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Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me, Page 2

Louise Rennison

  I’ll just not turn round and leave it at that.

  I heard the scooter come to a halt and I said to Rosie, “What’s going on?”

  And she said, “It’s Robbie and he’s got something hideous clinging to his back.”

  I looked round and Wet Lindsay was on the back of his scooter.

  They got off and Robbie looked across and smiled at me. I smiled back at him. Lindsay had her head down, looking in her bag. I said to Rosie, “That bag over her head quite suits her.”

  We watched as Robbie got his footie boots on. He is certainly in tip-top condition. It is such a waste for him to be with the Bride of Dracula. Lindsay brought out a towel and a water bottle from her bag and handed them to Robbie.

  ten seconds later

  She was massaging his neck. Blimey! Has she turned into some sort of octopussy handmaiden?

  I said to the gang, “I bet she comes scampering on with the halftime oranges tucked down her bra. There is enough room…. She’s probably got a packed lunch in there.”

  Which is a fact. Surely Robbie must know about her false basooma fiasco?

  Erlack! I have accidentally got parts of Wet Lindsay in my brain.

  I feel dirty. It was nearly kickoff time. I was behind the tree looking over at the lads and noticed that Dave the Laugh was missing.

  “I wonder where Dave the Laugh is?”

  And a voice behind me said, “Why? Are you longing for the Hornmeister, you naughty kittykat?”

  I looked round and there he was, lurking like a lurker and looking very cool in his black training stuff. He was twinkly round the eyes and said to the gang, “The vati has arrived. Now we can groove.”

  Ellen’s head practically dropped off with redness. She still luuurves him even though she is going out with Declan.

  Dave said, “Well, I’d love to stay swapping makeup hints with you girls, but there are arses to kick.”

  As he was going by me, I said, “Erm…Dave, would you give me a call? I want to ask you something.”

  He looked at me. “If you are hoping to entice me into Rummachen unterhalb der Taille, I have told you before, you are embarrassing yourself.”

  Ooohhh, he is sooo annoying.

  The lads were yelling at him, “Oy, Dave, get a wriggle on, mate!!”

  Dave started humming the theme from Match of the Day and jogging off backward, waving at us. Then he turned toward the team and started doing run run leap like a mad gazelle. When he was a few meters from them, he did slow-motion running with his arms outstretched and his team started doing the same toward him. When they reached each other, they had a minor ruck.

  Boys never cease to amaze me, never.

  I wonder if he will phone me, though? Masimo hasn’t turned up. Perhaps he already has a new girlfriend.


  Dave’s team is winning 1–0. I’d like to say it is down to superior skill, but largely it’s because Sven fell onto the St. Pat’s goalkeeper and the ball went over the line. St. Pat’s protested, but it’s pointless arguing with Sven. He took the player who was arguing with him and lifted him off his feet and kissed him on the mouth.

  The bloke was nearly sick, but he shut up and the goal counted.

  Wet Lindsay did have halftime oranges.

  Sadly, not down her bra.

  But even so, halftime oranges. How crap is that? Vair vair crap.

  three minutes later

  I went and stood really near to Jas. She ignorez-voused me. So I gave a pretendy piece of halftime chocolate to one of her owls. She snatched her owly away.

  Tom was there and he said, “Oh, come on, you two. Put your handbags down. Come on, Jas, speak to Georgia.”

  She said, “Who?”

  And went off flicking her fringe to speak to Emma, who turned up to hang around Dave. Jas has only known Emma for about a minute and a half.

  I do hate her. It’s official.

  She should be on my side in my time of need-nosity.

  After all I have done for her.

  I said that to the ace gang as the second half started.

  I said, “She is ignorez-vousing me after all I have done for her.”

  Ellen dithered into life (unfortunately) and said, “Er…what, erm, what have you, erm, done like, for her?”

  Where to begin?

  I said, “For a start, I have put up with her stupid fringe-flicking for about a million years.”

  But it was pointless trying to get anyone’s attention because they were all acting like divs in front of their boyfriends.

  5:15 p.m.

  I thought I might have to do the Heimlich maneuver on Ellen when Declan asked her to the pictures at the end of the match. Well, I say “asked,” but what actually happened is that he nodded his head at her and she trotted over to him like puppy dog girl. It was like a horrible love fest at the end.

  I would have more pridenosity with my boyfriend. If I had a boyfriend.

  6:00 p.m.

  All alone at home.

  Phone rang. I nervously picked it up, but it was only Mum telling me that they are at Grandvati’s for tea and do I want to go over. Is she mad?

  6:02 p.m.

  The rest of the gang have gone to the cinema. With their boyfriends. Not even a thought for my tragi-cosity. Well, to be fair, they did ask me to go, but I would have just been goosegog girl among the snoggers.

  6:15 p.m.

