On the Bright Side, I'm Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God Page 6
11:00 p.m.
I wonder if I had an emergency, like appendicitis or something, would my mates be too “busy” to come to the hospital?
11:30 p.m.
I have got a pain in my side. It might be a grumbling appendix.
11:35 p.m.
In blodge we learned that rabbits have got some sort of shrub growing in their appendix. How normal is that?
wednesday august 30th
6:30 p.m.
Mutti and Libbs have gone to visit the elderly mad. (Grandad.) Mum asked me if I would like to go, but I just looked at her with pity. Sadly she didn’t get it and asked me again. I explained politely that I would rather put my head in a pair of Elvis’s old trousers. She said I was a “horrid, bad-tempered, spoiled brat.” Fat chance I’m spoiled. I’m lucky if I get one square meal a week. I’m getting really, really thin. Apart from my nose. And basoomas.
8:00 p.m.
Ellen, Rosie, and Jools came round and we sat on the wall, looking at boys. There are, it has to be said, a lot of fit-looking boys, but they haven’t got that certain Sex God factor for me.
Mark from down the road went by with his girlfriend Ella. She is practically a midget. I thought he was taking a toddler for a walk.
Rosie said, “So what happened with you and Robbie?”
I said, “He sent me a note and said that I should go out with some loser called Dave the Laugh.”
Rosie said, “That’s sort of dumping by proxy, isn’t it?”
I said, “Are you supposed to be cheering me up?”
“But I thought you got to number six and everything.”
“Yeah, but he said his parents would go ballisticisimus because I am so young. They’d think I was jail thing.”
The ace gang were all on, attentionwise. Ellen even took her chewing gum out.
Jools said, “What is jail thing?”
I didn’t really know actually but I improvised (lied). “Er . . . it’s when you are underage and you go to . . . er. . . number eight with a boy.”
Rosie said, “What, if you let a boy touch you above the waist you have to go to jail?”
I said patiently, “No, he has to go to jail.”
Rosie said, “Well, that’s it for Sven, then.”
I said, “Fair enough.” But I don’t know what I am talking about really. I’m all upset and confused and still have Herr Kamyer legs.
thursday august 31st
1:43 p.m.
Borrowed Ellen’s Kool Tan. Soon my Herr Kamyer legs will turn into sun-kissed boy magnets. Hmmm, smooth it on smoothy smooth and leave for an hour.
2:00 p.m.
If I move my bed and open the window I can sort of sunbathe on my bedroom floor. SG is going to find it damn difficult to resist the new tanned me.
4:05 p.m.
Woke up to orange Herr Kamyer legs and a huge red nose!!
5:00 p.m.
I’ve just scrubbed my legs off. They are not quite so orange but my nose looks like one of those red clown noses. Brilliant.
september
operation elastic band
friday september 1st
7:00 p.m.
It’s boiling having to wear stockings in this weather, but better than being blinded every time I look down at my still orangish legs.
Six days till we go back to Stalag 14. I’m going to put my foot down with a firm hand this term and make sure I don’t have to sit next to Nauseating P. Green.
Mum has gone out to Uncle Eddie’s with Libbs. He is teaching Mum salsa dancing—can you imagine? How very sad. The tremendously old can be very embarrassing. Imagine my mum salsa dancing with Uncle Eddie the human boiled egg.
In public.
Or private.
7:05 p.m.
Jas called. Tom has gone off to work experience and she wants to come round. I am a substitute boyfriend. Well she can think again if she thinks I am going to be constantly available when Tom goes off to work experience. I am not so cheap.
7:08 p.m.
I may make her give me some expensive present that I choose from Boots. Oh no, hang on; I’ve got a better idea.
7:30 p.m.
Jas was moaning on about Tom.
I listened sympathetically and said, “Shut up, now, Jas.”
Then she looked at me. “Why have you got pink panstick on your nose?”
I said, “Shut up, now, Jas.”
7:42 p.m.
