Rosie get off your desk, and please put your beard away.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey. Yes, that's got a nice ring to it.

Still, life carries on. Exams to be examined. Serious things to be thingied.

I like the idea that I can talk to any teenage girls. You know, in a language that makes sense to them.

Through my curtains I can see a big yellow moon. I’m thinking of all the people in the world who will be looking at that same moon. I wonder how many of them haven’t got any eyebrows?

When we did eventually get to the party - me walking next to Dad's Volvo driving at five miles an hour - I had a horrible time. Everyone laughed at first but then more or less ignored me. In a mood of defiant stuffed oliveness I did have a dance by myself but things kept crashing to the floor around me. The host asked if I would sit down. I had a go at that but it was useless. In the end I was at the gate for about an hour before Dad arrived.

I am soooo excited, I am over-excited. I'm hysterical, I may have to slap my own face in a minute at this rate.