Should I try it with Charlie?

Not the carrots thing. I don’t want him to like carrots. I want him to like me.

Lav seems so sure of herself, so sure that boys will like her. Maybe that’s it. Honey said if you believed you had “inner glorwee” then everyone, especially boys, would think you had it, too.

But how exactly do you find your “inner glory” when you need it?

I really, really miss Honey. She would know about all this.

Dibdobs had made me a boiley egg for tea. And the lunatic twins were at Little Foragers’ Club so it was almost normal. She said, “And I’ve made you soldiers, Lullah, with the bread that Harold made.”

As she said that, Harold came in, all togged up in bicycle gear. His bicycle helmet looks like it’s got a grass rug on the top of it. He said, “This grass is a marvelous insulator; my head is quite snug. Sure you don’t want to come on the snail hunt with me and the Little Foragers, Lullah?”

I smiled and said, no; sadly, I had homework to do.

Dibdobs beamed and said, “Aaaaaah.”

Harold beamed at me as well.

They do a lot of beaming, the Dobbinses. I crunched away at my toast. Blimey, it was very crunchy. I said, with my mouth full, “Thith bread ith, wll ith . . . lovlyth.”

Harold said, “Aaah, having some of my bread, Lullah? I’ve added ground-up snail shells to the mix. I think it gives it a special flavor and it’s a tremendously good source of zinc.”

I have eaten snail shells.

That is my glamorous theatrical life in a nutshell.

Well, a snail shell actually.

After they’d gone out, I was a bit bored so I decided to go through all my clothes and makeup. So that took ten minutes.

Then I tried a bit of the layering of mascara that Georgia told me about. Then I put my hair up like Lav does, sort of loosey-goosey, so that it slightly falls down. And I put on my new skinny jeans (the red ones).

I’m ready to go out, but I haven’t got anywhere to go out to.

Hmmm.

I went over to find Ruby and show her my new look. As I got nearer the pub, I could hear shouting coming from inside. And an occasional guitar riff. Oh, I’d forgotten The Iron Pies were rehearsing; they’ve got a gig soon.

It had better not be too soon.

I poked my head round the front door into the main hallway and shouted up the stairs, “Hello, Ruby, are you around?”

There was no reply from upstairs, just loud drumming from the bar. And a guitar. The guitar kept starting and stopping. And I could hear Mr. Barraclough swearing. Then I heard Bob’s voice. “Dude, dude, listen up!!!! Listen to what I’m playing on the drum line. That is what you have to follow. The beat is der der der der—DER DER.”