Ruby shouted, “There she is, Matilda. There’s big Loopy Lullah with her legs!!! Go seek!!”

Matilda sat down and Ruby shouted at her. “Go seek! Not sit, you daft lump!!!”

Matilda came charging to meet me, but couldn’t stop so went past me, slipped on some stones, and slithered down the riverbank. She wasn’t slipping very fast, but she couldn’t stop herself; she was just looking back at us as she slowly slipped down the bank. With big blinky eyes. Occasionally, she’d look forward and see the river approaching and then she’d look back again. For some reason it made me laugh so much I thought I might pee.

Once I’d pulled myself together I went and got her out of the river and I kissed her on the head. I wished I hadn’t actually because she smelled really horrible.

Ruby said, “Dun’t kiss her . . . oh, too late. I’ve just rubbed her down with a cod skin—it’s good for her fur.”

I was nearly sick. Matilda looked miserable as she squelched along beside us; her mouth was turned down. I said, “Oh, Matilda’s bottom lip is all droopy. I think she feels like a fool.”

Ruby looked at her. “She is a fool.” And Ruby tucked Matilda’s bottom lip in and pulled her top lip over her teeth and said, “There, that’s nicer now. She’s smiling!”

I told Ruby about meeting Charlie in the woods.

She said, “Ooooh, Charlie. I like that Charlie. He’s my favorite. He’s reight good-looking. He’s so hot he’s like ‘ouch ouchy.’”

How does Ruby know about these things?

She said, “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

I said, “Ruby, you’re eleven.”

Ruby kicked at a leaf. “I like older boys. So do you. You like Alex.”

I stammered, “No I don’t, well, only you know like a . . .”

Ruby said, “Like a div? Well, he’s coming home the weekend after next so get over it!”

I started spluttering about not knowing what she was talking about, but then I heard Mr. Barraclough behind me saying loudly, “Now, Ruby, I’ve told thee before, stop messing about with them lanky village lads.”

And he shouted to me as I went off, “Be told, young man, she’s too bloody good for thee.”

Oh, here we go. I turned back and said, “It’s me, Mr. Barraclough, Tallulah.”

And he put his glasses on and looked more closely.

“Bloody hell, well, I go to the bottom of our garden, it’s you! I do apologize. My heartfelt apologies. It’s just that in this light, well . . . it’s a mistake that anyone could make. Is it a clown workshop you’ve had today? Thank goodness taxpayers’ money is not going to waste. You’re not being a clown now, are you? Are you still wearing the comedy shoes?”

And he went cackling off into the pub.

He loves it.

He loves having us to mock at Dother Hall.

I got out my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary when I got into my squirrel room and looked at my Lululuuuve List.