Louise Rennison - ‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’

She went a bit red round the earlobes and said, “Prat.”

Charming. Absolutely charming. I said to Jas as we went into the hall, “Charming. Utterly, utterly charming. Who wouldn’t want to go out with her?”

Rosie blew a bubble-gum bubble that exploded all over her nose. Very amusing. She had a big blob hanging off her nose like a huge bogey. She said, “Look how it dangles about. I bet I can swing it round and round in time to some music. Like a snot disco. You lot sing something jolly and I’ll improvise on bogey work.”

I think despite being slightly singed in the oven of luuurve I may be going to die of laughing. The snot disco dance is officially born. Danced to the tune of Eastenders , it is: Swing your snot to the left, swing to the right. Full turn, shoulder shrugging, now nod to the front, dangle, dangle, hands on shoulders and kick, kick to the right, dangle, dangle, kick, kick to the left, dangle, dangle, and then full snot around and shimmy to the ground.

Excellent in every way.

As we strolled back for an action-packed morning of being bored and depressed I said to the gang, “I bet we could have the snot coming out of our nostrils all through German and Herr Kamyer wouldn’t notice. Or if he does, we could pretend we have really bad colds. Hand over the bubble gum, girls, and get chewing!”

It was a triumph, darling, a triumph! We were all translating from our textbooks – what larks! The Koch family were off on another camping trip, taking an enormous amount of food with them, as usual. In our books there are hilariously bad illustrations of the Koch family, drawn by a blind person. Mrs Koch looks vair like Herr Kamyer in a frock. I never get tired of the Kochs. In fact, I am thinking of writing to the author of the textbook (A. Schmidt, no, I’m not joking) and asking where the Kochs live. I want to write a letter to them, thanking them for the endless hours of fun they have given us all.

I put up my hand to ask a pressing Koch question. When Herr Kamyer noticed my hand blowing in the wind he said, “ Jah , Georgia?”

“Herr Kamyer, there is a strange-looking thing in one of the pictures of the Kochs. It looks like a very tiny poo on a plate. But that doesn’t seem right.”

Herr Kamyer blinked through his moley glasses. “Ah, bring up ze picture, Georgia, und we will see.”

I quicky attached my bubble-gum bogey as I pretended to sneeze into my hanky, and went up to his desk with the snot rag still covering my nose.

Herr Kamyer didn’t notice. He is so interested in things; it’s tragic, really. He actually seems to believe that we want to learn things. I put the textbook down in front of him at the picture of the Kochs and pointed to the poo on a plate.

“Ach so, Georgia, der spangleferkel … oh jah , I remember ven as a youngen ve vent into the voods camping, we would cook up the spangleferkel and sing our songs around ze campfire. The fun ve had camping. You vould have loved it, girls.”

I still had my hankie out to disguise the bogey when he started humming, “Gif me ze campfire light und komt mit me to der liebe liebe Rhein ” and took his glasses off to clean them. Or perhaps he was crying. Who knows? Who cares? Anyway, when he did that I took the opportunity to let the bogey run free and wild. I even did a bit of the bogey dance slightly behind him and managed to get the hanky back in place before he finished. When I walked back to my desk the whole class spontaneously clapped. Herr Kamyer thought it was for his crap camping song and bowed. Quite sensationally German.

Sadly, Herr Kamyer really thinks we love his camping stories.

He’s going on and on about what they did. How they sang songs and cooked over the campfire.

Swapping notes. Rosie wrote:

Dear fellow loons,

Let us have a scoring system for bogey work. Gee gets 5 points for her excellent letting the bogey run free and wild over Herr Kamyer’s head. Similar acts earn 5 points and the first to get to 20 gets free Jammy Dodgers for life. Well, for a bit, anyway.

Ro Ro, advisor to the stars

xxxxx

Of course there is always a dog in the manger of life. Jas wrote back and said it was silly and childish. Hilarious, really, coming from someone who practically snogs owls.

Ellen was dithering about. Even in her notes. She wrote:

Hi everyone, it’s me,

Erm, about the snot disco, well, you know, I don’t know. Like, er, what if we, er, get into, er, like, trouble? What do you think… or something?

Er… Ellen

xxx

Jas and Ellen have formed their own little breakaway gang and they are living in a snot-free zone. They should grow up.

Drat and dratty drat drat! Rosie is catching up pointswise by letting her bogey dangle over Madame Slack’s head as she was checking her homework. We were all trying not to laugh and Madame Slack must have sussed something because she unexpectedly looked up and nearly got the pretend bogey in her eye. As she was looking at Rosie, Rosie casually popped the “snot” into her mouth and started chewing. Madame Slack went ballisticisimus and Rosie has got detention.

Home time for some. As we went by the hall we saw Rosie’s face at the window. She pressed her nose against the pane of glass so that it spread out like a trapped piglet. Vair funny. She mouthed “I love you all” and then disappeared from view.

Lying on my bed. No phone calls or anything from any of my so-called maybe perhaps boyfriends. I’m all aloney on my owney. Even Dave never rings me these days, not even as a matey-type mate, which he is. And the Swiss Family Mad are out at some sad tea party, wrecking people’s lives with their weird ideas and Dad’s huge bottom.

I may as well go to bed early and get as much beauty sleep as I can. Just in case all my boyfriends come home to roost at once.

I wonder what they are all doing?

Maybe I’ve imagined it all. Maybe Masimo didn’t mean he wanted to be my one and only one. Maybe he just wanted a snog. Or maybe he thinks I still like Robbie and that’s put him off. Maybe he’s right – maybe I do still like Robbie. Maybe… I should just call him.

Boom crash bang. Yowl yowl. Now what?

Then I heard the lovely tones of my father: “Bloody hell, that furry bastard has stuck its claws into my arse.”

How delightful my home life is. It’s practically like living in Pride and Prejudice it’s so elegant. I will pretend to be asleep. Not that anyone cares. I have asked them to respect my privacy, but I bet they—

Ah, yes. My door crashed open.

I said, “Mum, I am asleep, actually.”

Mum said, “Don’t you want your letter then?”

I sat up in bed. “What letter?”

She held out an envelope. “This one. It was on the doormat before you got home from school. I put it in my bag and forgot about it. It must have been hand delivered, because it’s only got your name on it.”

I said, “Quick, give it to me, it is a criminal offence to tamper with Her Maj’s mail.”

“Who do you think it’s from?”

“Er, Father Christmas. Possibly someone from beyond the grave. Mum, I don’t know because you have got it and I therefore have not opened it.”