Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? (8 page)

Is Dave happy with Emma?

She’s so nice. ALL THE TIME.

Why is that?

Is she really nice, or is she just pretending to be nice so that everyone thinks she is nice?

As I was sitting there in the cubicle, Jas came in. I knew it was her because no one else could have such an irritating way of blowing her nose. On and on. Not just one little blow and have done with it. Sort of little ones and then a big trumpeting one.

I hobbled out of my cubicle and there she was, sitting on the sink. Looking all miz.

Oh no. Now we would have to talk about Hunky for the next millennium. Still, she had helped me with the Titches.

She said, “I can’t do it. I can’t snog her….”

I tried to cheer her up. I owed her really.

“But, Jas, look on the bright side. Think how great it will be when she commits suicide. It’ll bring the house down. We could buy those football clacker things. Or come on doing some ad hoc celebratory Scottish dancing.”

Jas said, “You’ll have been dead for fourteen scenes by then, it’s OK for you.”

I could see she was upset.

“Look, we just need to think of some sensible way of dealing with her. Perhaps a chemistry experiment that goes tragically wrong as she happens to be passing?”

Jas just looked at me.

Then I said, “I’ve got it, by George, I’ve got it!!! We extend the puppetry motif that Miss Wilson is so vair vair keen on and we suggest that Romeo and Juliet have massive papier-mâché heads. So you never actually see your real head and the snogging is just a question of aiming your massive heads at each other.”

Jas said, “I don’t want a big papier-mâché head.”

I said, “I am only trying to help, Jas. If you don’t want to be helped…”

end of the gig

Lurking around like Lurkio at the stage door. It’s a bit nippy noodles. I am nervy, but sort of happy. Also, and I have to admit this, I am really, really happy that Dave is being OK with me. I hate it when he gets the monk on.

As I was just thinking that, he loomed up with Emma and a crowd of his mates.

One of the lads said, “Are you up for a late snooker needle match, Dave? Haven’t seen much of you lately, mate.”

Dave said, “Maybe actually.”

Then Emma pulled on his hand. “Oy, Hornmeister, don’t forget we’ve got an early start for the sculpture park tomorrow. Mum and Dad planned to set off at nine a.m.”

Sculpture park?

Mum and Dad?

I looked at Dave and raised my eyebrows. He looked back and as Emma pulled him away, he pretended to do crying.

He didn’t seem a sculpture park sort of guy to me.

What did I know, though? I have just remembered I have accidentally agreed to go to the Wild
Park tomorrow with my mum and look at horned budgies or whatever.

Rosie and the rest of the gang trolled off as soon as the Dylans came out. There was a bit of banter between the lads and it seems that the management stuff has gone well.

Masimo still hadn’t appeared. I had Dave’s voice in my head going, “Emergency hair gel application.” Shut up, Dave.

The ace gang were all linked up, singing, “Give me an H, give me an O, give me an R, give me an N, what are you giving me? The HOOORRRNNN!”

Just then, I felt two arms around me.

“Aah, Miss Georgia, you are noodly nips as you say. Come here inside my coat.”

And he opened his coat and snuggled me in. I could feel his heart beating. The other Dylans were leaving and shouting, “Nice one, talk on the blower tomorrow about the London gig.”

What London gig?

Also where was I?

It was snugly in the coat and everything, but I couldn’t tell what was going on. I popped my head up through the collar to breathe a bit, just in time to see Wet Lindsay tucking Robbie’s scarf into his
parka. Oh, leave him alone, Slimy Head. I don’t know if she thought-read, but she turned round and gave me the worst look.

Poor Robbie.

Poor Jas. Who would want a boyfriend like Wet Lindsay?

I must help both of them.

We scootered home through the twinkly night. The streets were quite busy and in fact we passed the ace gang still all linked up. Seeing them trying to get past a bloke walking his dog was hilarious. As we passed by them, Masimo sounded his horn and they all yelled back, “Hooorn!”

Masimo laughed and pulled my arms around him tighter. Blimey, this was a bit like having a real relationship, like you read about. I hoped I knew how to do it. If my mutti and vati were anything to go by, Masimo would be wearing enormous pants by the end of the week. I couldn’t imagine Masimo in enormous pants. I bet he’s got those really groovy Pizza-a-gogo ones…. Stop thinking about his pants!!!

When we got back to my place, it was a beautiful clear night and the moon was beaming down at us. Like a big smiling custard pie in the sky.
If you have seen one of those.

