![]() ![]() Elaine, my stupid old social worker, was sitting beside me when I started writing THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER and I got the giggles making up my brilliant curses for Aunty Peggy and Elaine looked surprised and said, 'What are you laughing at, Tracy?' She can have permanent huge great bogeys hanging out of her nose that won't go away no matter how many times she blows it, and whenever she tries to speak she'll make this terribly loud Rude Noise. A huge wart right on the end of her nose? Frogs and toads coming wriggling out of her mouth every time she tries to speak? No, I can make up better than that. If I was in a real fairy story I'd put a curse on her. I have never in my life said 'Aunty Peggy, please will you give me a great big smack.' And her smacks really hurt too, right on the back of your leg where it stings most. I told Elaine that Aunty Peggy used to smack me and Elaine sighed and said, 'Well sometimes, Tracy, you really do ask for it.' Which is a lie in itself. She'd just shake her head at me and get all cross and red and say, 'Oh Tracy, you naughty girl, you're Telling Fairy Stories again.' Then she'd give me a smack.įoster mothers aren't supposed to smack you at all. I'd make it dead convincing but Aunty Peggy wouldn't even listen properly. I'd say something like – 'Guess what, Aunty Peggy, I just met my mum in the back garden and she gave me a ride in her flash new sports car and we went down the shopping arcade and she bought me my very own huge bottle of scent, that posh Poison one, just like the bottle Uncle Sid gave you for your birthday, and I was messing about with it, playing Murderers, and the bottle sort of tipped and it's gone all over me as I expect you've noticed, but it's my scent, not yours. It's funny, Aunty Peggy used to call it Telling Fairy Stories. Although I do have a tendency to tell a few fibs now and again. I was just little then but they still locked me up. That was at the first Home, when I wouldn't settle because I wanted my mum so much. I've done a bit of stamping and screaming in my time.Īnd I've been locked up heaps of times. You stamp your feet in a rage and fall right through the floorboards or you scream yourself into a frenzy and you get locked up in a tower and they throw away the key. So, of course, you get a bit cheesed off with this sort of treatment. You get given a silly name like Rumpelstiltskin and nobody invites you to their party and no-one's ever grateful even when you do them a whopping great favour. But if you're bad and ugly then you've got no chance whatsoever. Which is fine if you happen to be a goodie-goodie and look gorgeous. If you're very good and very beautiful with long golden curls then, after sweeping up a few cinders or having a long kip in a cobwebby palace, this prince comes along and you live happily ever after. That sounds a bit stupid, like the start of a soppy fairy story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Tracy Beaker.
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5/3/2024 02:08:16 am
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