to try to make it up with God again at this rate.
2:30 p.m.
I don’t care what happens. I am not going to New Zealand. Not. Definitely. They will have to carry me on to the plane. Or give me knock-out drugs.
That is it. I am not going.
3:00 p.m.
I am not speaking to Mum but as she has gone out shopping (again) she probably hasn’t noticed.
3:19 p.m.
Sitting by the phone and using telepathy to make it ring. I’ve read about it a lot– it’s where you use your willpower to make something happen. In my head I was saying, “Ring, phone!” and “The phone will ring and it will be Robbie…by the time I count to ten.”
3:21 p.m.
“OK, the phone will ring and it will be Robbie by the time I count to a hundred…”
3:30 p.m.
“…in French. By the time I count to one hundred in French the phone will ring and it will be SG.” (God, or whoever it is that deals with willpower, will respect that I am making a bloody huge effort by counting in a foreign language.)
Everything really is sheer desperadoes and in tins. In two days’ time I will be on the other side of the world and the Sex God will be on this side of the world. And, what is more, I will be a day ahead of him. And upside down.
3:39 p.m.
I’ve got an appalling headache now.
While we are on the subject of French, why in the name of Louise the Fourteenth did Madame Slack (honestly– that is her name) make us learn a song called “Mon Merle a Perdu une Plume’?
My blackbird has lost a feather. That will be a great boon and help if I ever get to go to Paris. I won’t be able to get a sandwich for love nor money but I will be able to chat to le French about my blackbird’s feathers. Not that I have got a blackbird and, if I did have one, believe me it wouldn’t be just the one feather it would lose with Angus around. Not that he is around.
I really miss him already. He is the best cat anyone ever had. I can still imagine his furry head snuggled up in my bed. Bits of feather round his mouth. The way he used to bring me little presents. A vole, or a bit of poodle ear or something.
3:41 p.m.
How do you say my blackbird has had its legs chewed off by my cat? Mon merle a perdu les jambes…
Phone rang
3:45 p.m.
Thank goodness, because I thought I was going to have to count up to a hundred in German and nobody wants that. (And besides, I can’t.)
“It’s me, Jas.”
“Oh…What do YOU want?”
“I’ve just called to see how you are.”
I said, “Dead actually, I died a few hours ago. Goodbye.”
That will teach her. I’m not going to answer the phone if she rings back, either.
5:00 p.m.
She didn’t ring back. Typical.
My room.
In bed
10:30 p.m.
Mum and Libby came back in. When they popped their heads round my door I pretended to be asleep. Libby crept over quietly– well, her idea of creeping quietly, which is the loudest thing I have ever heard.
Mum whispered, “Give your big sister a kiss, Libbs, because she’s upset.”
Then I felt this wet thing sucking on the end of my nose. I shot up in bed. I said, “Does anyone else’s sister kiss like that? Why is she so obsessed with my nose?”
11:15 p.m.
After the nose-sucking incident I am as awake as two awake things. Just gazing out of my bedroom window into the dark night. When you gaze at the stars it makes you feel really small. We have been discussing infinity in Physics: you know, how there is no end to the universe, and so on. Herr Kamyer said there might even be a parallel universe to the one we live on somewhere out there. There might be another Georgia Nicolson sitting in her bedroom, thinking, What on earth is the point?
11:17 p.m.
Another Georgia Nicolson who is being forced to leave a Sex God and all her mates (and this does not include Jas). To go to the other side of the world. Double merde.
11:29 p.m.
I’ve just had a horrible thought. If there is a parallel me, there will be a parallel Wet Lindsay. And a parallel Nauseating P. Green. And two pairs of Mr Next Door’s shorts. Good grief.
Thursday July 22nd
Day before the last day of my life
Hunger protest
2:00 p.m.
Even though it is quite obvious even to the VERY dim that I am not eating. Mum hasn’t noticed. She said, “Do you want some oven chips and beans?”
And I said, “I will never eat again.”
She just said, “OK,” and tucked in with Libbs.
I had to creep into the kitchen and finish off the chips she had left.
4:00 p.m.
In my room. Practising feeling lonely and friendless in preparation for the months ahead.
4:05 p.m.
I haven’t heard from my so-called mates for days. Well, since this morning, anyway. I don’t need to practise. I AM lonely and friendless.
4:10 p.m.
I went into the front room to watch TV. Libby was snoozing but woke up when I sat down. She stood up on her little fat legs and put her arms up to me.
“I love my Georgie, I lobe my Georgie.”
She made it into a little