  Angus seems to understand what I am going through. He has leapt up onto my lap.


  Aaaah. He’s purring.

  Really loudly actually.

  Nice, though.

  All comfy and warmy.

  one minute later

  Now he’s snuggling into me.


  He’s all cozy on my knee and I can read my Vogue.

  one minute later

  He’s snuggling into my chest now which is nice, but a bit difficult for me to move my arms.

  But he’s all comfy and…

  Now he’s on my shoulders, like a fur cape.

  He’s settled down now—that’s nice. He’s doing his snuggling and purring.

  one minute later

  Now he’s back on my lap…he’s actually on my magazine now.

  one minute later

  Now he’s back on my chest.


  five minutes later

  It’s no use him just staring at me through the window. I’m not letting him in.

  three minutes later

  Staring and staring.

  I’m going into the kitchen to see if there is anything to stave off scurvy.

  two minutes later

  Now he’s staring in through the kitchen window.

  6:30 p.m.

  He can’t stare at me in the bathroom because there is frosted glass. Hahahahaha.

  He’d better not burrow in through the sewage system and pop up out of the loo.

  No calls from anyone.

  Not Masimo, not Dave the Laugh.

  Too busy with his girlfriend, I suppose.

  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 moisturizing and plucking.”

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

  in the bathroom

  What 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 a leg full of blood already.

  phone rang

  Oh my giddy god’s pajamas. 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, 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.”


  “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.


  If 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.

  elepoon in your nick-nacks

  monday september 19th

  Woke 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 Spazz 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 meters in front of me. I am going to do my world-renowned speed walking.

  8:32 a.m.

  My nose is a centimeter away from 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 Dodger and held it in front of her face. She loves a Jammy Dodger.

  8:35 a.m.

  Even when I ate the Jammy Dodger walking backward in front of her she didn’t slow down.

  OK, I am going in.

  I leapt 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 good-bye 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 around 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 14

  At least Jas and me are besties again. Hurrah!

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


  What 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…”

  Rosie put aside her beard because we sensed a comedy opportunity. We all stared at Miss Wilson’s bob.

  We were not disappointed. The bob was in full bob.


  It’s not often that we get two comedy opportunities for the price of one, but happy days here we are.

  Herr Kamyer had hardly had time to adjust his knitted tie before Rosie started.

  She said, “Herr Kamyer, we have just had a sehr interesting talk with Miss Wilson.”

  Herr Kamyer was blinking through his glasses in a kindly and interested way. It’s tragic really. He said, “Oh ja?”

  Rosie said, “Ja, it is sehr sehr interesting. It was from the Bible. In der German Bible vas ist…”r />
  Herr Kamyer said, “Der word für Bible in German is—”

  Rosie said, “Vat ever. In der German Bible vas ist der translation für ‘he put his handchen on my lock’?”

  Herr Kamyer looked like a goldfish in a knitted tie. He said, “I’m afraid I do not know dis expression.”

  I said, “It is int der Bible, Herr Kamyer, int der Song of Songen. It ist about der Knutschen!”

  Rosie was in her own German snogging world by now.

  She said, “Would it be Abschiedskuss?”

  I said, “Or perhaps AUF’S GANZE GEHEN!!!!!!!”

  4:30 p.m.

  Walking home.

  Funnily enough, I sort of forgot about the Luuurve God for a while. But after the others had gone home I felt really miz.

  I let myself in to my “home.”

  No one in.

  Do you know, Jas even knows what she is going to have for supper most nights.

  More to the point, she GETS some supper.

  Still, as long as my mum can waggle her enormous basoomas around in the swimming pool with her mates.

  That’s what counts.

  two minutes later

  Had a bowl of Shreddies. The milk was past its sell-by date so with my luck I’ll get milkytosis. Which will make my nostrils flare up to twice their size, and I will start eating grass.

  in the front room

  Libby, my charming but insane little sister, has christened the budgie Bum-ty.

  Bum-ty doesn’t look very chirpy.

  Who would with two cats staring at you.

  Have they been there all day?

  5:30 p.m.

  Oooh, I am so vair bored. And depressed at the same time.

  6:00 p.m.

  The Family Mad have come in.

  And Uncle Eddie is here. Hurray!!!

  They caught me by surprise so I couldn’t barricade myself in my room.

  Uncle Eddie larged in first.

  He said, “I’ve got one for you. Two nuns driving along at night on a lonely forest road and a vampire leaps out and onto the bonnet. The nun who’s driving says to the other nun, ‘Quick, show him your cross!’ and the second nun says, ‘Get off the bloody bonnet!!!!!!’”

  And he went wheezing and cackling off into the kitchen.

  Grown women pay money to see him taking his clothes off to music.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Yes I do.

  I would pay him not to take his clothes off.

  In fact, I might go along one night to one of his baldyman gigs and shout, “Get ’em on!!!”