The Donut Diaries (3 page)

(I added in cabbage because the graph looked a bit silly and unprofessional with just two columns in it.)

If you eat the donut first and the banana afterwards, then you get this much less satisfactory result:

I think you’ll agree that the evidence is conclusive. The graph clearly shows that eating a
banana
after a donut will leave you feeling sadly let down, and if you do it too often you will get stuck thinking that everything in life will always be disappointing, and that way you’ll probably have a rubbish life and end up as a tramp or working in a butcher’s shop slicing up badgers and horses for a living.

The other important thing I wanted to say about bananas is how nice it is to write on them with a biro. I don’t mean on the naked banana – that would just be silly (and possibly a bit obscene) – but on the skin. It’s something to do with the texture. You get this delicious tingly feeling across your shoulders and down your spine. I’ve written all kinds of things on bananas, including ‘
Twilight
is a load of old rubbish’ (to annoy Ella) and ‘Pink is poo’ (to annoy Ruby).

Today I doodled a shark’s mouth.

I showed it to Renfrew, who sits in front of me now, and made a sort of growling noise.

Without even looking at me, Tamara Bello said, ‘Oh, so sharks growl, do they?’ which made me feel about this big (I’m demonstrating this by stretching out my thumb and forefinger).

It’s always rubbish being corrected on shark facts by a girl. If there’s one thing that ought to be true in the universe it’s that boys should know more about sharks than girls. I mean, how would she like it if I started telling her about, er, dresses and flowers and how to make people feel this (I’m doing that thing with my finger and thumb again) small?

Of course, I should have come back with a witty reply. Or at least I should have pointed out that I knew very well that sharks don’t growl, that growling is limited to land-based predators and my stomach after more than four hours without a donut. I should have explained that it was a joke, that the fact that sharks don’t growl was
exactly
why I made my banana-shark growl. I should have yelled in her face:

‘IT’S CALLED INCONGRUITY, DUMMY, WHICH IS WHEN YOU PUT TWO THINGS THAT DON’T BELONG TOGETHER TO TRY TO GET A LAUGH.’

But the thing is, I’m slightly afraid of Tamara Bello, so I settled for just acting embarrassed and flustered, which I’m sure really taught
her
a lesson.

I don’t know if it’s just paranoia, but it seemed
that
whenever I happened to look up today I found myself staring into the face of the Floppy-Haired Kid. In the corridors, in the dinner hall, in the schoolyard – he was always there. And when he saw me looking he’d break out into this big smile, as if he was actually pleased to see me. Most unnerving.

Steady as she goes!

I SUPPOSE IT
was only a matter of time before I did something to ruin my life. At least I managed to get through THREE WHOLE DAYS without proving myself to be an ASS OF TITANIC PROPORTIONS. Strange that only yesterday I was a happy schoolboy without a care in the world, except for the fact that I was a bit too fat and had to sit next to someone who smelled of meat, and that I lived with two psychologically
disturbed
sisters and a dad who spent all his time in the toilet and a mum who was screwed up in at least eight different ways.

It all began with my banana. And now I’m thinking that perhaps all bad things begin with a banana. In fact, I reckon it wasn’t an apple that Eve gave to Adam in the Garden of Eden, but a banana. And then there was … well, OK, I can’t think of any other bad things that began with a banana. But today I realized that bananas are just slyly lulling you into a false sense of security by being quite nice to eat and draw on.

Anyway, at breakfast this morning I was in the kitchen. I was having the normal breakfast conversation with Mum. You know how it goes:

MUM: What have you got on today?

ME: Stuff.

MUM: I mean, what lessons?

ME: The usual.

That sort of thing. Why do mums and dads always pretend that they care about what you’ve done or what you’re going to do? I mean, I don’t ask them what
they’ve
been up to. What if they actually started
telling
me? It’d be terrible … because, frankly, who cares?

And while Mum was grilling me, I was, as usual, doodling on my banana with a biro. Didn’t even think about it. Yesterday it was a shark, today it would be something else. It wasn’t even really conscious. It was like one of those tunes you don’t realize you’ve been whistling until someone thumps you and tells you to ‘STOP THE HECK WHISTLING YOU ANNOYING FAT KID.’

I chucked the banana in my bag along with all the other stuff I needed for school.

Nothing too terrible happened until morning break. It was raining like the end of the world, so we had to stay in our form rooms. Mr Wells was still in a bad mood from the other day, so he said we had to read quietly to ourselves. My book was in the bottom of my bag. I’m reading
The Lord of the Rings
for the eighth time. It’s probably a record. It’s a real shame that reading
The Lord of the Rings
isn’t an Olympic sport because I’d definitely get a medal – probably gold.

So I had to dig down through all the other crud in my bag – PE kit, textbooks, sweet wrappers, etc. etc. Everything I took out, I put on my desk. Including the banana.

Now remember, on one side of me I’ve got Tamara Bello, reading her book of Russian short
stories
, and on the other side there’s Ludmilla Pfumpf, reading
Badger Butchery for Dummies
.

It was only then that what I’d actually doodled on the banana suddenly dawned on me. I’d been thinking about how much I love bananas. So I’d written:
I Love You
, and drawn a little heart.

And now I’d just put this banana love letter on my desk. Right in front of Tamara Bello. No, not banana love
letter
. Banana love BOMB.

My mind slowed down. I saw Tamara’s head begin to turn. She was slowly focusing in on the
stuff
on my desk. On the banana. She was going to think that I’d written it for her. That I loved not my banana, but Tamara Bello.

I reached out. My movements were thick and clumsy. Still she turned. Her eyes were dipping towards the yellow horror. Already I could see the slightly puzzled look on her gruesomely perfect face.

I grabbed at the banana. But it was more like the flapping of a sea lion. I might as well have been using one of Mr Fricker’s false hands. And so my grab turned into a scoop, which turned into a slap, which sent the offending banana zipping across my desk and right into the lap of Ludmilla Pfumpf.

Ludmilla put down her book on badger butchery and stared at the thing that had landed in her lap. She put her hand down, and at the same time I reached out for the banana. My fingers accidentally stroked hers as I fumbled around for a grip. Then we both had hold of the banana. She looked up at me, her face like a confused rhino’s. And then we both pulled. Had she read the message? Did she just want the banana? I couldn’t tell.

People had begun to sense the kerfuffle. They were looking round. Renfrew was staring at me. So was Spam. Mr Wells glanced up from his newspaper. It was getting out of control. I needed that banana. Ludmilla’s arm was stretched out, exposing the one vulnerable spot in her tough, scaly hide. I sent my free hand out on a deadly dangerous mission. It found her armpit,
huge
and moist. It tickled. Her great crusty face wrinkled. A strangely girlish giggle escaped her lips and she let go of the banana.

But I was not yet safe.

Mr Wells was beginning to speak.

‘Give me that …’ he began.

This was terrible. He was going to take the banana. Read the banana. Quite possibly read it
out loud
to the class. I had to act fast. There was only one thing to do.

I opened my mouth.

I raised the banana to my lips.

I bit.

Ever eaten a banana, skin and all?

I guess not.

It wasn’t nice. I can’t say it was the worst thing I’ve ever eaten – they’ve given us many worse things for school lunch – but it wasn’t the
sort
of thing I ever wanted to have in my mouth again.