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speech. Gordy just leapt off the wardrobe and used my head as a landing pad so he didn’t have to hurt his feet leaping straight onto the floor.
    Anyway, on with my acceptance speech.
    â€œAah Masimo, che bella sorpresa ! What a nice surprise to see you this…” Hang on, what is Italian for ‘this evening’? This nightio? That can’t be right—he’ll think I am talking about my jimjams for some reason. I’ll look it up later in my Italian for Complete Fools book. Anyway, on with the acceptance speechio…“Oh you would like me to be your girlfriend? Well, that would be mucho bello . Grassy arse.”
    Short and to the point, I think that is the key.
    tuesday june 21st
7:30 a.m.
    Had a dream about Masimo last night, only he wasn’t speaking in a nice Pizza-a-gogo landaccent; he was saying things like, “That is well good.” And, “Shut it, my son.” And most alarmingly he was in a band called The Blunderboys. I was at the gig and he came over to me and said, “Get your tracksuit top, you’ve pulled.” And as we rode off on his scooter, he started singing, “The Funky Moped,” by Jasper Carrot. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat. What can it mean?
    wednesday june 22nd
6:00 p.m.
    How long can this torture go on? On one hand the days seem very very long, like creeping along snaily days; on the other hand it’s only a matter of hours until Friday. How many hours exactly? Well, it’s 6:00 P.M . now, so that means plus six tonight and then twenty-four plus for tomorrow and then, er, well, what time will he phone on Friday? Will he count from the hour he told me he would tell me in a week’s time? I would. It was 5:45 P.M . last Friday when he told me, so a week would be 5:45 P.M . this Friday. But you never know with boys; what if he counts it from when he got home? Would that be 6:15 P.M ? Or maybe he didn’t go straight home, maybe he went to the shops and got a few nibblythings. Then bumped into someone, so he didn’t actually get home until 8:00 P.M . Oh God.
    6:30 p.m.
    Phoned Jas in sheer desperadoes.
    â€œJas, do you think he will phone me or come round?”
    â€œErm, I dunno.”
    â€œYeah, but what do you think? What would you do if you were going to tell me whether you wanted to go out with me?”
    â€œEr…but I don’t want to go out with you. I would just tell you. In fact, I am just telling you now.”
    â€œJas, you are being what is technically known as a fool.”
    She of course classically immediately for no reason got the mega hump. But I was in no mood for her humps. I said, “What does Tom think?”
    She said, “Hang on, I’ll ask him.”
    Good grief, are they joined at the hip?
    She came back a few mins later and said, “Tom says he will do a bit of detective work and see if he can find out anything.”
    I said fanks, but in my heart of hearts I don’tknow if letting Radio Jas find out things is the best foot forward. Too late now.
    8:30 p.m.
    Tom is going to the snooker club tonight and the Stiff Dylans are playing in a tournament. Oh Goddygodgod.
    midnight
    Jas says she will tell me anything she finds out tomorrow because Tom is going to call her first thing. How am I supposed to sleep under these conditions?
    thursday june 23rd
7:50 a.m.
    Banging on Jas’s door.
    one minute later
    Jas’s mum answered the door all washed and dressed normally. And smiling. Crikey.
    It’s so relaxing and normal round here, no wonder Jas has got a boyfriend and is not on the rack of love all the time. She has been brought upproperly, not dragged up by fools like I have.
    Jas’s mum said, “Would you like a piece of toast, dear, or maybe a boiled egg?”
    A boiled egg!! Wow, it was like being in a Famous Five book—the next thing you knew, Jas’s dad would come bounding in with a cheery smile and a newspaper.
    one minute later
    Jas’s