Read Are These My Basoomas I See Before Me? for Free Online

is all I am saying. I am not being bobble-ist.
    She turned left out of the gate with me. Please, please let her not be going my way. I had done my detention!!!
    She was still going on. What if she linked arms with me?????
    “I know you girls might think that us teachers are not very, you know…hip.”
    What? She was trying to be my mate! Please don’t let her tell me about her growing feelings for Herr Kamyer. Maybe she’ll call him by his first name. I don’t even know what that is. I don’t want to know. I bet it’s Rudi!!!! Stop being my friend!! I’ve got enough on my plate without having to be friends with knitted people.
    She didn’t hear my inner screaming, though. She said, “Yes, I think you will see that I do listento your ideas and so on. For instance, when Jas suggested that perhaps Juliet could have a little companion—a sort of puppet dog—I thought ‘Bingo!!’”
    I couldn’t stop myself, even though I had taken a vow of silence until she shut up or I died. I said, “Er, Miss Wilson, do you remember your last ‘Bingo’ idea? Do you remember, you said that juggling would be ‘happening,’ but what actually ‘happened’ was that Melanie toppled over with the weight of her own basoomas and the oranges bounced into the audience.”
    Miss Wilson said, “Well, that’s the excitement of theater, isn’t it? The danger, the risk!”
    “Yes, my grandvati said an orange nearly took his eye out, so…”
    Miss Wilson fortunately saw a bus coming and scampered off to get it. Thank the Lord.
    It really is tragic how keen she is to get on with us. Touching really, if you like that sort of thing. Which I don’t.
    Thank goodness no one I knew saw me walking along talking to a teacher. I may just as well have gone to a leper colony if they had. Or become a policewoman.
    twenty minutes later
    My road at last. Angus was round in Naomi’s garden. He likes to go over to Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road for his evening poo.
    Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road are vair unreasonable about it. They say he always chooses to poo in their rare heathers window box. I explained to them, that is because the soil is nice and softy and he doesn’t have to do any digging. But you can’t tell people.
    When he last came over to complain, Mr. Across the Road said, “How long does his breed of cat live? Is it nearly over?”
    I said with great dignitosity (I like to think), “Angus is half Scottish wildcat and sometimes he hears the call of the wild and longs to poo somewhere that reminds him of home. Hence the heather.”
    Mr. Across the Road stomped off, though. Some people don’t understand the poetry of life. Or even the poo-etry of life. Hahahaha. I have just made an inward joke.
    one minute later
    When Angus saw me, he did his weird croaky miaow thing. And waved his tail about. His tail isstill a bit crooked from his car accident. (The accident being that the car wasn’t the huge mouse on wheels that Angus thought it was.) Otherwise, he is top dog catwise.
    He came bounding over, purring around my legs. Which is nice, but it makes it really difficult to walk without falling over and breaking your neck. Now he has started his pouncey game. He pretends my ankles are his prey and hides behind something until my ankles loom in view. Then he tries to kill them.
    I managed to beat him off with my rucky.
    Then I noticed that Oscar, Junior Blunderboy and all-round idiot, was lurking around on his wall, pretending to talk on his phone to all his mates. A.k.a. the Blunderboys. He was going, “Yeah, check it…for real…awwwrite.”
    Absolute bloody wubbish of the first water.
    I’d be amazed if he can work his phone and keep his trousers up at the same time. I used to prefer him when he just played keepie-uppie for ages. Now he’s taking an interest in me, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
    When he stopped pretending to talk on his phone, he shouted over to me. “Ay, girl! Do youbelieve in love at first sight…or