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

through the front door and stashed my horns in a secret place where they will never be found (the ironing basket).

      Aaahh. Safely in. Now quietly, quietly up the stairs to my room. Quietly, quietly like a little mousie. Mousie girl opening little doorsies. Shhhhh. Shhhh. Nearly safe. Quietly into the room like a quiet thing on quiet tablets. No sign of the Furry Freak brothers, a.k.a. my cats Angus and his cross-eyed son Gordon, thank the Lord.

      As I opened my bedroom door Gordy’s face appeared upside down an inch away from my fringe. I looked into his mad cross-eyes. Why does he do that – lurk on top of the door like a bat? He did a little croaky noise and licked my face with his horrid rough tongue. I managed not to cry out or be sick.

      12:25 a.m.

      There is a half-eaten mouse on my pillow.

      12:30 a.m.

      Oh God, that means that Gordy licked my face after he had crunched up the mousey head. I am almost bound to get the Black Death. Nothing nicer than a few pustulating boils when you have boyfriend trouble.

      One minute later

      Crept downstairs to get rid of the mousey. I had it on a piece of cardboard. When I say mousey what I mean is two ears and a bit of tail. Too crunchy for Gordy’s delicate little murderer’s gob, I suppose.

      As I was going back upstairs Mutti called out from the front room, “Is that you, Gee?”

      I said, “No,” and went up to get into my snuggly bed of pain.

      In bed under the sheets of life

      One minute later

      Can’t be bothered getting undressed as I’m so full of confusiosity.

      Five minutes later

      I’d better make an effort though and at least take my boots off. My feet are probably all swollen from my mad running and I don’t want to have them surgically removed again.

      The boots, I mean, not my feet.

      Anyway, the nub and gist is that I have accidentally acquired two Luuurve Gods.

      I may never sleep again.

      One minute later

      I won’t have time to sleep if I’ve got two boyfriends, tee hee…

      zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

      Sunday July 17th

      7:00 a.m.

      Woke up from a dream where Dr Clooney was looking at my head and saying, “I have never seen anything like it! Her head is one enormous boil!” and for a minute forgot that I have two boyfriends.

      I checked in the mirror and there has been no pustulating boil extravaganza, so I seem to have escaped catching the Black Death from Gordy’s little mousey snack, thank the Lord. Although my head has exploded, hairwise. I may have to iron it.

      7:35 a.m.

      Crept downstairs and made some toast and tea. I must keep my strength up.

      There is snoring coming from every room. Mum made Dad sleep in the spare room because of his snoring and she is louder than him! I must be kind, though: she probably has difficulty breathing because of the weight of her enormous nungas. If mine grow as big as hers I will definitely donate them to some charity.

      It is a nice day. The birds are humming and the bees a-singing and I can see Angus the furry Luuurve Machine lolling around in the morning sun with Naomi. They are very much in love if the amount of bum-oley licking is anything to go by.

      Back in my bed with snacksies

      Five minutes later

      I must consult with a book of wisdomosity.

      Five minutes later

      This double boyfriend fandango is not mentioned in Mutti’s book How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.

      Three minutes later

      Maybe Robbie and Masimo will have to have fisticuffs at dawn to decide who gets me. Who knows what the right etiquette is in this scenario?

      One minute later

      One thing is for sure. I will not be asking Dave the Laugh, my Horn Adviser and occasional snoggee, to the fight. He will only think it is a laugh and start shouting out stuff like, “Hit him with your handbag, Masimo!” or “Mind the hair, love!” Anyway, Dave is too busy to give me advice these days. He will be with his “girlfriend”. I wonder what number they have got up to on the snogging scale?

      Shut up, brain! I don’t want to think about Dave – he is an ex-snoggee. And just a mate. I have enough to worry about without Dave popping up all the time (oo-er).

      7:55 a.m.

      This does mean that I am going to have to be on high beauty and glamorosity alert at all times. One of my multi boyfriends may be so driven by snognosity that he rushes round here first thing in the morning. I must be prepared. But no one must know. I must exude glamour but in a natural just-tumbled-out-of-bed way.

      Soooo just a hint of foundation, touch of bronzer, lippy, mascara and tiny bit of eyeliner. Which I like to think looks like I have a touch of the Egyptian in my genes.

      That is what I like to think.

      8:00 a.m.

      Now what to wear? Nightwear or daywear?

      What would you wear if you had unexpectedly woken up to the doorbell ringing and you didn’t know who it was but you suspected it might be a Luuurve or a Sex God?

      8:01 a.m.

      Not Teletubbies pyjamas, that is le fact.

      8:06 a.m.

      Denim skirt and a T-shirt?

      Yep.

      8:12 a.m.

      I took a peek out of the front window. No sign of any Sex or Luuurve Gods. The reverse, in fact, because I was alarmed to see Mr Across the Road in his garden in a shortie dressing gown. I hope he is not going to become a homosexualist in his twilight years. Then Mrs Across the Road came out in a massive pair of pyjamas. Was there the suggestion of a small moustache on her upper lip? Maybe that’s what happens in the end when people are married: they change sex. My dad is certainly on the turn, but on the other hand no man alive has developed nunga-nungas like Mum.

      8:30 a.m.

      Why hasn’t Jas phoned?

      You would think that Radio Jas would have been on the airwaves of life wanting to know what happened to me, and also wanting to report what had happened after I left the gig. I suppose I will just have to wait until she wakes up, or the rest of the Ace Gang wakes up to let me know what is going on. I must use the steely discipline for which I am world renowned.

      8:35 a.m.

      That’s it, I can’t stand it any more.

      Crept out of the house. I won’t leave a note because no one will notice I am missing for hours. The last thing I want is a cross-examination from Herr Vati. Or Mum being “interested”.