No Gruesome Twosome this weekend. Can only assume that they created such havoc in Greece that the authorities won't let them out of jail. So to make up for the great joy of having my room to myself for the weekend got stuck minding the Germ again while her mothers and my mother went shopping for outfits for the upcoming nuptials. (What's the point? It's not like it's a real wedding.) Gave in though since I need the money to pay back The Justin Bandry Loan Company and its EXORBITANT interest rates. Was fixing the Germ her lunch (no jarred baby food for her of course) when she suddenly shouted out, "Jan!" It was as if the dog suddenly looked at you and said, "I'm bored." You could've knocked me over with a leaf of organic lettuce. I said what did you say? She said, "Jan". BABY'S FIRST WORD! Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow's baby's first word was humus, so I'd reckoned the Germ's would be something like chauvinist pig. I never expected it to be ME! Sappho says it wasn't. She says the Germ is trying to say Jane, not Janet. Jane is Sappho's name. I said how can she be sure?
Disha came over this afternoon. She wanted to know what happened to The Spectre That Haunts Janet Bandy. I said I hadn't seen him since I hit him with my book bag. She said you don't really think he's done himself in, do you? I said it really hadn't occurred to me. I mean, I do have other things to think about.
Having MEGA problems writing Sigmund's profile for Internet Intimates. I know he's my sperm donor and al, but the sad truth is that he's not actually v interesting. Lives with dog... listens to Bob Dylan... still giving up smoking... He doesn't travel, he doesn't climb rocks or get lowered into caves filled with bat pooh, he doesn't race motorcycles... he doesn't even collect stamps, for heaven's sake!! The most exciting thing that's happened to Sigmund was when Mrs Kennedy's husband broke out of jail to murder him. A lot of personals I've read say stuff like 'Your friends would say you're blahblahblah' (usually things like independent, funny and affectionate etcetera - none of which apply in this case). I don't actually know what Sigmund's friends would say he's like since he doesn't really have any friends. But his daughter would say that he's moody, opinionated and can make any subject he decides to bang on about as interesting as describing oatmeal. You can see what I'm up against here. Thank God I'm so creative.
Full House of Horrors tonight to celebrate Geek Boy's safe return. Sappho, Mags and 'Germaine' - and Nan and the vicar. Asked Marcus over so I'd have some moral support. DREAM ON! He was all over Justin like honey on a spoon. I expected Sappho etcetera to want to hear all about Justin's adventures with the Zapatistas (since they hadn't heard it five hundred times before), but not Marcus. He couldn't get enough of it. He even HAD QUESTIONS!!!! And after everyone else had reached their Zapatista sell-by date, Marcus went off to Justin's room with him to look at more pictures. Marcus says he'd love to do something like Justin did. So now we know where he'll be on our honeymoon. Should we last that long!
The House of Horrors is always tres boring of course (unless Lucrezia's blowing up next-door's shed or something) but with Geek Boy back it's sunk to new lows. Other people come back from exotic holidays with amusing stories and cool souvenirs and interesting photos etcetera. Besides the tyre sandals and the potential serious case of skin cancer, Justin's come back with about five million photos of poor people (a lot of them wearing bandannas across their faces or ski masks - even the little kids!). And look what he brought ME! I said are you serious? A terrorist on a mule? He said he's not a terrorist, he's a Zapatista. I said he's wearing a balaclava and carrying a gun. Justin said the Zapatistas don't wear masks and balaclavas so they can kill people, but so the government and the paramilitaries don't kill them. It seems like a fine line to me. So when he's not in his darkroom churning out another thousand picture of Zapatistas at work, school and play, he's banging on and on about them and their ideas and their part in the global resistance movement. Buskin' Bob, of course, can't enough of it. Buskin' Bob thinks the Zapatistas are one of the most important movements of the century (oh what a surprise!). Personally, I'd rather have someone read me her shopping lists for the last two years than have to hear about this.
I used to look forward to Easter - the chocolate, the egg hunt, etcetera. But like so much in Life it's changed out of all recognition now that I'm practically an adult. Got up this morning and instead of a chocolate egg waiting for me there was some foreigner in scuzzy jeans and what looked like sandals made of OLD TYRES sitting in my seat at the kitchen table. I reckoned he was some charity case of Buskin' Bob's (the MC says Buskin Bob's got a heart of gold but if you ask me it's more that he's the touch of soft.) I was waiting for someone to introduce us when the Mad Cow asked if I was planning to say hello to my brother. I took a closer look at the vagrant amongst us. It was Justin! The MC and Buskin' Bob started howling with laughter. I said I didn't see what was so funny. How was I supposed to recognise him? His skin used to be WHITE!!! Justin went off to unpack, but he wasn't in his room ten minutes when he came storming into the kitchen, wanting to know where his dosh was. I said, 'Why are you asking ME?' He said because I'm the only one who would take it. I said I didn't TAKE it, it was just a loan.I said when the Prime Minister pays back all the money from those blokes he gave peerages too. Laughed alone AGAIN. Justin said he's CHARGING ME INTEREST, so I better start my repayments as of yesterday. He hasn't been here an hour and I already feel like he NEVER LEFT.
