Read Online The Donut Diaries by Anthony McGowan - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony McGowan
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lights are going out all over Europe. Ask not what your country can do for you, but for whom the bell tolls. You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led.’
Then Miss Choat came over on her backwards-bending ostrich legs, took his arm and guided him off the stage.
This meant that the stage belonged again to Mr Whale.
‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ he began, glancing at Mr Steele’s receding figure. Then he turned the Evil Eye on us. ‘Do not doubt that we will catch the person who is doing this. And when we’ve caught him – or her, if a her it be – then the full might of the law will be brought to bear.’ He smashed his fist into his palm to add emphasis. ‘And until we find the culprit, all morning breaks will be spent in your form rooms.’
Groans and half-choked cries of ‘No!’ rose from the crowd. They were quelled by another glare.
‘Dismissed,’ said Mr Whale, and that was it.
Normally, of course, me getting stuck in the giant hall doors would have created a sensation, but the Special Assembly devoted to the catching and smashing of the Phantom was such a unique and memorable event that my own little mishap seemed to be forgotten. However, I hadn’t forgotten that the FHK had given me a hand when I needed it most. So I went and thanked him at lunch time.
‘Forget it,’ he said in his usual careless way, as if my thanks meant absolutely nothing to him. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d helped me out, and might not be such a swine after all.
DONUT COUNT:
Still within the new revised target …
Wednesday 24 January
THINGS VERY TENSE at school today. Everyone on edge. The Phantom could be anyone. Could be anywhere. The atmosphere was as thick as one of Corky’s fruitier farts.
The boredom of morning break spent trapped in the form room was somewhat alleviated by a game called Speedbum, invented by Renfrew. In Speedbum, what you do is distract someone, e.g. by knocking their pen on the floor or by telling them that their shoelaces are undone or by looking out of the window and exclaiming loudly that the alien invasion of Earth has begun. You then see how many times you can write the word ‘bum’ on their exercise book. Corky turned out to be the world record holder at Speedbum. He managed fifty-seven bums in the time it took Spam to go to the wastepaper bin and back. His Speedbum expertise has probably got something to do with his Tourette’s syndrome, which makes him want to swear all the time, and a stutter that means he can never get it out. It’s tragic, really. But also very funny. I suppose that’s what they call a paradox.
Tamara Bello watched all this with a Queen Victoria face. So when she was searching for something in her bag, I wrote an absolutely tiny ‘bum’ on her book, so small you’d only be able to see it with a microscope. Still, that showed her.
On my other side, Ludmilla had a different sort of look on her face. It was more a ‘let me join in’ sort of look. But I didn’t want to encourage her into thinking that the banana message was true all along or anything like that. And if I wrote ‘bum’ on her book, she might think I was saying that I thought she had a nice bum. Or a rotten one. It was a lose-lose situation if ever there was one. There’s a time and a place for writing ‘bum’ on someone’s exercise book, and this clearly wasn’t it.
Crow was round at ours again tonight. He actually said a few words in human language, rather than just using his finger. He’s not that bad when you get to know him . The funny thing is, he’s got a weekend job selling ice cream. That in itself cheered me up after the recent traumas – just the thought of Crow in a white coat handing out choc-ices and 99s was enough to make me giggle. An ice-cream-selling Goth seemed pretty far-fetched. But then, as I said at the time, life is full of farfetched things, such as Ella finding someone just as weird as her to go out with. Then I ran for it, to
Then Miss Choat came over on her backwards-bending ostrich legs, took his arm and guided him off the stage.
This meant that the stage belonged again to Mr Whale.
‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ he began, glancing at Mr Steele’s receding figure. Then he turned the Evil Eye on us. ‘Do not doubt that we will catch the person who is doing this. And when we’ve caught him – or her, if a her it be – then the full might of the law will be brought to bear.’ He smashed his fist into his palm to add emphasis. ‘And until we find the culprit, all morning breaks will be spent in your form rooms.’
Groans and half-choked cries of ‘No!’ rose from the crowd. They were quelled by another glare.
‘Dismissed,’ said Mr Whale, and that was it.
Normally, of course, me getting stuck in the giant hall doors would have created a sensation, but the Special Assembly devoted to the catching and smashing of the Phantom was such a unique and memorable event that my own little mishap seemed to be forgotten. However, I hadn’t forgotten that the FHK had given me a hand when I needed it most. So I went and thanked him at lunch time.
‘Forget it,’ he said in his usual careless way, as if my thanks meant absolutely nothing to him. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d helped me out, and might not be such a swine after all.
DONUT COUNT:
Still within the new revised target …
Wednesday 24 January
THINGS VERY TENSE at school today. Everyone on edge. The Phantom could be anyone. Could be anywhere. The atmosphere was as thick as one of Corky’s fruitier farts.
The boredom of morning break spent trapped in the form room was somewhat alleviated by a game called Speedbum, invented by Renfrew. In Speedbum, what you do is distract someone, e.g. by knocking their pen on the floor or by telling them that their shoelaces are undone or by looking out of the window and exclaiming loudly that the alien invasion of Earth has begun. You then see how many times you can write the word ‘bum’ on their exercise book. Corky turned out to be the world record holder at Speedbum. He managed fifty-seven bums in the time it took Spam to go to the wastepaper bin and back. His Speedbum expertise has probably got something to do with his Tourette’s syndrome, which makes him want to swear all the time, and a stutter that means he can never get it out. It’s tragic, really. But also very funny. I suppose that’s what they call a paradox.
Tamara Bello watched all this with a Queen Victoria face. So when she was searching for something in her bag, I wrote an absolutely tiny ‘bum’ on her book, so small you’d only be able to see it with a microscope. Still, that showed her.
On my other side, Ludmilla had a different sort of look on her face. It was more a ‘let me join in’ sort of look. But I didn’t want to encourage her into thinking that the banana message was true all along or anything like that. And if I wrote ‘bum’ on her book, she might think I was saying that I thought she had a nice bum. Or a rotten one. It was a lose-lose situation if ever there was one. There’s a time and a place for writing ‘bum’ on someone’s exercise book, and this clearly wasn’t it.
Crow was round at ours again tonight. He actually said a few words in human language, rather than just using his finger. He’s not that bad when you get to know him . The funny thing is, he’s got a weekend job selling ice cream. That in itself cheered me up after the recent traumas – just the thought of Crow in a white coat handing out choc-ices and 99s was enough to make me giggle. An ice-cream-selling Goth seemed pretty far-fetched. But then, as I said at the time, life is full of farfetched things, such as Ella finding someone just as weird as her to go out with. Then I ran for it, to
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