Startled by His Furry Shorts Read online

  Rosie said, “You have a very suspicious mind, Georgia. Sven proposed to me many weeks ago.”

  I said, “How did you know what he was asking you? Normally no one can understand a word he says.”

  Rosie said, “His eyes spoke for him.”

  “Now he’s got talking eyes?”

  She is talking absolute poppycock and balderdash and woopsie.

  However, Ellen had got really carried away with the excitement of Rosie’s forthcoming imaginary wedding. She said, “Oh I love weddings. Can I be a bridesmaid?”

  Rosie said, “Yep, you can all be bridesmaids. I am thinking of asking Herr Kamyer to be matron of honor. He’s got the legs for it.”

  As the bell rang I said to the blushing bride to be, “What do your parents think about it—are they, you know, over the moon that you are getting married at fifteen and a half to a madman?”

  She said, “Oh yes.”

  maths

  Even though I know she is talking absolute pants, Rosie has managed to take my mind off my own life. Sometimes for moments at a time I can forget I am on the rack of luuurve.

  one minute later

  Which reminds me. Only four hours to countdown. I’d better start applying my base coat of foundation. I’ll do base coat, highlights and first coat of mascara in Maths and then I can continue with the second coat and first coat of eye shadow in Physics. Miss Wilson won’t tell me off. And even if she did try, I would convince her that I was just getting into my character. Because as everyone knows, Scottish lairds used to wear woad and so on.

  five minutes later

  It’s quite hard putting on mascara when you have to practically lie down on your desk to not be spotted. Honestly, school is soooo annoying. And pointless. Miss Stamp is going on about pi again. Which reminds me, I’m a bit peckish. I wonder if Jazzy Spazzy has any wotsits secreted about her person.

  Rosie has started sending notes:

  Dear all,

  Sven and I have decided on a Viking wedding in honor of Sven’s roots. This will involve a lot of heavy lifting as the bride and bridgroom are traditionally carried on a replica longboat around town. I suggest you all start a regime of fitness. And I am thinking particularly of Ellen. I do not want the festivities spoilt by any suggestion of lardiness.

  Yours sincerely, the bride to be

  P.S.

  I will be compiling a wedding gift list shortly.

  P.P.S.

  In the meantime any spare chuddie would be appreciated.

  I wrote back:

  Dear bride to be,

  Hopefully we will have the bison horns back in time for the wedding. By the way, when is it?

  Yours sincerely,

  a friend and well-wisher

  afternoon break

  It turns out that the wedding is planned for Rosie’s twenty-first birthday.

  I said, “Forgive me if I am right, but that is in more than five years’ time.”

  Rosie said, “Yes, but you can’t rush a Viking wedding. There are vats to be found.”

  “Vats?”

  “Oh yes, for the mead and so on. Shall I show you a Viking version of ‘Let’s go down the disco’ that we could do at the reception?”

  I said, “No, my base coat might run.”

  “Come on, you’ll like it…A LOT!!!”

  She made us all trudge across to the five’s court and showed us the new Viking wedding disco inferno dance.

  Before I knew it, we were all doing the Viking version. We sang along to “Jingle bells, jingle bells” because although Rosie is allegedly the world expert on Viking-a-gogo land, she doesn’t know any Viking songs. I said, “What’s wrong with ‘Edelweiss’ from The Sound of Pants musical?”

  But as usual, Mrs. Prissy Knickers Jas said, “That is an Austrian song. About Austria. Which is not Lapland.”

  Here we go. She is absolutely obsessed with countries and where they are. I said, “Look, Jas, it’s a practice Viking dance and number one, Rosie isn’t getting married for five years and probably not even then, and number two, we don’t know where Sven comes from, anyway. And number three, you are annoying me and forgetting to remember that I am on the rack of luuurve.”

  That made her shut up. She should think of others more than herself.

  I do.

  I don’t know why, though, because it is really boring and pointless.

  twenty minutes later

  We have perfected the Viking wedding disco inferno dance. Even though I say it myself, it is a triumph. And once the horns are returned, the whole thing will have je ne sais quoi and harrumph and possibly Good Lordnosity.