Masimo stopped his scooter at the bottom of our lane so that there could be no spying or “joining in” from my parents. Also I took Mum’s shoes off and put on my flats when I got on the scooter. (I suggested that I had brought my “scootering shoes” with me to Masimo. Which I think is rather sophisticated.)

12:30 a.m.

We’re sort of snuggled behind a hedge. Or Snog Emporium as I call it.

Blimey, snogging Masimo is like going to heaven in a bread basket and back.

And I don’t even know how I would get into a bread basket. But that is luuurve for you.

Masimo whispered a lot of Italian stuff to me. It sounds so romantica and groovio gravio.

Of course, he might have been saying, “I can see a bogey up your nose.”

I must learn some more Pizza-a-gogo-ese because conversation is a bit tricky in between the snogging.

ten minutes later

The snogging is deffo top drawer, though.

I wonder how far he got on the Snogging Scale with his ex?

Shut up, brain, just snog.

five minutes later

I like it that he kisses so softly and gently uses his tongue. Not like Whelk Boy, when it was like being attacked by whelks.

two minutes later

We even touched tongues and sort of kissed with them. Blimey. It’s fabaroonie to learn new stuff about the game of luuurve.

Also I do like his hand technique…. He put one hand on the back of my neck and one on the base of my spine. It made all of my body feel sort of linked up to him. Yum.

two minutes later

Something horrific happened. We were doing No. 5 when I heard the unmistakable sound of a lunatic shouting in the dark.

I looked carefully round the hedge and up our street. It was Mr. Next Door, in his shortie nightgown. He was shouting and the Prat brothers were yapping.

There is something a bit funny about the Prat brothers (besides the obvious fact that they are poodles)…. In the moonlight, they look a bit sort of dark blue with white things stuck on them.

Masimo said, “
Dio mio?
What is that?”

I whispered, “That is Mr. Next Door going barmy.”

Masimo pulled me back into the Snog Emporium. And he kissed me so hard that all the blood drained from my head and went into my ballet pumps. Through the love daze, I could vaguely hear things kicking off.

Mr. Next Door was raving on.

“He’s a bloody disgrace. They’ve got a show tomorrow, I’ve been dyeing them all day. Now they’re covered in feathers.”

What was he on about?

I had to have a look.

We crept up along the hedge a bit so we could see.

Mr. Next Door had a broom and a shovel. And he was standing at our gate. I heard a door being opened and then more shouting.

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

Oh no. I recognized those mad tones. It was my vati.

Then another voice joined in.

“Don’t worry, Bob, I’m right behind you…oo-er.”

Oh dear God. Uncle Eddie.

I said to Masimo, “Erm, I’d leave now if I were you. This is going to get ugly.”

And that’s when my vati and Uncle Eddie hove into view.

Both wearing undercrackers.

The Luuurve God whispered, “Is that, er, your father, and is that how you say, his boyfriend?”

I nearly shouted out, “NOOO, that’s not his boyfriend!”

four minutes later

I eventually persuaded the Luuurve God to leave. It took a bit of kissing and pleading. I don’t think he really understood what was going on. Who could? I’ve said it once and I will say it again, why can’t everyone just speak English?

The Americans give it a bit of a go—why can’t other nations?

In the end, after kissing all of my fingertips, he crept off.

By this time, lights were coming on in the street. I took a deep breath as soon as I heard
Masimo scooter off and came out from the bushes.

As I passed Mr. Next Door’s gate, Angus and Gordy dropped onto my head from the wall. They didn’t hurt themselves, though, because they gripped onto my shoulders with their horrible sharp claws.

I couldn’t help it. I yelled out, “Oh, buggering buggeration.”

Dad heard me and yelled, “Stop that bloody foul language, young lady. You’ll wake up the sodding neighborhood.”

Oh, the irony.

Uncle Eddie said, “Evening, Georgia,” as if it was teatime.

I said, “Look, we all want to go to bed. Is there something we can do to clear this up? What have your poodles done to frighten Angus and Gordy? Cats are very sensitive, you know.”

Mr. Next Door practically had a fit. He couldn’t speak.

Dad could, sadly.

“Don’t you start, young lady. Get yourself in the house!”

I didn’t mind going in actually. Angus and Gordy
had both fallen asleep on my shoulders and they are not anorexic. It was like having a huge snoring fur coat on.

The front door was open. And my mum was hiding behind it.

She said quietly, “What the hell is going on?”

I said, “It’s unbelievable! Vati and Uncle Eddie are both in their undercrackers.”

She came out from behind the door.

