‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’. Louise Rennison

in. No one in their right mind would let a child of theirs anywhere near him.”

      Stalag 14

      Hawkeye was on glaring duty at the school gates, so Jas had to do a quick dive behind me to let her skirt down. She was fiddling away as we walked along, so to distract Hawkeye with my youth and exuberance I started singing, “Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh what a—”

      “Why are you shuffling along like idiots? Put a spring in your step!”

      I started doing a bit of springing for a laugh, but then she said, “Georgia, I have been glancing at your report card and it seems to me a bit of extra tuition wouldn’t come amiss.”

      Bloody sacré bleu! I scuttled off to the loos as fast as I could.

      Jas was pouting at herself in the mirror as I grumbled on. “‘Glancing at your report card’. What kind of life is that? You might as well have a life ‘glancing at paint drying’ or ‘glancing at a cactus not doing anything’, or…anyway, it is no kind of a life for a human being. Which is why Hawkeye is so vair vair good at it.”

      Jas was now upside down under the hand dryer getting maximum voluminosity into her fringe for the day ahead, but she nodded her head wisely, in an upside-down way.

      Assembly

      Usual routine: Klingon salute to the Ace Gang, a quick burst of “The Lord is my shepherd” and then some incomprehensible lecture from Slim, our huge headmistress. What is she rambling on about now? She has certainly excelled herself on the fashion front this morning. Polka-dot suit in a lovely subtle orange and black, and sling-back shoes. Parts of her feet have made a desperate bid for freedom out of the sling-back bit. I’ve never known anyone with fat feet. It’s fascinating watching her. When she loses her rag (i.e. every time she speaks to us) every bit of her quivers in a tip-top jelloid way.

      “So to my point, girls: achievement. What does it mean today in the modern world? I want you all to consider what achievement really means.”

      Then she stood there and looked at us. For ages. We stood looking back. She just stood there; we just stood there. Like a staring competition. Good Lord. It went on for ages and ages – you could practically see Miss Stamp’s beard growing. Two centuries later, Slim said, “How many of us could put our hands on our hearts and say ‘I have achieved something really worthwhile this term.’?”

      Me and Rosie put our hands on our hearts.

      Corridor 9:30 a.m.

      Oh bloody marvy. Wet Lindsay, who was stick-insecting around on snitcher duty, saw us with our hands on our hearts and is gave us her world famous ‘How childish you are’ lecture. Ho hum, pig’s bum. Another fabulous opportunity to look at Mrs No Forehead.

      9:36 a.m.

      Hahahahaha! While Wet Lindsay was telling us off, me and Rosie kept our eyes fixed on her forehead. She couldn’t say we were doing anything wrong, but afterwards she scuttled off to the loos for forehead inspection.

      The staring campaign continues!

      And she doesn’t know I am off to America to a Snog Fest with the Luuurve God.

      I said to Rosie as we ambled off to the Science block, “He probably only took her to Late and Live because he is in the European Union for the preservation of rare species.”

      Rosie said, “What? The ‘No Forehead Stick-insect Fighting Fund’?”

      “Absolutemento mon pally.”

      We are indeed vair vair amusant.

      Blodge

      Miss Baldwin has got gigantic basoomas. Even bigger than my mutti’s, and that is saying something. I was very much afraid that she would set fire to them with the Bunsen burner. Sadly there was no basooma incendiary action, so I couldn’t use the foam extinguisher, which would have topped the lesson off in my humble opinion.

      On the knicker toaster Break

      I told the Ace Gang about Operation Go to Hamburger-a-gogo Land. They were, as usual, agog as two gogs. Three gogs in Ellen’s case. Thank the Lord she seems to have dropped her infectious laugh. I was going to have to kill her if she kept it up.

      As we crunched through our nutritious snacks of cheesy Wotsits and chuddie, I said, “It is going to be marv, as I said to Jas – even though she didn’t get it – we will be like the Thelma and Louise of England.”

      Rosie said, “But you won’t have a gun.”

      “I might do.”

      “No, you won’t. Your dad won’t let you go to an all-nighter, so he is definitely not going to get you a gun.”

      “He is. He said I could have one when I got there.”

      Rosie just looked at me.

      “Just a small one for emergency shooting.”

      They all just looked at me.

      Ellen said (annoyingly), “Where…er…where is Masimo? I mean where is he going to be in America?”

      I said, “Well, you know, near where we are going to be.”

      She went on in her vague, dumped-by-Dave-the-Laugh way. “Yes, but I mean, well…where are you going to be?”

      I said, “At the clown-car convention in America.”

      Rosie blew a big gob-stopper bubble and then sucked it back in again. Then she put her face right up close to mine and said slowly, “Yes, but Georgia, where is the clown-car convention?”

      “Memphis.”

      “And where is that?”

      I laughed and said, “Good grief, I thought I was bad at geoggers. Don’t you know?”

      “YOU don’t know, do you?”

      “Of course I do. It’s…down…a…bit from New York.”

      “Down a bit from New York?”

      “Yes.”

      “Like you thought Hamburg was famous for its hamburgers?”

      What had Rosie turned into? Memo the Memory Man? Honestly, just because I had been secretly exfoliating my legs under the desk in geoggers when we were doing the Rhine, and Miss Simpson sprang a surprise question on me…

      I changed the subject. “So, what do you think I should pack for my trip?”

      Jools said, “Well, not knickers, because they don’t wear them there.”

      I said, “Wow, saucy minxes! You mean they go round in the nuddy-pants? They don’t mention that in geoggers, do they? It’s all boring stuff about wheat belts and the Atlantic drift.”

      Jools said, “Panties.”

      I said, “Oy, clear off with your panties talk. You are a nicelooking girl and everything, but I am just not interested.”

      Jools said, “No, that’s what the Hamburgese wear.”

      The bell went.

      Donner and Blitzen! How am I supposed to discuss my wardrobe if we keep having to go to lessons?

      Oh, hang on though, it’s German next, so that’s OK. We can discuss it then without being disturbed.

      German

      Herr Kamyer was, as usual, rambling on about the Koch family going on one of their endless camping trips.