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 going to keep my mind (well, what's left of it) occupied by doing (and I never thought the day would come when I would say this) my homework.

Here is another marvy glimpse into the gothic basement that I call my mind.

...Then it said on the news, "And tonight the Prime Minister has just got to Number Ten." I looked down at Jas and said, "Ooer." Meaning he'd got to number ten on the snogging scale. And then we both laughed like loons. Vati just looked at us like we were mad.

When Mutti and Vati came in I didn't speak to them. I just unfurled the CAT MOLESTERS banner I had made.

Overslept and had to race to get a life to Jas’s with my dad. No time for yoga or makeup. Oh well, I’ll start tomorrow. God alone knows how the Dalai Lama copes on a daily basis. He must get up at dawn. Actually, I read somewhere that he does get up at dawn.

Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, "Blimey, and also, what larks.