4:00 p.m.
The bell. Thank God, now I can go home and kill myself.
7:00 p.m.
In bed. Uncle Eddie says there is an unseen force at work of which we have no comprehension. Well, if there is, why is it picking on me?
tuesday september 8th
8:00 a.m.
Still no time to do my yoga. Not that it matters anymore. I did manage to do the sausage beret and the lip gloss and the concealer. Nothing like shutting the stable door and tarting up the horse after it’s bolted.
8:20 a.m.
Nice and early with Jas. This time we are both ready. We walked up the hill really chatting and laughing. Waving at friends (well, actually, waving at anyone, just to give the impression that we are really popular). We walked slowly at the end bit leading up to the gate, and although there was the usual crush of Foxwood boys ogling, there was no sign of Tom or SG.
9:30 a.m.
I’d forgotten how utterly crap school is. In assembly there was a bit of chatting going on before Slim took the stage, and do you know what she said? She said, “Settle, girls, settle.” Like we were a bunch of pigeons or something. She’s already started her fascist regime by saying she has been told that some girls were not wearing their berets as they arrived at school. She would like the older girls to set an example to the younger ones, rather than the other way round. Is this what my life is now? Talking about berets? While a Sex God strolls around on the planet? I felt like shouting out, in front of assembly, “Get a life, Slim!! In fact, get two . . . there’s enough of you!!”
But Hawkeye was looking at me. I know she was thinking about the locusts. She’s always watching me. She’s like a stoat. I don’t think I can stand much more of this and it’s only nine thirty.
5:00 p.m.
What a nightmare! Jas, Ellen, Jools and I are NOT ALLOWED to sit together at the back. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. Instead, I have been placed next to Nauseating Pamela Green. It is more than flesh and blood can stand. Nauseating P. Green is so boring it makes you want to slit your wrists just looking at her. Plus Hawkeye is our form teacher. Quelle horreur and triple merde. And it’s physics last thing Friday afternoon. What is the point?
wednesday september 9th
8:40 a.m.
I have perfected putting a little bit of mascara on so that you can’t tell I have got any on.
No sign of the lads.
1:00 p.m.
After lunch Alison Peters and Jackie Mathews came by. They were smoking and I must say they are common girls, but obviously I must not say it to them as I do not want a duffing up, or chewing gum in my tennis shoes.
Jackie said, “We’re doing a new thing tomorrow, so you can all come and meet us in 5C form room tomorrow after second lunch.”
Cheers, thanks a lot. Good night. It is, of course, strictly forbidden to be in school after second lunch. I sense something . . . what is it? Oh yes, it’s my first poor conduct mark coming along.
6:00 p.m.
Is my life over? Is this all there is? Downstairs my parents are laughing at something and in the other room Libby is playing with her dolls, I can hear her talking to them. It’s so sad, that she is so young and she doesn’t know the sadness that lies ahead. That’s what is so sad. I can hear her little voice murmuring . . . what is she saying . . .
Oh, it’s “Poor Georgia, poor Georgia.”
thursday september 10th
5:00 p.m.
Boring day at school, then home to my even more boring home life. I wanted to debrief with Jas but she had to go to the dentist. Jackie and Alison’s proposed extravaganza was put off this lunchtime, thank the Lord. The message got passed along at assembly that Jackie was off sick. She has started taking sickies very early on in term. Anyway, we are spared whatever they had in mind for a few days. I think they take drugs. Horse tranquilizers, probably.
tuesday september 15th
4:30 p.m.
Absolutely no sign of SG. However, I have found out some gossip because Katie Steadman’s parents know SG’s parents from some naff card club the really old go to. Apparently he’s called Robbie Jennings. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, own the shop—the so-called greengrocer-cum-delicatessen, according to Jas. I don’t normally like Katie Steadman that much. She’s OK but I get the impression she thinks I am a bit on the superficial side.
She’s bloody tall, I’ll say that for her, and her hair is nice, but she sort of tries too hard. She puts her hand up in class, for instance. Properly, I mean. She doesn’t do the putting your hand up but leaving it all floppy at the end of your arm, so it just flaps around. That is the sign of someone who is obliged to put their hand up because that is the fascist way, but isn’t really putting their hand up. I have taken to putting my hand up and pointing one finger forward—you know, like at football matches when everyone points at a chubby player and chants, “Who ate all the pies?” But as usual any sign of humor is stamped down in this place. Hawkeye said, “Georgia, if you are too tired to put your hand up properly, perhaps you should go to bed earlier . . . or perhaps a few thousand lines might strengthen your wrist?”
I may try it out on Herr Kamyer—we have him for German and physics, which is the only bright spot in this hellhole. He has the double comedy value of being both German and the only male teacher in an all-girls’ school.
8:00 p.m.
Listening to classical music. I thought it might be soothing, but it’s really irritating and has no proper tune.
8:05 p.m.
I love life!!! Jas has just phoned to say we’ve been invited to a party at Katie Steadman’s and . . . Katie has asked Tom and Robbie. YESSSSS!!!! I must have done a good job of being nice to Katie. WHAT ON EARTH CAN I WEAR??? Emergency, emergency! It’s only a couple of weeks away.
8:10 p.m.
I’d better do my yoga.
8:15 p.m.
I’d better start applying face masks now.
8:20 p.m.
I wonder if I slept with a peg on my nose, like Amy in Little Women, if it would make it smaller? Why couldn’t Mum choose someone with a normal-sized hooter to marry?
8:30 p.m.
I asked Mum why she married Dad (he was bowling with Uncle Eddie—I ask you). She thought for a bit and then she said, “He makes me laugh.” He makes her laugh. He makes her laugh. Well, Bart Simpson makes me laugh, but I’m not going to marry him.
midnight
Hahahahahahahaha.
monday september 21st
8:00 a.m.
Eleven days to the party.
tuesday september 22nd
9:30 a.m.
Someone farted in assembly this morning (I suspect Nauseating P. Green). Whoever it was, it was really loud and during the silence we were having to think about all the poor people. And it wasn’t just a quick one, it was a knee-trembler. Jas, Ellen, Julia and me were shaking with laughter—well, everyone was. I was laughing for most of the day and now my stomach hurts.