Read Online The Donut Diaries by Dermot Milligan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dermot Milligan
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it. Makes you sort of wonder what the stuff is in leek and potato soup that isn’t leek or potato. Is it just soup? Reminds me of a sort of joke I heard once (one of those jokes that aren’t really very funny, but still manage to stick in your head).
Q. What’s the white stuff in bird poo?
A. Well, that’s bird poo too, stupid .
Anyway, I ate three bowlfuls and still felt hungry, because everyone knows you can’t get full on soup. Ruby and Ella ended the meal by fighting about whether Twilight was rubbish because it was too gloomy (Ruby) or not gloomy enough (Ella).
I sneaked off and had a cinnamon donut, which is my least favourite kind of donut, but the only one Mr Alexis had left. The fact that it was the last one makes you wonder why they bother making them, as obviously nobody really likes them. Is it because there’s some law about using up all the cinnamon so it doesn’t cover the world like volcanic ash and kill us all? Or maybe the guy in overall control of world donut production likes cinnamon donuts and is forcing his warped tastes on the rest of us. I suppose we’ll never know.
DONUT COUNT:
Thursday 28 September
FHK WAS FRIENDLY again today. He didn’t say anything to me, but he waved and smiled when he was with a group of kids, and I found myself waving back.
‘Maybe he’s not so bad,’ I said to the guys.
Renfrew went ‘ Ungth .’ Corky said, ‘B-b-b-bb-b-b-h-h-h-h-h-h-h,’ and then he did a short, sharp fart. Not sure what it meant. Might just have been clearing his throat, if you see what I mean. Spam didn’t say anything.
What’s weird is that I’ve now gone three whole days without being humiliated. What gives?
But today’s main event wasn’t the FHK’s weird friendliness. It was my next encounter with Doc Morlock, the worst so far.
‘Good afternoon, Dermot,’ she said.
Already her mouth was pursed and her nose wrinkled as if I’d brought a bad smell into the consulting room with me. Actually, I’d done a little tummy squeak before I came in, so I probably had.
‘Hi.’
‘And how is the new regime coming along?’
‘The new …?’
‘Your diet and exercise plan, Dermot.’
‘Ah, yeah, not bad.’
I studied the ceiling. It wasn’t very interesting, even by ceiling standards (which are low), but it was better than looking into that face with its cat-bum mouth and cruel eyes.
‘You have the journal?’
I nodded, reached into my school bag and passed her the fake Donut Diary. I’d drawn some donuts on the front cover. Then I’d drawn some dinosaurs (a triceratops, a T-Rex and a brontosaurus, to be precise) eating the donuts. And then I’d drawn some fighter planes attacking the dinosaurs. The fighter planes were a combination of Spitfires and Hurricanes with some modern jets of my own design, plus the Red Baron’s Fokker triplane, which was probably the coolest plane in the history of aerial warfare, even if it hovered on the edge of being really silly. Just one more wing – if it had been a Fokker quatro plane – and it would have been a laughing stock. There’s an important lesson in there somewhere, although I’m not sure what it is …
I’d drawn the fighters because I was a bit worried that kids of my age shouldn’t be interested in dinosaurs any more – it’s only one step up from having a special blanky and getting a goodnight kiss from your mum. Anyway, they were some of my best drawings, although I hadn’t got the neck on the bront—
‘Dermot!’ snapped Doc Morlock.
‘Yes?’
‘Am I seriously supposed to believe this?’
‘Well, er, yes, I guess so …’
‘Let me read this back to you. “Fourteenth September. Went for a quick half-marathon after school. Snacked on three brazil nuts and a handful of raisins. Dinner was broccoli quiche with steamed broccoli on the side and chilled broccoli mousse for pudding.”’
The secret to a good lie is that you mingle up some truth with it. We really did have all that broccoli muck.
Q. What’s the white stuff in bird poo?
A. Well, that’s bird poo too, stupid .
Anyway, I ate three bowlfuls and still felt hungry, because everyone knows you can’t get full on soup. Ruby and Ella ended the meal by fighting about whether Twilight was rubbish because it was too gloomy (Ruby) or not gloomy enough (Ella).
I sneaked off and had a cinnamon donut, which is my least favourite kind of donut, but the only one Mr Alexis had left. The fact that it was the last one makes you wonder why they bother making them, as obviously nobody really likes them. Is it because there’s some law about using up all the cinnamon so it doesn’t cover the world like volcanic ash and kill us all? Or maybe the guy in overall control of world donut production likes cinnamon donuts and is forcing his warped tastes on the rest of us. I suppose we’ll never know.
DONUT COUNT:
Thursday 28 September
FHK WAS FRIENDLY again today. He didn’t say anything to me, but he waved and smiled when he was with a group of kids, and I found myself waving back.
‘Maybe he’s not so bad,’ I said to the guys.
Renfrew went ‘ Ungth .’ Corky said, ‘B-b-b-bb-b-b-h-h-h-h-h-h-h,’ and then he did a short, sharp fart. Not sure what it meant. Might just have been clearing his throat, if you see what I mean. Spam didn’t say anything.
What’s weird is that I’ve now gone three whole days without being humiliated. What gives?
But today’s main event wasn’t the FHK’s weird friendliness. It was my next encounter with Doc Morlock, the worst so far.
‘Good afternoon, Dermot,’ she said.
Already her mouth was pursed and her nose wrinkled as if I’d brought a bad smell into the consulting room with me. Actually, I’d done a little tummy squeak before I came in, so I probably had.
‘Hi.’
‘And how is the new regime coming along?’
‘The new …?’
‘Your diet and exercise plan, Dermot.’
‘Ah, yeah, not bad.’
I studied the ceiling. It wasn’t very interesting, even by ceiling standards (which are low), but it was better than looking into that face with its cat-bum mouth and cruel eyes.
‘You have the journal?’
I nodded, reached into my school bag and passed her the fake Donut Diary. I’d drawn some donuts on the front cover. Then I’d drawn some dinosaurs (a triceratops, a T-Rex and a brontosaurus, to be precise) eating the donuts. And then I’d drawn some fighter planes attacking the dinosaurs. The fighter planes were a combination of Spitfires and Hurricanes with some modern jets of my own design, plus the Red Baron’s Fokker triplane, which was probably the coolest plane in the history of aerial warfare, even if it hovered on the edge of being really silly. Just one more wing – if it had been a Fokker quatro plane – and it would have been a laughing stock. There’s an important lesson in there somewhere, although I’m not sure what it is …
I’d drawn the fighters because I was a bit worried that kids of my age shouldn’t be interested in dinosaurs any more – it’s only one step up from having a special blanky and getting a goodnight kiss from your mum. Anyway, they were some of my best drawings, although I hadn’t got the neck on the bront—
‘Dermot!’ snapped Doc Morlock.
‘Yes?’
‘Am I seriously supposed to believe this?’
‘Well, er, yes, I guess so …’
‘Let me read this back to you. “Fourteenth September. Went for a quick half-marathon after school. Snacked on three brazil nuts and a handful of raisins. Dinner was broccoli quiche with steamed broccoli on the side and chilled broccoli mousse for pudding.”’
The secret to a good lie is that you mingle up some truth with it. We really did have all that broccoli muck.
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