Marcus and I are BACK ON!!! I was so traumatised by my day out with the Germ (Sappho says I'm not to call her Piglet any more because it's bad for her self-image. I said I didn't think that someone who stuffs mashed potatoes up her nose and poohs in her pants had much self-image to worry about, but Sappho was ADAMANT - lesbian radical feminists are not about COMPROMISE, believe me! She said her name's 'Germaine'. I said, 'Germain to what?' As per usual, I laughed alone) that I decided to spend the day with someone sane. Disha's away (she almost has as many family obligations as I have!) so I went over to see Marcus. Wound up in another clinch (we were indoors, so he wasn't worried about being attacked again). Marcus said so were we going to give it another go or what? I said only on the condition is that we never go away together again. He said it's going to make it a bit difficult if we end up getting married, isn't it? People don't usually take separate honeymoons. I said we could cross that bridge when we get to it.
Thought it was safe to come back to the House of Horrors today because Lucrezia and Marcella were going off to spend the rest of Easter Break with their mother and step-father in some posh hotel in Greece (it's all right for some!). WRONG AGAIN. (If I thought I was alone in not learning lessons from Life I'd be tres depressed, but nobody else seems to either so I assume it's just The Human Condition.) I was barely in the door when Sappho, Mags and the Piglet turned up. No one bothered telling ME of course, but the mothers were going to Kew Gardens to celebrate the renewal of life (that's Pagans for you - everybody else spends Easter weekend shopping or re-tiling the loo). They ASSUMED that I'd look after 'Germaine'. I asked them why they assumed that and they said because I said I would. Then Sappho said she'd give me ten quid. Poverty is truly a horrid thing. (No wonder women turn to prostitution to survive.) I said I'd do it for twelve. Got pretty bored with trying to keep the Piglet amused after about twenty minutes so decided to take her to the park (she's much better if you keep her moving). All was well until it started pissing down. 'Germaine' doesn't like rain. It makes her tres irritable. You'd think I was murdering her the way she screamed. Everybody was looking at us! So I decided to take a bus back. RAN to the bus stop, which at least got her to shut up. The driver wouldn't let us on with the pushchair. I said I'd never heard anything so RIDICULOUS in my entire life. The buses of London are chockerblock with pushchairs. He said NOT HIS BUS (like he owns it, right?). Not when it's standing room only. I said if he'd just let me on the blinkin' bus I'd fold the pushchair right up. Only I couldn't, could I, because the Piglet (who is every bit as difficult as at least one of her mothers) had managed to magically fall asleep by then, and there was no way I was waking her up again. I reckoned the driver was busy protecting his bus from the invasion of the pushchairs and would forget about us, but at the next stop he suddenly LOOMED up beside me, shouting. Didn't he tell me to fold up the pushchair? What was my problem? Don't I speak English? And then he THREW us off the bus!!!! A young woman and small, delicate infant! (In France all the workers came out to support the striking students, but on the C2 not one person stood up for me and the Piglet. No wonder the country's in the state it is!) I took his number so I could report him. 'Don't think you've heard the last of this!' I screamed. Then we fell off the bus. (It's v tricky getting off a bus with a pushchair when everything's wet, including your feet. Thank God I wasn't wearing a skirt, that's all I can say!) I've tried TIP-TOEING into the room where the Piglet's sleeping to get something important, holding my breath, and she always wakes up immediately. But throw her off a bus into a monsoon and she sleeps like she's drugged. Didn't wake up till I put my key in the front door.
Relieved I didn't consider applying to Leeds University. Sigmund says they've got a professor there who believes that black people and women aren't as intelligent as white men. If you ask me this is a difficult position to hold. I mean, it's white men who got us where we are today with nuclear bombs and global warming and pollution etcetera. How smart is that?
Have moved in with Sigmund for a few days (since I can't sleep in my own bed!). This has turned out to be a brilliant idea, as it's given me a chance to put phase one of my PLAN in operation. Found the perfect site to find him a girlfriend while he was walking Duck Dog. It's called Internet Intimates and it says it's practically guaranteed to work. It's the biggest, it has the most people looking for a serious relationship, and it has the most marriages (though I don't think we have to go that far - marriage isn't really Sigmund's thing). Browsed a bit to see what the competition is like. Sigmund isn't exactly Johnny Depp (not even on a bad day), but he should do all right in this lot. Most of them look like the last thing you'd want to do is encourage them to procreate. Then I checked out the basic questionnaire. I reckoned NAME, SEX and AGE were easy enough, but then I hit OCCUPATION. Would a prospective girlfriend be put off by the mention of psychoanalysis? I would. Who wants to go out with some bloke who's analysing everything you say and do (it's bad enough when you're his daughter)? I think I may make him something more user-friendly. Like a chef. Chefs are v popular right now. (I know Sigmund's idea of cooking is ordering a pizza, but by the time she works that out she'll probably have found so many other reasons to dislike him that it won't matter.) Next was RELIGION. None sounded tres boring, so I made him an Evangelical Christian. If anybody needs to be Born Again it's definitely my father. Now all I have to do is get his credit card details, write him a Profile, and he'll be out there in the world of dating. Sometimes I'm so smart that I amaze even myself.
