agreed. “If you’re not careful, the council will stick plastic tape across your door and declare you a health hazard.”
“Hey, stop right there!” I told them fiercely. I was really hurt. “I like my room just the way it is, thanks. It’s cosy and homey.”
Kenny shrugged. “Yeah, right. Homey. If you’re a dust bunny!” She fished out several lumps of icky grey fluff from under my radiator and held them out with an accusing expression.
I was incredibly embarrassed, but I tried to put a brave face on it. “That’s just dust,” I said breezily. “A bit of dust never hurt anybody.”
“Dust breeds house mites,” Fliss said in her prissiest voice. “And mites causeallergies. That’s probably why you get those terrible hiccups all the time, Lyndz.” And she started on about some special vacuum cleaner her mum got from a catalogue, which sucks all this invisible dirt out of your mattress.
I completely fell about. I mean,
invisible
dirt? Give me a break!
“Mum says you can tell a lot about a girl’s personality from looking at her bedroom,” Fliss went on.
She’s not kidding! Fliss’s bedroom is so pink and perfect, it’s like being beamed to Barbie World!
“We honestly don’t mean to upset you,” Rosie said earnestly. “I mean, if we all help, we could get your room cleaned up in no time.”
I’d gone into a major sulk. “I don’t need any help, because I’m not doing it. I told you, I
like
my room. So what if it’s untidy? I’ve got more important things to think about, OK?”
But Fliss’s remark stuck in my mind all day. She had a point. My mates’ bedrooms do reflect their very different personalities.
Kenny’s room is a total shrine to Leicester City football club, with eerie overtones of
Casualty.
Can you believe she owns a life-sized skeleton? (Don’t panic, it’s plastic!) Kenny’s excuse is that she’s going to be a doctor like her dad, but the rest of us think she takes an unnatural interest in gore.
Frankie’s pad is TOTALLY futuristic. Not a pad so much as a
pod
– a silvery hi-tech space pod. If it was up to her, she’d probably come to school wearing jumpsuits with diagonal zips, like a girl in a sci-fi series.
Rosie used to hate
her
room. When her dad left, they’d only just moved in, poor things, so their house was still a real tip. Then one time when we were staying over, we all helped her decorate it. Now she says it’s her favourite place in the entire universe.
Anyway, this morning, when I got up, I stood in the middle of my bedroom in my PJs and forced myself to take a good hard look.
Oh dear, I thought. This place is
seriously
unsavoury. Three mugs of icky cold tea. Dirty clothes all mixed up with my dressing-up clothes. Crayons mashed into the carpet, along with a tube of body glitter. Plus my pony pictures had been up so long, they’d allpeeled away at the corners. And all my riding trophies were thick with grime. Yeuch!
That’s the problem with having four brothers. If you’re not careful, you kind of adjust to living in a tip. My little brothers, Ben and Spike, are at the stage where they drop bits of biscuit and apple everywhere. My big brothers are equally messy – they just drop
bigger
stuff. With Tom, it’s stinky socks and crumpled-up artwork. In Stu’s case, muddy wellies and bits of tractor gearbox.
But today I’ve decided it’s high time I set a good example. I mean, most of this stuff dates back to the last century! From now on I intend to be a genuine twenty-first-century girl. I’m going to save up and buy some of those really cool files to store things in. And I’m definitely asking Dad to make me a grown-up-type desk, to replace the old kiddies’ one I inherited from Stu and Tom. Who knows – maybe my parents will even buy me that new computer I’ve been begging and pleading for (Yeah, well, I can dream!).
Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. With or without a computer, by the time I’ve finished,my new-look bedroom is
“Hey, stop right there!” I told them fiercely. I was really hurt. “I like my room just the way it is, thanks. It’s cosy and homey.”
Kenny shrugged. “Yeah, right. Homey. If you’re a dust bunny!” She fished out several lumps of icky grey fluff from under my radiator and held them out with an accusing expression.
I was incredibly embarrassed, but I tried to put a brave face on it. “That’s just dust,” I said breezily. “A bit of dust never hurt anybody.”
“Dust breeds house mites,” Fliss said in her prissiest voice. “And mites causeallergies. That’s probably why you get those terrible hiccups all the time, Lyndz.” And she started on about some special vacuum cleaner her mum got from a catalogue, which sucks all this invisible dirt out of your mattress.
I completely fell about. I mean,
invisible
dirt? Give me a break!
“Mum says you can tell a lot about a girl’s personality from looking at her bedroom,” Fliss went on.
She’s not kidding! Fliss’s bedroom is so pink and perfect, it’s like being beamed to Barbie World!
“We honestly don’t mean to upset you,” Rosie said earnestly. “I mean, if we all help, we could get your room cleaned up in no time.”
I’d gone into a major sulk. “I don’t need any help, because I’m not doing it. I told you, I
like
my room. So what if it’s untidy? I’ve got more important things to think about, OK?”
But Fliss’s remark stuck in my mind all day. She had a point. My mates’ bedrooms do reflect their very different personalities.
Kenny’s room is a total shrine to Leicester City football club, with eerie overtones of
Casualty.
Can you believe she owns a life-sized skeleton? (Don’t panic, it’s plastic!) Kenny’s excuse is that she’s going to be a doctor like her dad, but the rest of us think she takes an unnatural interest in gore.
Frankie’s pad is TOTALLY futuristic. Not a pad so much as a
pod
– a silvery hi-tech space pod. If it was up to her, she’d probably come to school wearing jumpsuits with diagonal zips, like a girl in a sci-fi series.
Rosie used to hate
her
room. When her dad left, they’d only just moved in, poor things, so their house was still a real tip. Then one time when we were staying over, we all helped her decorate it. Now she says it’s her favourite place in the entire universe.
Anyway, this morning, when I got up, I stood in the middle of my bedroom in my PJs and forced myself to take a good hard look.
Oh dear, I thought. This place is
seriously
unsavoury. Three mugs of icky cold tea. Dirty clothes all mixed up with my dressing-up clothes. Crayons mashed into the carpet, along with a tube of body glitter. Plus my pony pictures had been up so long, they’d allpeeled away at the corners. And all my riding trophies were thick with grime. Yeuch!
That’s the problem with having four brothers. If you’re not careful, you kind of adjust to living in a tip. My little brothers, Ben and Spike, are at the stage where they drop bits of biscuit and apple everywhere. My big brothers are equally messy – they just drop
bigger
stuff. With Tom, it’s stinky socks and crumpled-up artwork. In Stu’s case, muddy wellies and bits of tractor gearbox.
But today I’ve decided it’s high time I set a good example. I mean, most of this stuff dates back to the last century! From now on I intend to be a genuine twenty-first-century girl. I’m going to save up and buy some of those really cool files to store things in. And I’m definitely asking Dad to make me a grown-up-type desk, to replace the old kiddies’ one I inherited from Stu and Tom. Who knows – maybe my parents will even buy me that new computer I’ve been begging and pleading for (Yeah, well, I can dream!).
Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. With or without a computer, by the time I’ve finished,my new-look bedroom is
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