Louise Rennison - Are these my basoomas I see before me?

Really, I’m too upset and tired to do my beauty routine, but as someone once said, possibly on Big Brother , “When the going gets tough, the tough get moisturising and plucking.”

If I am once again going to be spinster of the parish, I will at least be smoothy smooth.

In the bathroomWhat does Dad do with his razors? They are so blunt! I’ve torn my legs to ribbons. I look like I’ve been playing hockey with the Piranha family. Ouchy ouch ouch!!!

And ouch.

I must staunch the flow. I’ve probably lost an armful of blood already.

Phone rangOh my giddy god’s pyjamas. I hobbled over with my legs covered in bits of loo paper and picked up the receiver. I tried for a casual, nonchalant sort of voice, one that didn’t sound like I was bleeding to death.

“Hello.”

“Hello, you cheeky Fräulein. You know you love it.”

It was Dave. Oh, I felt so happy I wanted to cry.

He said, “So what’s up, Kittykat?”

And I started.

“After you went on Saturday night, the Luuurve God got on his huffmobile.”

Dave said, “And he didn’t say anything?”

“No, he just looked at me all sort of sad.”

“Was he crying?”

“Er no.”

“Probably worried his mascara would run.”

“Dave.”

“I’m just being jovial Dave the Biscuit to lighten the mood.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m too upset.”

“Look, Georgia, this is a bit tricky for me. There’s Emma and well…”

“Well what? I’m only asking you to be like the Hornmeister and tell me what to do.”

There was a pause and then he said, “OK, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll casually bump into him…”

“And not mention pants or anything.”

“No, I will leave pants out of it. I’ll just say that there is nothing going on to have a girlie tizz about and…”

“You won’t actually say the girlie tizz thing, will you?”

“Right, er well, I’ll say…well, I don’t know exactly what I will say, just that we were having a laugh because…that’s what mates do.”

“And that’s true, isn’t it?”

There was another little pause and then Dave said, “Yeah, well, listen, I have to go now.”

And he was gone.

Had that gone well?

If so, why did I feel so funny?

10:30 p.m.No call from Masimo.

10:32 p.m.Still, on the bright side, we’ve got a budgie.

10:40 p.m.Not for long I suspect. Angus and Gordy have been staring at it since Vati brought it home from the birdy sanctuary.

MidnightIf anyone can fix it, it’s the Hornmeister. I must get the Luuurve God back. It means everything to me.

I hadn’t even been able to properly show off that I was his girlfriend before I was maybe dumped.

Monday September 19thWoke up from a dream where Dave had come up to me and said, “I didn’t even mention pants and he went ballisticisimus.”

And Dave had a pair of pants on his head.

And they weren’t small.

8:15 a.m.A bit earlier than usual. I want to make sure Jas doesn’t get to Stalag 14 without me.

I want to know how Jazzy Spazzy is going to carry on her campaign of ignorez-vousing me when I refuse to be ignorez-voused .

8:25 a.m.Thar she blows! She senses I am here and she is putting a bit of speed on.

8:29 a.m.Aaaah, I have got her in my sights. Her bottom is waggling away only just in front of me. I am going to do my world-renowned speedwalking.

8:32 a.m.My nose is practically on the back of her beret.

She is still pretending I am invisible girlie, but she must be able to hear me panting.

I pulled out a Jammy Dodgerand held it in front of her face. She loves a Jammy Dodger.

8:55 a.m.Even when I ate the Jammy Dodger walking backwards in front of her she didn’t slow down.

OK, I am going in.

I leaped on her unexpectedly and pulled her beret right down over her eyes. But even then she kept marching on like nothing had happened. It was only when she crashed into the postman, who was bending over filling his sack, that she had to stop and take her beret off.

The postman went bonkers and shouted at her to “stop playing silly beggars!!!!”.

I have said this before and I will say it again, how come anyone who puts a badge on goes immediately insane?

And anyway, why do they need a badge?

A badge that says “postman” or “caretaker”.

Don’t they know who they are?

I took advantage of the brouhaha and stepped in front of Jas. Eyeball to eyeball.

I said, “Jazzy, it’s me, your old pally.”

She was all red and her fringe looked like a tumble-dried ferret.

She said, “I know it’s you. I know it’s you because every time anything bad happens or someone is shouting, you’ll be around.”

I said, “That’s not fair. What about the time I helped you get off with Hunky by pretending that you were normal and popular?”

She shrugged and said, “Yeah, well…”

“And remember the puffball skirt incident?”

That got her.

She said, “It looked nice.”

“Wrong, Jas. You looked like you had a little elepoon in your nick-nacks, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, but she knew I was right really because Astonishingly Dim Monica had worn a puffball skirt to the school play and Rosie started singing, “Nellie the elephant packed her PANTS and said goodbye to the circus”!!

I had her on the ropes now and said, “Come on, little pally, think of all the larfs we’ve had. Come on, I need you…I need you because you are so vair vair wise. You are tip-top to the toppimost full of wisdomosity…and I am a fool.”

Jas was flicking her stupid fringe, but I didn’t strike her. She said, “You bring it on yourself.”

I put my arm round her and held her arm down so she would stop the fringe-fiddling business. I said, “I know, Jazzy, but that is because I am full of je ne sais quoi.”

Stalag 14At least Jas and me are besties again. Hurrah!

Well, until she begins to annoy me again. In about a minute.

REWhat is it with Miss Wilson? She’s obsessed with rudey-dudeyness. Since the camping trip when she, I think deliberately, exposed herself to Herr Kamyer in the shower, she’s gone sex mad.

I said to Rosie, “Is she wearing lippy? Or has she just eaten a strawberry Mivvy?”

Rosie was making a little beard for her pencil case so she was a bit “busy,” but she took the trouble to look up and said, “Most people wear lippy on their lips, not on their nostrils and chin. But at least she is giving it a go.”

I wish she wasn’t “giving it a go”.

We were having to discuss the Song of Songs from the Bible. It’s about some old ancienty bloke who was a king and a ye olde handmaiden-type person. I think it’s mostly about snogging, but not as we know it. I said to Jools, “What does ‘he put his hand on my lock’ mean when it’s at home?”

Jools said, “Ask her.”

I had nothing else to do, and Miss Wilson would go boring on if I didn’t interrupt her. And I had done all I could to pass the time, even my toenails, sooo…

I put my hand up. Well, actually, I put them both up as a sort of novelty. Like an orangutan.

I said, “Miss Wilson, if we translated ye olde Bible into modern language-you know, that made sense-well, what number on the Snogging Scale would ‘he put his hand on my lock’ be?”

Miss Wilson went sensationally red, nearly as red as her nostrils and chin.

“Well, Georgia, erm, yes, that is interesting…yes, making a connection between biblical love and rituals and so forth, and, erm, modern vocabulary, erm…”