  Just before we went in for an afternoon of sheer unadulterated merde (Physics), Rosie yelled, “OK. One last time, let’s hit it, lads! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride on a one-horse open sleigh…ay!!!”

  And then all together we did the dance.

  Stamp, stamp to the left, left leg kick, kick. Arm up stab stab to the left. (That’s the pillaging bit.) Then stamp, stamp to the right, right leg kick, kick, arm up, stab stab to the right. Quick twirl round with both hands raised to Thor (whatever). Then raise your (pretend) drinking horn to the left, drinking horn to the right, raise your horn to the sky, all over body shake, huddly duddly and fall to knees with a triumphant shout of “HORRRRNNNNN!!!!”

  Yesss!

  macuseless rehearsals

  4:10 p.m.

  I have completed my makeup pre-makeup preparations. On the way down the hall I saw Wet Lindsay laying into the first formers who had done the picture of a vole with a bra on. She had them pinned up against the wall. They were looking really scared. They had probably seen her knees. Wet Lindsay was saying to the titches, “Why were you outside the school gates at lunchtime? Well?”

  They didn’t say anything. They were just staring at her and blinking like she was a sort of octopus who had just leapt out and was asking them questions. It is an easy mistake to make with her no forehead and hair extensions. I wonder if Masimo has seen her head lately? Oh yes, he must have, I have just remembered the snooker fiasco. Merde.

  And also how pathetic is she, trailing around after Masimo? Anyway, Octopushead was still raving on: “Well, I am waiting! What were you doing outside the school gates?”

  The titch sisters started blubbing even more, and one said, “I…d-d-d-don’t kn-n-n-know.”

  Lindsay said, “Ah you don’t know. Well, I tell you what I will do. I will let you have a long think about it. Until you do know. And whilst you are thinking you can clear out the sports cupboard after school on Monday.”

  One of them said, “But but…I have got…blub blub…violin practice on Mondays.”

  Wet Lindsay said, “You did have violin practice. Clear off.”

  The two blubsters went blubbing off down the corridor. As I went by Octopussy I gave her my worst look. But I didn’t say anything. Then I just let my eyes fix on a place where her forehead should have been if she’d had one. She put her hand up like she thought she had an antenna growing there or something. Hahahahah yesss result. The forehead staring campaign continues. She said, “Are you wearing makeup?”

  “It’s for the play.”

  As she was about to go into the common room, she said, “A bit of advice, lady. You are making yourself look like a ridiculous tart trailing around after Masimo. It makes you look like what you are, a silly cheap pathetic baby. I think you are ridiculous and he thinks you are ridiculous. He’s too nice to say, but he told me he feels really sorry for you. Do yourself and all of us a favor, stop making a fool of yourself. He’s out of your league.”

  Even though I hate her a million and a half and know she is a liar, I did feel my face going all red.

  five minutes later

  The ace gang were in the tarts’ wardrobe getting ready for the Foxwood boys’ extravaganza. The whole school is on high hysteria alert. I even saw a couple of first formers with a bit of lippy on. It’s insane, really, because it’
s not like we are shut up in a convent. Some people really have no self-controlnosity when it comes to boys.

  I couldn’t get near the mirror to check my final makeup, but I like to think I have achieved a natural look. Unlike Ellen. Her lip gloss was so thick, she looked like she had plunged her gob into a pot of treacle. Even Jas was using eyelash curlers. Why? Tom wasn’t even in MacUseless. I said that, to try to recover after my octopus encounter.

  “Why are you curling your eyelashes when your so-called beloved is not even going to be here?”

  She spluttered on about Lady Macbeth, saying that the curly eyelashes were all part of the historical detail, that she would be wearing authentic drawstring pants under her dress and so on, rambling on. I wish I had never mentioned it. I told the gang what Lindsay had said.

  Jools said, “What a prize bitch.”

  And Ro Ro said, “Octopussy talks WUBBISH!!”

  Mabs said, “Let’s kill her. No one would notice.”

  It’s nice that they care and offer sensible advice, but all the same I am still, as Elvis (he dared to rock) Presley said, “…all shook up, ah huh.”

