Extract

Tuesday September 20th
Stalag 14
Break

It’s bloody nippy noodles outside.
Mabs said, “Shall we work out a new disco inferno dance for Saturday’s gig? To warm us up?”
I said, “Er, well, it’s a bit soon after our last triumph, don’t you think?”
Rosie said, “No. A triumph is not a triumph until you have gone too far.”
Jas said, “I’m freezing.”
To change the subject away from mad dancing, that I am
now eschewing with a firm hand, I said, “Well, Jas, we are
all freezing. Why don’t you use some of your very well-known
forest skills and start a lovely campfire? I bet you’ve got
your special fire-making stick in your rucky, haven’t
you?”
Jas said, “Don’t be silly.”
I said, “I’m not being silly. I’m being frozen to within an
inch of my life. Anyway, you can’t do it without Hunky, can
you? You’re frightened of fire.”
“I am not frightened of fire.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Look at me, Jas. I’m a flame and I’m coming near your
fringe.”
And I started doing an ad-hoc flame improv, wiggling my
body and making my arms all snakey, touching Jas’s fringe
and making a whooshing noise.
Jas was getting quite red and there was deffo a touch of
tomato about her ears.
Rosie, Jools and the rest of the gang started snaking and
shaking about, going “Whoosh whoosh”.

Jas finally lost her rag and said, “I can make a fire! Go
and get some twigs and I’ll show you.”
Excellent!
Ten minutes later
Brillopads.
Jas actually did it. She rubbed her special little firemaking
stick in a wedge thing. She did happen to have her
special “rubbing sticks” with her in her haversack. I don’t
know why, but I knew she would have. She is very secretive
about her rucky. I bet she has several changes of different
type weight pants in there. And possibly a collection of
molluscs. We may never know. At least, I may never know
because I will never be putting my hand in there. My hand
will never be upon her lock and that is a fact!!!
Anyway, it was really jolly sitting round our little
campfire. It was made mostly out of crisp packets. To be
fair, there was more smoke than flame, but we pretended
we were really really warmey warm. I said, “Shall we
sing the old traditional campfire song, little Ace Gang
pallies?”
And they all went, “Yeah!!!”
And I said, “What is it?”
Then I remembered some old crap recording of Top of the
Pops in the 70s that my dad had. I’d shown it to the gang. I
said, “Let’s sing ‘Fire’ by that bloke who wore a helmet that
was actually on fire. And when he sang on Top of the Pops,
his helmet set fire to the ceiling. By the way, Ro Ro, do NOT
mention that to Sven. He’s bound to want to do it and then
it’s goodbye to any club that we go to.”
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, we were just sitting round
our campfire singing, “FIRE!!! I’m going to teach you to
burn. FIRE! I’m gonna teach you to learn!!!” when out of
nowhere came Wet Lindsay. The octopus in the ointment.
With her assistant fascist, ADM. She saw us round our
innocent “campfire” and went absolutely ballisticisimus.
She was yelling, “You absolute twits!!!!! Step away, step
away!!! Monica, get Mr Attwood and tell him there is a fire
in the fives court…”