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we reach the kitchen, they’re all on there, walking about amongst the cereal bowls. Polly’s got a piece of toast in her mouth, Roly’s wrestling with a cereal packet. One of them’s knocked a milk carton on the floor, but it’s OK, it hasn’t burst. Jack’s about to
    close his mouth over the butter so I zip in, smartish, and wrench it from him. Mum yells at them to get off, and they all scatter.
    Wee Scots goes, “Dogs on the table!” like she can’t believe it. Mum remains unflustered, probably because she’s used to dogs on the table. They haven’t always done it, and I cannot now remember when they started.
    When Jack came, probably. He wasn’t with us last time Wee Scots paid us a visit. But it’s definitely not normal, five Jack Russells on the breakfast table, no matter what Mum seems to think.
    Suddenly, in that moment, I have a blinding revelation: it is the women in this family who are weird! Not the men. The women . What with Mum thinking it’sOK for dogs to be on the table, and Wee Scots hanging mothballs round the trees, and the Microdot—
    I turn to look at the Microdot. She’s dumped a shiny pink plastic case on the table and is lovingly poring over the contents. They are all pink. Nothing but pink! It’s what she’s spent her pocket money on. Little fiddly bits to put in her hair. Little dangly bits. Little glittery bits. Clips, combs. Bangles, bracelets. Everything PINK.
    She catches me watching her and says, “What’s your problem?”
    I tell her that I haven’t got a problem. “It’s just come to me… I’m not the one that’s weird, it’s you. I mean, look at all that junk!”
    She says angrily that it’s not junk. “It’s stuff I need!”
    â€œIt’s pink .”
    â€œSo what?”
    I say that pink’s girly. You wouldn’t catch the Herb wearing pink! Not that I say that bit to her. The Microdot instantly goes into shrieking mode. She wants to know what’s wrong with being girly.
    â€œI am a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed! Least, I thought I was. Maybe I’m not, and no one’s told me. Maybe I’m a stupid boy . D’you think I’m a boy?”
    I say no, I’m sure she’s not a boy. “Boys wouldn’t waste their money on that sort of crap!”
    She shrieks, “It’s not crap, you sexist pig!”
    By now, all the dogs are barking excitedly and running to and fro across the kitchen floor. Wee Scots cries out that we’re doing her head in. Mum bawls at us to shut up.
    â€œJust stop it, the pair of you! Dory, leave your sister alone. Anna, stop screeching!”
    The Microdot screeches that she’s not screeching. She then picks up a pink thing and hurls it at me.
    â€œSexist pig !”
    She is definitely not normal.
Thursday
    Tried to do a bit of digging after school today with Aaron and the Herb, but Aaron was in a silly sort of mood and just wanted to mess about and tell stupid jokes like, “What do you call a man with a shovel?” To which the answer, apparently, is Doug. Which I didn’t get and the Herb had to explain.
    â€œD-U-G. Dug .”
    That’s supposed to be funny???
    â€œWhat do you call a man without a shovel? Douglas !”
    â€œDug- less ,” said the Herb. “Geddit?”
    I said, “What’s to get?” “It’s a play on words,” said the Herb. “Listen, I’ve got one, I’ve got one! What do you call a girl with slates on her head?” “I don’t know,” said Aaron. “What do you call a girl with slates on her head?”
    â€œRuth!”
    â€œOK, what do you call a man under a pile of leaves?”
    â€œI don’t know, tell me!”
    â€œ Russell .”
    They went on like that the whole time. I’m not surprised at Aaron, cos he’s got the brain of a flea, it hops about all over the