And she was wearing a shortie black negligee.

What is this?
Desperate Husbands
?

I looked at her and said, “To be frank, I feel let down by all of you. I’ll just say good night, Mother.”

As I went up the stairs, she said, “Hang on a minute—those are my bloody Chanel shoes in your bag!!!”

Damnity damn damn.

How much shouting can one family do???

And what a bloody fuss about nothing. Angus had, from the kindness of his own heart, taken a gift into the Prat poodles’ kennel. Alright, it was a half-alive pigeon that was probably flapping about a bit. And yes, the Prat brothers had fallen into the pond as they tried to escape. But what normal person dyes their poodles blue?

And then complains if they fall into a pond that THEY built?

That is the question.

1:30 a.m.

It’s all gone quiet now, thank the Lord.

What a fiasco of a sham. At one stage, there was shouting inside and outside my house.

Even Libby woke up and shouted through the open window and threw Mr. Cheese at Mr. Next Door before she snuggled back into bed…my bed.

I tried to get in as well, but Libby, Gordy, Angus and Mr. Potato Head were all sleeping horizontally. In the end, I went in to Libby’s bed.

I had to feel my way in the dark.

I didn’t turn the light on because I really didn’t want to see her sheets. I’ll just say this: They crackled when I got in. And my feet touched something soft at the bottom. Pray God it was Play-Do….

sunday september 25th

morning

Mutti and Vati are not speaking to each other….

It was all, “Would you ask your mother to pass me the butter?” etc.

So childish.

Still, I had a Luuurve God, so what did I care? I was just about to go up to my room for a bit of a daydream about our poptastic lives together when Dad said, “Will you explain to your mother why Uncle Eddie and I were in the garden in our underpants?”

I said, “Certainly, Father. Mum, Dad is going out with Uncle Eddie. Face it. Move on.”

Dad hit me over the head with his newspaper.

“Tell her we were practicing a new routine for the baldy-o-gram when the fool next door started—”

Mum interrupted, “Tell your father I am sick of his japes with his pals.”

I said, “She says you should go and live in a house with men like yourself and leave us alone. We’ll write.”

That did it.

Dad has “roared” off in his “car.”

in my room

Well, every clud has a silver lining. Dad “roaring” off having the numpty means that we won’t be able to go to the Wild Park to look at more horned budgies, etc.

I’m distracting Libby from poking Bum-ty with a fork with cheese on it, by reading her
Heidi
in a Chinese accent. She is hysterical with laughter. It’s making me laugh actually. I do love my sister. There is something so gorgey about her little dimply face. She’s got amazingly long eyelashes.

When we got to the famous wheelchair falling off the mountaintop bit she looked up from laughing and then said, “I lobe my funny Gingky.” And gave me a really big cuddle.

Blimey, I got tears in my eyes as well.

I’m having a blubbing fest. On my own.

ten minutes later

I could hear Mum on the phone and then she called up the stairs.

“Georgia, get dressed. We’re off on our lovely trip to the Wild Park.”

Oh God.

twenty minutes later

We are off to the Wild Park with two of Mutti’s mates, Pippy and Scottish Jo. They picked us up in their car. Wow, I am actually riding in a proper car that people don’t point to and laugh at. Also it’s quite peaceful because Mum, Pippy and Jo just talk all the time. Libby is combing what is left of Panda. She tried to warm him up by putting him in the oven. Most of his bottom is burnt to a crisp. She is happy, though.

Gor blimey, Mum and her mates talk WUBBISH. I am glad that me and my mates are not so superficial. They are just talking about men and clothes and men.

I can just dollydaydream about my boyfriend and what I will wear when I next see him.

I must say I can’t really believe that he likes me.

And really fancies me.

Wow.

I’m a bit tired from last night and my lips ache a bit.

In a nice way.

I wonder if you can strain lips by too much snogging?

Jas said she did once. She got a sort of pucker spazerama.

Didn’t she do puckering exercises for it?

Pucker, relax.

Pucker, relax.

two minutes later

Erlack, she will soon be kissing Wet Lindsay unless something good happens.

Maybe I could suggest to Miss Wilson that we do mime kissing?

I am a genius!! Miss Wilson loves mime.

I wonder if Rudi and Miss Wilson have snogged yet?

fifteen minutes later

Even though I am trying not to listen, Mum and her mates are going to join this women’s group that teaches you how to become a goddess and make men do anything for you.

Blimey.

It sounds a bit like
How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You
.