I made my famous French toast for Jas. (Beat an egg and put bread in it and then fry it. The French bit comes in when you are eating the toast and you have to speak with a French accent.) As we were munching through the toast I said, “Jas, ma petite.”
“Quoi?”
“I’ve got le plan to impressez the Sex God avec my maturiosity. It involves vous.”
She almost choked on her toast. “Non.”
“You will aime it ”
“Oh mon Dieu.”
The first part of my plan was that we got dressed up to look as old as we could and get on a bus and get full fares. As an experiment.
She was grumbling as she got made up but at least she was on the move.
8:30 p.m.
Ready. I must say I think we looked v. sophis. We’d got loads more makeup on than we normally wear, and darker lipstick. And we wore all black. Black is very aging, as I continually tell Mum so I can get her black T-shirt and leather trousers. I said to Jas, “We’d better get back before she gets home because I have borrowed her Gucci handbag. She specifically said she would kill me if I ever borrowed it. She is very, very mean with her things, which is why I have to borrow them in secret.”
As we walked down the street I had another idea. “Let’s keep pretending we are French as well.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you mean pourquoi?”
“No, I mean why?”
“Just parce que, ma petite pal.”
midnight
Ouiii!!! Très, très bon!! Merveilleux!!!! It was très, très bon plus les grandes knobs.
The bus driver was like a sort of mobile version of Elvis Attwood, our school caretaker i.e., very old, mad, and bad-tempered, but sitting in a bus rather than a hut. I said to Mobile Elvis, “Bonsoir, mon très old garçon. Mon amie et moi désire deux billets pour Deansgate, s’il vous plaît”
He understood we wanted to go to Deansgate but unluckily, like all very old mad people, thought he could be funny and witty. He gave us the tickets (full fare! Yesss!!! Result!!!!). I handed over the money and he said, “Merci buckets.” Then he laughed himself senseless (easy enough as he was mad in the first place). I thought he would choke to death because he was laughing so much, but sadly he didn’t.
What is the matter with people?
12:20 a.m.
Snug in my bed. Maybe I should leave school as I look so old.
12:30 a.m.
I could go off and have sophisticated adventures instead of hanging around with very young people.
12:35 a.m.
I could go to India and visit the Dalai Lama, or is it Ghandi who lives there? I don’t know. We haven’t done India in geoggers yet. All I know is what Mum tells me about it, and that is mostly “Oh it was just so . . . you know . . . great.” Anyway, even if we had done India in geoggers Mrs. Franks is so bad at explaining things that I wouldn’t know any more than I do now.
1:00 a.m.
Now on to part two of the plan. The glaciosity bit. I must look for an opportunity to show SG how standoffish I can be.
saturday september 2nd
5:50 p.m.
Five days to Stalag 14 (school) and counting. I got my uniform out of the back of the wardrobe. Angus must have been using it as his lair by the look of it. I bunged it in the washing machine and hoped the bits of feather would come off.
I did cheer myself up a bit because I thought of something funny to do with my beret. Which we are forced to wear by the Oberführer (Miss “Hawkeye” Heaton).
6:00 p.m.
Phoned Rosi
e.
“I’ve thought of something really cool to do with the beret this term.”
Rosie said, “I thought we were going to do the rolling it up into the sausage and pinning it under our hair at the back routine again?”
“Yeah I know, but what about this . . . what about if we use it as combination beret and lunchbox?”
Rosie said, “How do you mean?”
I had to explain, patiently.
I said, “Pop your sandwiches or crisps or whatever into the beret, then tie it on to your head with your scarf. Voilà, beret and lunchpack all in one.”
“Hawkeye would go mad.”
“Exactamondo, ma petite amie.”
Rosie said, “You are a genius.”
She is not wrong.
sunday september 3rd
5:50 p.m.
Au secours and sacré bleu!! Just walking to the park to meet the gang when I saw “Call me Arnold,” the vicar. I ducked down behind a car to hide until he had gone by. But the car was his car. When he got in he saw me crouching down. I had to pretend I was looking at a really interesting pebble.
