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bore some poor little kids at a school in Newcastle, showing them pictures of elves. That means Mum and I will be on our own! Double hooray!

Monday
    It’s just as well I made things up with Skinny Melon today because it turns out she was 100% right. My worst fears have come true. Mum is going to have a baby.
    She broke it to me after tea, just as I was thinking we could settle down to have a lovely evening all to ourselves like we used to before HE came. She said, “I know I should have told you months ago—” and then she didn’t get any further because I said, “Months? You mean it’s been going on for months?” and she admitted that it had. She said that she is going to have it, “Some time in the New Year … on or about St Valentine’s Day.” That is the 14th of February! No wonder she looks bulgy round the middle.
    I hate Slimey Roland worse than ever now. Doing this to my mum! I bet it was his stupid idea. He’s all gooey about babies. Mum would never have thought of it for herself. She and Dad were going to have another one once only she decided against it, so if she decided against it with Dad why would she go for it with Slime? She surely can’t want to have a baby that’s going to be all gingery and freckled and look like a fungus?
    She kept trying to butter me up. Trying to make me feel better about it. She kept saying things like, “It’ll make us a proper family”, and “It’ll be nice for you to have a brother or sister”. I don’t want a brother or sister! I hate babies! They mess themselves and yell all thetime. They are totally disgusting. And its surname will be Butter and it’ll belong to them, to Mum and him, and I’ll be an outsider.
    I’ll never forgive him for this. Never!
Tuesday
    I told Skinny Melon this morning that she was right, and she said, “Oh, you’re so lucky! That is totally brilliant. I wish my mum would get married again so that we could have another baby.”
    There are times when I think that Skinny is not quite right in the head.
    After school we had a rehearsal for the Christmas play and those of us that are angels were taught the angels’ song. We each get to sing one verse on our own and then the chorus all together. Mr Freely came in while we were doing it and said, “My goodness, that is some voice Cherry has!” One or two of the others put their hands to their ears and complained that I was deafening them, but you have to sing loudly if people at the back are going to be able to hear you, and it is a rock nativity, after all. Not the wishy-washy churchy kind. That’s why Miss Burgess chose me, because I have this big voice.
    I really enjoy singing. It has made me wonder whether perhaps I ought to try and be a pop star when I’m older. Iknow it is an overcrowded profession and that last year I thought I might want to be a judge, but being a pop star would bring deep joy to a great many people’s lives whereas quite often judges do the exact opposite.

    Maybe I could be a judge after I’ve finished being a pop star as I don’t think you can be a judge until you are quite old, by which time I would most likely be bored with the other. I once heard someone say that fame could become very wearisome.
    Actually, the reason I would like to be a judge is so that I could say to children when their parents are tryingto get divorced, “Do you want them to get divorced?” and if the children said no, then the parents wouldn’t be able to do it.
    I’d have said no. I didn’t like Mum and Dad quarrelling but I hate having to live with Slimey Roland and Dad having another wife. What I’d have said is you’ve got to turn the house into flats, one upstairs and one downstairs, and Mum can live in one and Dad can live in the other and I could live in both of them and go upstairs or downstairs as I liked. That, I think, would be perfect.
    Or else they could have sold the house and bought two littler ones next door to each other and knocked a hole through the