Apparently the nub and the thrust is that men
like
to do stuff for women. So, you ask them to do something and then you say thank you. And that is how you train them.

I said, “Are there any dog biscuits involved?”

But they were too full of themselves to reply.

wild park

Wow and wowzee wow. We had the tippy-top of times. Honestly. When we got there I said I was very happy to stay in the car.

I said, “I’ve seen a bison on
Look North
or something and also some monkeys that Lady Dave Attenborough was lolling about with and that will do me, thank you.”

But I was glad as a glad thing on glad tablets that Mum made me get out.

Because we found Angus’s wild family.

Honestly.

His Scottish wildcat cousins.

They were sooo cool. The kittens looked just like Angus when I first found him in the garden in Och Aye land. Doing flying face-pouncing. One
kitten would unexpectedly and for no reason hurl itself through the air and pounce directly on another kitten’s face. Then it would grab on with its front paws and do bunny kicks with its back legs.

Libby kept yelling, “Me want naaaice pussycats,” and trying to climb into their cage with them.

One of the keepers said, “They are not pets. They are wild animals.”

I said, “You don’t need to tell me that. I used to keep Angus on a lead, but he ate it. Let us in, mister.”

Libby even said, “Please, Mr. Arsey man.”

ten minutes later

We’re in!!!

Oh, what a hoot. Libby and I had a bucket each of dead chicks and some rabbit legs.

We took some photos of us tugging one end of a rabbit leg and the kittykats pulling on the other end. In between spitting at us.

I love them, I love them.

We have got some pictures to take home with us to show Angus what his family look like and also a little tartan mousy.

Mum and her mates were ridiculously embarrassing around the keepers, who were quite fit, in an overall and welligoggy way….

on the way home

Libby is “feeding” tartan mousy with bits of chicken feather she has stuffed in her welligogs. I hope that is all she has down there. She was very interested in what the wild kittens’ poo looked like.

5:30 p.m.

When we got home, Dad wasn’t in so Mum decided to have a bath.

She is sensationally cheered up and all full of herself now.

I said, “What’s for supper?”

And she said to me, “Find something in the fridge. And give some to Bibbs. She’s allowed to watch children’s TV for half an hour. I’m having a long aromatherapy bath. I will use ylang ylang, I think, for its sensual overtones.”

I said, “Mum, you don’t need sensual overtones, you need sensual undertones.”

She didn’t get it, though, she just went rambling on.

“This is ‘me’ time.”

And she went off into the bathroom.

ten minutes later

I made Bibbs and me cheese on toast, but remembered that we must eat a balanced diet, so put some tomato sauce on for the vit. C content. If my legs start getting all bendy like Grandvati’s because of rickets, I hope Mum will find her ylang-ylang-smelling skin a comfort.

Libby is sharing her sandwich with tartan mousy. They are watching
Pudsey and Sudsey Go on Holiday
or something. Anyway, weird creatures with no necks in bathing suits.

As I left, she went to get her swimming costume and rubber ring. She lobes Pudsey and Sudsey’s holiday.

in my bedroom

ten minutes later

Mum’s not the only one who can have “me” time. I can have “me” time for me to have some “me” time.

Aaaah…sooo, the Luuurve God.

I’ll start with the tongue-kissing episode and—

“GET OUT! Oooh, how disgusting. Don’t stand on there, you’ll…”
SPLASH
!!!!!

Then more yelling and splashing and Mum saying, “Don’t let it touch my…Ohmygod, it’s touched me…. Put that snorkel, owwww…”

MIAOOOOWWWWWW…

“Lalalalalala…heggyheggyho…”

What the hell was going on?

four minutes later

Mum’s “me” time turned into “us” time.

I went down to see what had happened and there was water everywhere in the bathroom. Mum was standing in a bath towel, shouting. Libby was in her bathing costume with a snorkel, sitting in the bath singing, “Bum bum pooey pooey bum bum” in two centimeters of water. And Angus and Gordy were sneezing and soaking and trying to scrabble up the sides of the bath.

Mum stormed off into her bedroom and I said to Libby, who was now putting her rubber ring on, “What happened, Bibbsy?”

She looked at me cross-eyed, like I was a fool, and said very deliberately, “Me came on my HOLIDAYS wif my fwends. Get in, Gingie.”

back in my bedroom

All is calm again.

I will get into my bed to look at my part (oo-er) in
Rom and Jul
.

Lovely and snugly, I may just have a little zizz before I settle down to…

Not.