God will know that I was hiding from his maidservant. Still, I don’t know how I could possibly be made to suffer more than I am already.
6:00 p.m.
Now I know. Cousin James is coming round tomorrow.
midnight
If he gets all weird like he has done in the past and attempts to kiss me or anything, I may go mad.
monday september 4th
10:00 p.m.
Cousin James asked me if I wanted to play strip poker. I was so embarrassed, I just said, “I don’t know how to play poker,” and he said, “Well, let’s play strip snap, then.”
I pretended I could hear the phone ringing. When he left, five million years later, I noticed there was something lurking under his nose. I thought it was a bogey at first, but sadly I now think it was a sort of mustache. Erlack!
wednesday september 6th
10:00 p.m.
Mum came in my bedroom and asked if I wanted a wake-up call for Stalag 14 tomorrow. I said, “Oh, hello, Mum, what are you doing in?”
She patted me on the head and said, “Good night, my sweet-natured little elf.”
Nothing seems to bother her now that Vati is coming home. She might have put his mustache out of her mind but I haven’t. In fact, to remind her I have drawn a mustache on the heart she put in the calendar.
10:30 p.m.
Washed my hair but couldn’t be bothered drying it. I know if I sleep on it while it is damp I will wake up with that stupid hedgehog look. There will be bits sticking up all over the place, so I am sleeping with my pillow tucked under my neck and my head sort of drooping over the other side.
This is how Buddhist people sleep—it’s probably whatsit . . . zen. They probably do it because it lets their chi flow free. Chi is energy that is in your body it says in my Buddhist book. Heaven knows I need as much energy as I can get for working out my plan for SG retrieval.
I think all the blood may have drained into my head from my shoulders.
11:00 p.m.
What happens if you get too much extra blood in your head? If you were meant to have two shoulders and a neck’s worth of extra blood in your head you would have a bigger head, surely?
And maybe you would need inflatable ears that could accommodate the extra blood and so on. Do Buddhists have big ears?
Perhaps that is why Wet Lindsay’s ears are so huge—because she’s got Buddhist ancestors. I wouldn’t be surprised.
thursday september 7th
8:00 a.m.
Woke up all snuggled down under the covers. I must have dropped asleep and forgotten about my zen position. My awake mind said, “Ha-so, I am a Japanese zen person asleep with my head over the end of the bed.” But my English subconscious took over when I was asleep and said, “Snuggle down, you know you want to. . . .”
bathroom
8:10 a.m.
Ohmygodohmygod . . . my hair looks like I’ve been electrocuted. No time to wash it. I’ll have to gel it down.
8:30 a.m.
Pant pant, rush rush. Jas waiting for me.
She said, “Why do you look like Elvis Presley?”
As we ran up the hill toward school, we could see Hawkeye standing like a ferret by the gates. Oh here we go again . . . the beret patrol!!! I hadn’t got mine on. No time for the “sausage” or the “lunchpack.” Only one thing for it. I fished the beret out of my bag and pulled it right down over my ears. You could only just see my eyes.
When we ran past Hawkeye she shook herself like something nasty had made a nest in her knickers.
“Two minutes to assembly; don’t start the term with a detention.”
Oh very caring. “Hello, Georgia, welcome back,” would have been nice.
As we dashed to the cloakroom I said to Jas, “Imagine her having a boyfriend! Erlack, no no, I must pull my mind away from that otherwise I’ll start imagining her snogging or something. Urgh!!!! Urgh! I’ve done it now; I’ve let it in my brain!!! Hawkeye getting up to number seven on the snogging scale. Putting her tongue in someone’s mouth. Maybe Herr Kamyer in his lederhosen. Urghhhh. Erlack. Get out, get out!!!”
I ripped off my beret and coat and went into the main hall.