  I said to Jas as we trolled off to the main hall, “She practically said I was stalking Masimo. How could she say that?”

  Jas said, “Well, she’s got a point. It’s just that she doesn’t know she has.”

  “What are you rambling on about now?”

  “Well, you tried to find him in Hamburger-a-gogo land—you know, when you rang everyone in New York, New York, called Scarlotti and ended up ordering Chinese takeaway, and then you…”

  Oh God, bang on about history, why don’t you.

  I said, “Jas, that was before I got maturiosity.”

  Jas laughed. Which makes her look stupid.

  five minutes later

  What if Masimo is at the gates? I will just sneak out in a casualosity at all times to see if I can see him.

  two minutes later

  I walked across the side of the playground toward the school gates. No sign of the Luuurve God. Just in case he was hidden from view I was doing my hip hip, flick flick thing. As I got to the gate Mr. Attwood leapt out from the herbaceous border in full madman outfit. Overalls and a cap and his fire extinguisher. What is the matter with him?

  He said, “What are you doing out here, young lady? You should be in the main hall. If I am not informed of where all personnel are, there might be casualties unaccounted for in the event of major conflagration.”

  Has the human race come to this?

  back in the tarts’ wardrobe for

  a final makeup check

  ten minutes later

  God, I can hardly move my eyes, I’ve got so much mascara on. I’m so on the edge of having a complete tizz and to-do. On top of everything else I feel a bit nervy and excited about seeing Dave the Laugh. As we approached the main hall doors, I said, “Shall we do a quick burst of the Viking disco inferno backstage to let Dave and his mates know that the MacUseless party has begun?”

  Jas said, “I don’t think Dave the Laugh will want to see anything you have to show him, if you know what I mean.”

  I glared at her in a meaningful way, but she didn’t know what I meant. However, she had said something about Dave the Laugh, so Ellen was off in a ditherspaz.

  “Did you say, er, Dave the, er, Laugh wouldn’t want to see anything that…to see anything that Georgia shows him…I mean, what does that mean?”

  Fortunately at that moment we entered the hall and her ditherosity was drowned out by the lads cheering and yelling, “Nunga-nungas!!!”

  Dave the Laugh was at the front of the mob of lads pretending to keep them back and saying to us, “Move along, ladeez, there is nothing to see here. Nothing to see.” Like a policeman at a road accident.

  5:50 p.m.

  After the usual hour and a half of chaos that Miss Wilson calls “rehearsal,” we were set loose from Stalag 14. I nipped off to the tarts’ wardrobe to roll my skirt up and put my black lacy top on. The ace gang were still in MacUseless mode. Rosie was doing her “eye of newt” bit but improvising by adding “yum yum.” She will probably do it on performance night and then we will all be executed.

  But actually that would be a blessing in disguise. I am on the rack of love and feel like going to the piddly diddly department every five seconds. What if he is there? What should I do? Should I display glacial glaciosity or have just a hint of Eastern promise lurking across my face? I made the ace gang walk in front of me so that I could reveal myself to him at my best angle when I saw him.

  As we walked across the playground I could see that Masimo was not outside the school gates to meet me. I felt quite relieved in a way. I don’t know why. At least I didn’t have to put up with all the ogling oglers looking at me making a prat of myself in front of him. Or fainting, which I probably would have done. Or had a sudden poo parlor division episode. Still, he did say he would let me know in a week and the week didn’t start at the school gates, did it? It started at my house. So I needn’t worry until I get to my house. Ish.

  two minutes later

  I wonder if Masimo would think walking home as a gang was a hoot and a half? Or if he would think it was a bit childish. But we don’t always limp and pretend to be the Hunchbacks of Notre Dame. We only do it when it is appropriate. You know, on boring bits of walking or in lessons. I can be as full of maturiosity as the next person…ish.

  ten minutes later

  Dave and his gang leapt out from behind some bushes and nearly gave us a heart attack. Ellen’s head was so red, I thought it would explode. I felt funny, sort of pleased that he was with us. Even though it’s literally been about ten minutes since I last saw him.

  two minutes later

  Dave was doing a really bad backward moon walk with his bottom sticking out and his collar up. He was shouting at us, “You are my bitches!!!”

