Withering Tights

Not people’s houses. She’s doing her art.

When I stayed over with cousin Georgia, I asked her what sort of painting the Norwegians did and she said, “It’s mostly sledges.”

I thought she meant they painted sledges a lot, but she said, “No, my not-so-little cousy, they paint WITH sledges.”

She said the official term for that kind of work was ‘Sled-werk’, and that it was one of the reasons why Norwegians had such big arms and had therefore become Vikings (for the rowing). And that if I dropped ‘Sled-werk’ into a conversation at art college, people would be impressed and not notice my knees…

Georgia knows a lot of stuff. Not just about painting, but about life. And boys. She wears a bra. It’s a big one. She showed me her special disco inferno dancing and her lady bumps were jiggling quite a lot.

I wish I wore a bra. And jiggled.

It’s so boring being fourteen and a half.

She’s nice to me, but I know she thinks I’m just a kid.

When I left she gave me her ‘special’ comedy moustache. She’s grown out of it and thought it would suit me. She said, “Always remember, Lullah, if in doubt, get your moustache out.”

I do love Georgia and wish I lived near her. I haven’t got a sister and it’s not the same having a brother. Connor mostly likes to talk about what he’s going to kick next.

And that I am like a daddy long-legs in a skirt.

And how he could win a kicking contest with a daddy long-legs.

Is that normal in a boy?

Well, all will be revealed when I start my new life at Dother Hall.

Georgia’s also given me a secret note to read on my first day at college. She says she will write to me. But will she?

I will look at the college brochure again to get me in the creative zone.

Let me see.

Aaaaaah, yes, yes. These are my kind of people.

This is more like it.

Here is a photo of a girl leaping around in the dance studio. The caption says:

Eliza loses herself in the beauty of modern dance.

As far as dancewear is concerned Eliza has gone for big tights.

As indeed she needs to.

Oh and here’s a photo of a boy.

What on earth is he holding?

Let’s see.

The caption says:

Martin has made an instrument. Here he is holding his own small lute.

Crumbs.

Martin has got very bright lips.

Perhaps he is a mouth-breather, that makes your lips go very red.

Or perhaps it is lipstick.

I suppose anything goes in the crazy world of dance and theatre! Hey nonny no, this is my new world, the world of showbiz!

But what if the course is full of people who can sing and dance and everything, and are really confident?

And hate me because of my nobbly kneecaps?

Uh-oh, we are arriving at my station. I must get my bag down. I’ll get up on the seat and try and reach it…Oh great balls of fire, I’ve just accidentally kicked Mr Squirrel as he was getting up.

What does, “You great big dunderwhelp, use your bloody gogglers!” mean in English?

I bet it’s not nice.

His wife said, “Take no notice, love, if there was a moaning medal, he’d win it hands down.”

I let them get off first.

How come everyone else in my family is the right height and I have knees that are four feet above the ground?

I swung the train door open and saw the sign:

SKIPLEYhome of theWest Riding Otter

There was a little bus to take us into Heckmondwhite. I didn’t know sheep could go on buses, but they can. One was sitting next to me. Not on its own I mean. It hadn’t just got on with its bus pass. There was a woman in wellingtons holding it.

She said to me, “I’d sit upwind if I were thee, love.”

We bundled along on the bus on a road that went up and down dales. Along the skyline I could see the moorland dotted with craggy outcrops.

The sheep woman said, “That’s Grimbottom Peak, when a fog comes down you can’t see your chin in front of you. Perilous.”

Heckmondwhite was just like a proper village. It had a village green, and a pub, and a post office, a church and a hall and everything. Like a postcard of Emmerdale. But without the murders. Or a plane landing on it and wiping out the whole cast. So far.

I found the Dobbins’ house just off the green round the corner from the village shop, like the directions said. I’m not allowed to stay at Dother Hall because I was the last one to apply for the course and there was no room in the dormitory.

And do you know why? It’s because I haven’t got normal parents. If I had ordinary parents like everyone else they would have booked early. But oh no, I had to wait until Dad could get to the post office in Kathmandu so that we could phone him. Why is he there anyway? He’s probably found the only bearded ant on the planet. Or the last of the Ice Age big-bottomed goats. He loves that sort of thing. He is like a cross between David Bellamy and an excitable Great Dane.