Masimo said, “Ah yes, she is good for hockey, I think…but I come for to give her…a letter. Grazie mille.”

  And he was gone.

  I crouched down by my window and looked out. Masimo accelerated away down the street. He was wearing a leather coat. My heart skipped a beat to see him.

  In a way I didn’t want to go down and get the letter.

  What if it said, “Ciao, bella…you are…how you say in English…dumped?”

  Mum came rushing up to my room with the letter.

  She handed it to me and said, “What does it say?”

  I said, “It says, ‘What fine weather we are having for this time of year….’ Mum, I DON’T KNOW what it says because I haven’t opened it yet. I am waiting to open it privately. Do you see?”

  She slammed out of the room, saying, “Sorry for being interested in your life.”

  I daren’t read it.

  five minutes later

  I’ve tried to psychically feel what it might say.

  It’s not very nice to dump someone by post, is it?

  Just because they had a bit of a twist with Dave the Whatsit.

  two minutes later

  Ripped it open.

  three minutes later

  Well, the nub and the gist is…

  I think…

  That Masimo says he thinks that he was a bit out of order. And that Dave had been to see him and said that we were just mates having a laugh.

  But (and this is the worrying bit) Masimo said he thought that maybe I wanted just to have fun with my mates. And that maybe I am too young for a relationship with him.

  He doesn’t know.

  He is thinking.

  He wants me to think, too.

  And that we can meet at the Stiff Dylans’ gig on Saturday, and then we will talk.

  He just signed it Masimo.

  No kisses.

  Not an “I am missing you and want to snog you within an inch of your life.”

  Hmmm. So am I semi-dumped?

  fifteen minutes later

  The one person I would like to talk to about this is the Hornmeister.

  But I can’t.

  I had to make do with Jazzy Spazzy.

  phoned jas

  I told her about the note.

  “I think what the note means is that I have got another chance. To show that I want to be with him. And that I am not a twisting fool. I am, in fact, a sophisticate wise beyond my years. And so on.”

  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.

  fire!!! i’ll take you to burn!

  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 abo
ut 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 goi
ng 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…”