Rosie, Ellen, Jools, Mabs, and the ace gang were all there. I gave them our special Klingon salute. They looked at me like they had never seen me before. Had they forgotten all we had shared after so little time? I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Hawkeye. What fresh hell? She looked down her big beaky nose at me and hissed, “Take this, make yourself presentable, and get back here as quickly as you can, you silly girl.”
I looked down and she had given me a comb. When I went into the loos I saw my hair had gone the shape of my pulled-down beret because of the superdooper hair gel.
Sacré bleu! I feel like un nincompoop.
break
11:00 a.m.
Jools, Ellen, Mabs, Rosie, Jas, and I met behind the tennis courts for a confab. Elvis Attwood, the grumpiest caretaker in the universe, shouted at us as we passed his hut. “I’ve got my eye on you lot. Don’t come sneaking into my hut; otherwise there will be trouble.”
He’s beyond bonkerdom. He came to a school dance and did some exhibition twisting onstage until his back went and he had to be taken to hospital. That’s when we started calling him Elvis.
I waved and shouted back, “Greetings, oh mad one.”
We were grumbling and moaning as we sat down. As usual in this fascist hellhole we have been split up in class and not allowed to sit together. I have Nauseating P. Green next to me. She wears those glasses that look like they have been made out of jamjars, which is very unfortunate. She’s got really bulgy eyes anyway. Rosie said, “I think there must be a touch of the goldfish in her family genes.”
As we ate our snacks you could see right up Jas’s skirt. I said, “Jas, do you always wear those huge knickers? A small dog could creep up a knicker leg and you wouldn’t know.”
“Well, I like to be comfy.”
“They’re not very sexy, are they?”
“You said you thought little knickers were stupid. Remember Lindsay’s thongs?”
“Shut up; don’t upset me. You know how visual I am. Now not only have I got Hawkeye snogging Herr Kamyer in my brain; I’ve also got Wet Lindsay’s thongs.”
Ellen said, “Anything happening with you and Robbie?”
I explained about my glaciosity and maturiosity plan. They all nodded wisely. We are a very wise group. Full of wisdomosity. I am almost certainly wiser than God, who doesn’t seem able to grant the simplest of requests. Which is why I have turned to Lord Buddha.
Rosie spoiled the moment of wisdomosity by saying through a mouthful of cheesy snacks, “What in the name of pantyhose are you talking about?”
4:45 p.m.
At the end of my glorious day today Elvis made me pick up a sweet wrapper in the corridor. All because I did my VERY funny impressi
on of him doing the twist and then his back going. If he doesn’t want people to make jokes at his expense he should stay indoors. He’s a barmy old fascist. I bet he goes round dropping sweet papers on purpose.
4:55 p.m.
Jas phoned, all breathless and excited.
“I’ve got two letters from Tom.”
I said, “He’s only gone to Birmingham.”
“I know, but . . . well . . . you know.”
No, I don’t know.
5:15 p.m.
Libby and Mum came home. Libby has had her first day at nursery school which I think is a good thing as it will make her less mad.
5:16 p.m.
Wrong. Libby has made me something to wear at nursery school. She was ramming it on my head. I said, “Steady on, Libby; be gentle with my head. What is it you have made?”
“It’s nice!”
“Yes. I know. But what is it?”
She looked at me like I was a halfwit and put her face nose to nose with mine. She said really slowly, “For. . . egg!!!”
“For my head?”
She hit me. “No, no, no, bad boy . . . for your EGG!”
Mum came in.
“Look, Georgie, she’s made you an egg cosy.”
“Well, why is she trying to put it on my head?”
“She must have got mixed up. Maybe she thinks the teacher said ‘head cosy.’” And Mum started laughing like a drain. Libby joined in while I just sat there.
7:00 p.m.
What is there to laugh at? I am on the rack of love. Life is a sham and a facsimile and a farce.
7:15 p.m.
But at least I have a head cosy.
8:00 p.m.
I am soothing myself by pampering my mind and body. I am pampering my mind by reading (an article about mascara) and I am pampering my body by eating (a LOT of chocolate).