Last day of term. This isn't all good news, of course. It means the Hotspurettes will be descending on us for A WHOLE WEEK. Finished the Dove of Peace bit of the mosaic today. The kids all thought it was a seagull. Marcos walked me home. He was in a tres pensive mood. I said I wouldn't let them get me down. In my experience (which is pretty considerable) most children are mad. He said it wasn't the seagull that was bothering him. It was ME. For a minute I thought he was turning into my mother! I said WHAT DID I DO? He said nothing. That was the problem. He really wants us to get back together. I said well why didn't he say something? He said he had. It was all very profound and emotional - and tres romantic, too. Wound up in a clinch at the front door. Though not for long! Was all caught up in the warmth of his embrace and the incredible softness of his lips and the passion of his kiss etcetera when there was this hysterical screaming. I looked over to see The Spectre That Haunts Janet Bandry running at us like a missile and the next thing I knew Marcos had been torn from my arms and was lying on the ground. Luckily, I'm a quick thinker. I swung my book bag and whacked Gore the Bore in the head before he could do any more damage. He started shouting that I'd broken his ear. I said he was lucky, I was aiming at his neck. Took Marcos inside to recover. Marcos wanted to know who the madman is. I said it's a long story. He said he reckoned it would be.
Can't understand why I'm not LOSING WEIGHT. I'm practically living on lettuce and water (not allowed to bring even a Diet Coke into this house, of course, because: a. it's made by Coca-Cola; and b: it's got carcinogens in it - it just never ends!) Disha said what about the burger and chips I had for lunch? I said I have to eat something now and then don't I? Disha wanted to know if I'm taking sleeping pills. I said, PARDON? She said if I was taking sleeping pills that might explain it. Apparently there's some brand that makes you raid the fridge while you're still sleeping and then have no memory of it. I was HORRIFIED. D said it's not as bad as anti-depressents that make you homicidal. It makes you wonder why everybody's always banging on about scientific studies and scientific proof and all. It's pretty obvious these blokes don't have any idea what they're doing.
Had a HORRIBLE dream. The ex-Mrs Hotspur decided she'd had enough of Marcella's tantrums and Lucrezia's general insanity and left them on our doorstep with all their possessions in matching luggage and steamer trunks, and a note for Buskin' Bob that said Your turn. There was so much crap in my room that I had to crawl over it to get to my bed, and when I got to my bed I couldn't see the door. Thought I was suffocating. Woke up gasping for air, and cracked my head on the ceiling. (Buskin' Bob convinced Lucrezia that the top bunk wasn't going to collapse by climbing onto it and bouncing up and down, but nothing would get Marcella out of my bed.) I'm sure I have a concussion. Not that anyone in this house cares.
Was putting on my jacket this morning when the Mad Cow materialized in the hallway like a hysterical ghost and wanted to know where I thought I was going. I said I thought I was going to Disha's. The Mad Cow said I could think again. She said I had to organise my room because the bunk beds were coming today. I know she doesn't really have a sense of humour, but I thought she was joking. 'Oh, hahaha,' I said. 'April Fool's to you, too.' The MC said she wasn't joking. I asked her why she thought I'd want bunk beds. She said they're not for me, they're for Marcella and Lucrezia. Where did I think they're going to sleep when Justin gets back? The LIVING ROOM? [Still hoping Justin DOESN'T come back. He hasn't come back before.] I said have they thought of trying their home? So NOT ONLY did I have to make room for the blasted beds, but the MC made me help her put them together because Buskin' Bob, of course, was nowhere in sight. It said right on the boxes Easy Assembly, but the boxes lied (they were obviously labelled by adults). It took us FIVE hours. I said you'd think they'd give you some written instructions instead of just stupid pictures. The Mad Cow said the pictures are so the beds can be sold anywhere in the world (and put together nowhere, apparently). So somewhere in Estonia there was someone crying because she couldn't work out the pictures either.
Buskin' Bob and the Gruesome Twosome turned up AFTER we got the beds up. They don't want them either. Lucrezia didn't want to sleep on the bottom bunk in case the top bunk collapses on her, but she also didn't want to sleep on the top bunk in case she falls off (like it doesn't have a guard rail, right?). Marcella says she's too OLD for bunk beds. I said there's a lot of blokes in prison who are a lot older than thirteen who sleep in bunk beds so I didn't see what the big deal is. Marcella then collapsed on MY BED in tears and refused to move.
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Saturday 29th April 2006 
Easter Sunday - 16th April 2006