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

But (and this is the worrying bit) Masimo said he thought that maybe I wanted just to have fun with my mates. And that maybe I am too young for a relationship with him.

He doesn’t know.

He is thinking.

He wants me to think too.

And that we can meet at the Stiff Dylans gig on Saturday, and then we will talk.

He just signed it “Masimo”.

No kisses.

Not a “I am missing you and want to snog you within an inch of your life.”

Hmmm. So am I semi-dumped?

Fifteen minutes laterThe one person I would like to talk to about this is the Hornmeister.

But I can’t.

I had to make do with Jazzy Spazzy.

Phoned JasI told her about the note.

“I think what the note means is that I have got another chance. To show that I want to be with him. And that I am not a twisting fool. I am, in fact, a sophisticate wise beyond my years. And so on.”

She just went, “Hmmmmm.”

“He is, in fact, asking me to reveal my inner maturiosity, of which I have got bloody bucketfuls as it happens. And he is requesting me to put away my inner fool. That is what I think.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

What does she mean, “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”?

Midnight“Hmmmmmmmmmmmm” does not mean “Yes yes, I agree with you.”

It means “Hmmmmmmmmmmm”.

Anyway she can “hmmmm” away. I am going to start my campaign of maturiosity tomorrow.

Tuesday September 20th Stalag 14 BreakIt’s bloody nippy noodlesoutside.

Mabs said, “Shall we work out a new disco inferno dance for Saturday’s gig? To warm us up?”

I said, “Er, well, it’s a bit soon after our last triumph, don’t you think?”

Rosie said, “No. A triumph is not a triumph until you have gone too far.”

Jas said, “I’m freezing.”

To change the subject away from mad dancing, that I am now eschewing with a firm hand, I said, “Well, Jas, we are all freezing. Why don’t you use some of your very well-known forest skills and start a lovely campfire? I bet you’ve got your special fire-making stick in your rucky, haven’t you?”

Jas said, “Don’t be silly.”

I said, “I’m not being silly. I’m being frozen to within an inch of my life. Anyway, you can’t do it without Hunky, can you? You’re frightened of fire.”

“I am not frightened of fire.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Look at me, Jas. I’m a flame and I’m coming near your fringe.”

And I started doing an ad-hoc flame improv, wiggling my body and making my arms all snakey, touching Jas’s fringe and making a whooshing noise.

Jas was getting quite red and there was deffo a touch of tomato about her ears.

Rosie, Jools and the rest of the gang started snaking and shaking about, going “Whoosh whoosh” .

Jas finally lost her rag and said, “I can make a fire! Go and get some twigs and I’ll show you.”

Excellent!

Ten minutes later Brillopads.

Jas actually did it. She rubbed her special little fire-making stick in a wedge thing. She did happen to have her special “rubbing sticks” with her in her haversack. I don’t know why, but I knew she would have. She is very secretive about her rucky. I bet she has several changes of different type weight pants in there. And possibly a collection of molluscs. We may never know. At least, I may never know because I will never be putting my hand in there. My hand will never be upon her lock and that is a fact!!!

Anyway, it was really jolly sitting round our little campfire. It was made mostly out of crisp packets. To be fair, there was more smoke than flame, but we pretended we were really really warmey warm. I said, “Shall we sing the old traditional campfire song, little Ace Gang pallies?”

And they all went, “Yeah!!!”

And I said, “What is it?”

Then I remembered some old crap recording of Top of the Pops in the 70s that my dad had. I’d shown it to the gang. I said, “Let’s sing ‘Fire’ by that bloke who wore a helmet that was actually on fire. And when he sang on Top of the Pops , his helmet set fire to the ceiling. By the way, Ro Ro, do NOT mention that to Sven. He’s bound to want to do it and then it’s goodbye to any club that we go to.”

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, we were just sitting round our campfire singing, “FIRE!!! I’m going to teach you to burn. FIRE! I’m gonna teach you to learn!!!” when out of nowhere came Wet Lindsay. The octopus in the ointment. With her assistant fascist, ADM. She saw us round our innocent “campfire” and went absolutely ballisticisimus.

She was yelling, “You absolute twits!!!!! Step away, step away!!! Monica, get Mr Attwood and tell him there is a fire in the fives court…”

Twenty minutes laterWhat a fuss and a kerfuffle.

Mr Attwood practically pooed himself with delight. He’s been standing by with flame retardant since MacUseless when somebody accidentally set fire to Nauseating P. Green. The fact that the “inferno” had gone out by the time he got there didn’t stop him. He came leaping up and made us stand and watch from “a safe distance” (the edge of the fives court) while he donned his special breathing apparatus. He was shouting through the mask, “There may be toxic fumes.”

I was yelling, “It’s out, Mr Attwood!”

But he couldn’t hear me.

He squirted his extinguisher thing until there was foam up to the top of his welligogs. Quite, quite extraordinarily bonkers.

Three minutes laterHe took off his mask and looked at the huge pile of foam.

He said, “I’ve made the area safe-I’ll just radio in to Headquarters to say I’ve achieved a result safety-wise and no casualties.”

From his “fire sack” he fished out an enormous walkie-talkie thing.

Wet Lindsay said, “Right, you lot, the headmistress’s office. NOW!”

Oh no, not Slim.

She frogmarched us off, chunteringon to ADM and giving me the evils every now and again. She just absolutely loves it times a million.

If she can upset me, she’s made up.

Jas said, “Oh, now I’ll never get to be a prefect. This is all your fault, Georgia. Again.”

I said, “Er, I think you are the firestarter, crazy firestarter Jas.”

Rosie said, “Do you think Slim will beat us to death with her chins?”

As we sloped along at one mile an hour, we could hear Mr Attwood shouted into his walkie-talkie. “Z Victor I to B.D. Are you receiving me? Over.”

Astonishingly barmy.

Jools said, “Who is he talking to?”

And I said, “He’s talking to Headquarters. And you know who that is, don’t you?”

Ellen said, “No, I…er…is it…erm, is it, like…Headquarters or something?”

We just looked at her.

I said, “He is talking to the radio in his shed. And do you know who is listening? No one.”

Outside Slim’s officeI asked “permission” to go to the piddly-diddly department and Wet Lindsay came with me. Like I was going to escape through the loo window! Actually, I did do that once, but that is not the point. As I was in the cubicle, trying not to make any piddly-diddly noises because I didn’t want her to hear me, she said, “You really are the most appalling little tart, Georgia Nicolson. Robbie did the right thing dumping you and Masimo must be dying to get rid of you.”

I started to say, “Actually, I think boys like girls with foreheads…”

But she said, “Nicolson, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the term recovering from a very bad hockey injury, I advise you to SHUT UP right now.”