Have you any idea what it is like to have two wet cats, a soaking tartan mouse and a toddler covered in soap in your bed?

fifteen minutes later

Libby has dried off a bit now and the cats have bogged off to murder stuff. They only stayed in my bed long enough to get warm and dampen the sheets.

Libby still has her rubber ring on, but it could be worse, she could have Mr. Fish in here with us.

three minutes later

It IS worse.

She has got Mr. Fish in here with us.

five minutes later

If I hear “Maybe it’s beCOD I’m a Londoner” one more time, I may have a nervy spaz.

three minutes later

Mr. Fish’s batteries went. I will never be mean about Baby Jesus again.

Also I was just saying to Libby that she should lie down and have a little snooze when she dropped off to sleep, sitting up.

Amazing.

I carried her to her own room, which wasn’t very easy actually with the rubber ring, but it does mean I have the whole of my bed to myself!!!!

ten minutes later

Now then, back to Billy Shakespeare land. Otherwise known as “Twits in Tights.”

ten minutes later

Mercutio just lurks around Rom, more or less telling him off, and then dies. I am going to call him Merc-lurk-io.

twelve minutes later

I wish I could be bothered to get up and phone Jas. In Act II she has a whole night of snogging with her boyfriend, Wet Lindsay. She will have got further on the Snogging Scale than she has with Hunky. I bet she wishes she hadn’t been so mean
about my brilliant papier-mâché head idea now.

She is vair stubborn.

Right, I am going to get some shut-eye.

10:32 p.m.

Oh, how vair vair inconsiderate some people are. I can hear Mum’s voice booming all over the house. She is on the blower to one of her mad aquarobic mates.

Mum said, “Well, I’m deffo going to do it. At the very least it will shake Bob up, and stop him being so bloody lazy. Madame Betty said be there at seven. The workshop actually starts at seven thirty p.m…. What? Oh, yes, OK, look, I’ll just get the list, hang on.”

I heard the phone being put down and Mum going off somewhere.

Oh, really, some people are trying to sleep.

I could hear her scuffling around.

I shouted down, “Mum, it is a school night, you know. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Libby shouted from her bedroom, “Shut up, Ginger.”

one minute later

Mum was just going on and on.

“Right, you have to bring a towel, a sarong to wear…it says you can keep your pants on if you wish. Erm…some colored scarves and a boiled egg. Yep, yep. Oh and some oil. OK, see you there…. S’laters.”

God. Her workshop thing sounds horrific. What does a boiled egg and colored scarves have to do with being a goddess? It sounds more like one of Miss Wilson’s improvised drama workshops. Although, thank the Lord, Miss Wilson has never said, “You can keep your pants on if you wish.”

How utterly horrific.

ten minutes later

Oh, that reminds me, I mustn’t forget to ask Miss Wilson about fake blood for my dying scene.

We’ve got another read-through on Thursday. I wonder if Jas’s new boyfriend will be there. She might be. Maybe I could accidentally chop her head off with my sword.

two minutes later

Ouch. I just lay on my pouch by mistake. I must remember to replenish my supplies. You must never be caught with an empty pouch.

phone rang

Oh, this is so selfish!!!!

I yelled down, “Mum, will you please not discuss your lady parts on the phone with your friends. I have an artistic temperament.”

Mum yelled up, “Georgia, it’s Masimo, or are you asleep for school tomorrow?”

Ohmygod.

I tore out of bed and quickly applied a bit of lippy from my pouch. I did a quick bit of puckering up on the way down the stairs so that he could sense my Sex Kittykatnosity down the phone. (Oo-er!)

Picked up the phone and…

“Hello.”

“
Ciao, Cara,
I just have phoned to say…”

Then he started singing a song down the phone. Something in Italian. Also he was playing the guitar as an accompaniment. How was he holding the phone? Perhaps he had an assistant?

It’s nice and everything, but what do you do? Nod along to it? Join in? I was just holding the phone away from my earlug, because it was a bit loud, when the key turned in the lock and Vati came in. And he looked at me with the phone and a song
coming out of the end of it.

He said, “Don’t tell me there’s a bloody singing clock now.”

And he stumbled off into the bedroom.

monday september 26th

in the kitchen

I noticed an egg boiling away. I can’t even begin to think what Mum and her mad mates are going to be doing with that.

on the way to stalag 14

How many times do we all have to do this? Get up, go to school, again? Before everyone admits it’s a crap idea?

break

Thank the Lord.

fives court

Brrr! Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers, it’s nippy noodles.

We’ve buttoned our coats together like in the old days. We are quite literally a tent with six heads and sleeves.