It was great staying with Cousin Georgia. It was brilliant on the boy front as well.

She got her Ace Gang round to teach me “wisdomosity” and also “snogging techniques.” We all tucked up in her bed, which was cozy.

Georgia said, “Have a jammy dodger and give us the goss snogwise.”

The Ace Gang were wearing false beards to help me get into the mood.

So … I told them about going to the cinema in Skipley with some boys from Woolfe Academy and about my first kiss. With floppy Ben. And how it was like having a little bat trapped in my mouth.

The Ace Gang looked at me and Georgia said, “Tallulah, are you a fool with just a hint of an idiot thrown in?”

But they gave me their wisdomosity about boys. And snogging.

Gosh, Georgia knows a lot.

About varying pressure of the lips, what to do with your tongue (don’t waggle it about like a fool), the scoring system for snogging. (Number 1 to Number 10, I can’t remember all of them but I do remember Number 4 is “a kiss lasting over three minutes without a break.” You need a mate for that one, so that they can time it for you.)

Honestly. I couldn’t believe it.

I’m dying to try out my new skills.

The amount she knew, she must have spent all of her time doing snogging research.

I said that to her and she said, “I do, my strange gangly cousy. But I have put aside snogging to teach you the ways of boydom. I do it because I luuurve you. But not in a lezzie way.”

Which is good.

I think.

What is a “lezzie way”?

I think it’s to do with girl snogging.

But I didn’t ask.

Oh chuggy-chug-chug. Come on, train!!!

I wonder what time the rest of the Tree Sisters will arrive tomorrow?

Oh, here we are at the train station. Hurrah!!! There’s its sign swinging in the biting gale force wind. Just as I remember:

Skipley

Home of the

West Riding Otter

Hang on a minute, some Northern vandal has painted a “b” and a “y” over the otter bit. So now it reads:

Well, here I am, back where I really belong. I have just got off the showbiz express and crossed to the other side of the station and now I am getting on the bus of hope. Which will transport me to … The Theater of Dreams.

I can see the bus driver through the closed door, sitting in the driver’s seat. I recognize him from last term. I wonder if he recognizes me?

As I hauled my bag on board up the steps he put the pipe to one side of his mouth and shouted, “Stop messing about and get on if you’re getting on, merry legs. It’s bloody parky with that door open.”

I said, “Why did you call me merry legs?”