“No.”

Flossie was still thinking about the breasts. “Or what about ‘stirred in my corker area’? Or ‘even my corkers stirred’?”

I went on. “I said to him, ‘Cain Hinchcliff. I hate you. I hate you from the depths of my soul.’”

Jo punched my arm. “Well done, girl.”

Flossie looked at me. Through her glasses from underneath her fringe.

I said, “What?”

She just kept looking.

I said, “What are you doing looking? Is that all you can do? Look and look?”

She was still looking.

I said, “All right, I didn’t quite say that.”

She said, “What did you say?”

I looked down at the ground and mumbled.

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. He licked a hailstone off my face and went off.”

Now all of them looked at me.

Flossie said, “Cain licked your face? He LICKED your face … he licked your FACE?”

I’ve got my new timetable. There’s all sorts on it that I have no idea about. What is “Theater of the Absurd”? My love life probably. Not that I’ve got one yet.

I can’t even read my letter from Dream Boy because I left it under my pillow in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary.

We finished at four o’clock after jazz dance and went into the café to have a drink. It’s nearly dark already. I’m going to need a torch soon to get home.

Flossie said, “Anyone fancy going down to the studios? We could make Bob let us play around doing some singing. If we pretend we really like Zep Lepplin or whoever it is he …”

At that point Bob walked into the café with a sign, which he hung on the wall by the door.

The sign read: Don’t bathe until further notice. Rat in tank.

As he waddled off he hung the hammer in the back of his belt and we could definitely see his bottom crack. Flossie said, “I’ve sort of gone off going down to the studio.”

Jo got up and said, “I think I’m going to go and … you know … read.”

And she went off.

Vaisey said, “She’s upset about Phil not being at the tree.”

When I got back to Dandelion Cottage, I was so tired that I had my supper and went to bed even before the lunatic twins. They were making a dog out of washing-up liquid bottles and said, “For oo.”

So in my bed it’s me, Mr. Fevver man, and Sudsy the dog.

How many days is it until Alex the Good will be here?

I don’t know what day he wrote his letter, but he said in a couple of weeks. And you would come home on a Friday, wouldn’t you? So I think it will be the weekend after next.

I’m going to start my “normal topics” list. For things that are normal to talk to boys about.

I will tell you what is on the not-normal topic list.

Knees.

Spontaneous Irish dancing.