  Rollo said, “Leave it out, mate, I’m not that kind of bloke.”

  Dave said, “No, just the bitches are my bitches!!!”

  Ellen, who had turned into a walking beetroot because of Dave, said to me, “Er, do you…er, like is it OK to call us bitches…isn’t it like, erm…disrespectful to women?”

  I said, “Yes, but he’s talking to us.”

  She said, “Oh yeah, right, I see.”

  But she clearly doesn’t.

  She soooo luuurves Dave that she would probably wear a false beard if he told her to.

  Which incidentally, he might.

  Also it is going to be midnight before she gets home because she lives in the opposite direction.

  Dave was still going on doing the moon walking. He said, “OK, ma bitches, WHO’S THE DADDY?”

  I said, “We don’t say daddy, we think it’s naff. We say Vati.”

  Dave said, “OK, cool, WHO’S THE VATI?”

  We just looked at him going backward. So he shouted again, “WHO’S THE VATI?”

  And Jas, Rosie, Ellen, Jools, Mabs, and me had to say, “You’re the vati.”

  At which point Dave, otherwise known as the vati, walked backward into the low wall of the park and fell over it.

  Vair amusant.

  5:45 p.m.

  Just me and Dave now. Ambling along. The others have all gone home. Even Ellen realized that she couldn’t go on being hypnotised by Dave like a…er…hypnotized beetroot, and then a bus came along going her way. I think she was half hoping that I would say why didn’t she come home with me and my vati would give her a lift home later. But I just couldn’t, not with the Masimo fandango. As she was going, Ellen said to Dave, “See you next week, then.”

  And Dave said, “Missing you already.”

  And Ellen reached new heights of beetrootosity. Oh God, I wonder how long it will be before she is on the blower saying, “You know when he said he was like…er…missing me…well, does that mean…he’s like missing me or…”

  After she had gone I looked at Dave with raised eyebrows. He raised his eyebrows back. I raised mine even h
igher and did the nodding knowledgeably thing. He nodded back.

  He knows what I mean, though. He knows that Ellen luuurves him. Even if he didn’t, he pretty much seems to think that everyone luuurves him. In fact, he’s not wrong. All the girls in the play act in a ludicrous way with him, even when he is vair vair rude. I was glad that we were matey mates and that I didn’t feel awkward with him anymore. Well, not much. I am still avoiding the topic of the Italian Stallion in front of him. When Jazzy Spazzy got to her house, she had unexpectedly given me a little hug and said, “I hope it all goes alright. Ring me later.”

  Which was quite touching. But it did imply that there was something to go alright about. To cover up any questions Dave might ask me about what was the thing going alright and so on, I said, “Did you see how she hugged me for just that little bit too long? She is definitely on the turn. I must be on lezzie alert. She was looking at my tights when I was gallivanting around as Macduff.”

  Dave said, “Who wasn’t?”

  I said, “Actually, you weren’t. You were being hypnotized by Melanie Andrews’s basoomas.”

  “You have a very suspicious mind, kittykat, as you know I am very safety conscious and I was making sure that Melanie did not topple over and injure herself during the juggling scene.”

  “Safety conscious?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “No, you’re mad.”

  “Er, I think you’ll find YOU’RE mad.”

  Then he got hold of me and started tickling me. Oh no, tickly bears!!! The next stage after tickly bears was No. 4 on the snogging scale. My lips even started puckering up like Pavlov’s dog’s lips. Then he stopped tickling me. He had both his arms on mine, sort of holding them against my sides. His face was very close and he looked at me. He had very dreamy eyes. They had that soft, presnogging look about them. My brain was trying to have a stiff word with me: “Calling all parts, calling all parts, and that means you, lips, stop that puckering, we are on pucker alert!!! Remember, remember, you’re a Womble! Er, I mean remember you are the nearly girlfriend of a Luuurve God.”

  Then, just as my lips developed their own brain and thought, Oh sod it, give us a snog, Dave let me go and said, “Bad bad Sex Kitty. Bye-bye.”