Aisling's Diary

Chapter 11

Thursday 3 November 

KK was on the warpath today. Class was really hard. I’ve been reworking the steps I did with Murphy so much I was so tired by the time I got to the dance work camp (as I’ve come to think of Mrs Kennedy’s dance class). 

I’ve got my first competition the weekend after next!! Argghhh. 

Killer Kennedy wants us to practise all the hours possible for then. I should at least place if I spend every single spare moment of every day trying to dance Killer Kennedy style. Mum’s really excited about the competition and is expecting me to ‘knock ’em down’ as she call sit. I haven’t seen her that excited about anything for ages.I haven’t the heart to tell her that I find this kind of dancing about as exciting as watching cousin Shane pick his nose, i.e. not very. 

And now just what you’ve been waiting for, today’s MURPHY NEWS ROUND-UP: 

As I was leaving dance class Ali was asking me if I’d had any thoughts about our company thing. I had completely forgot about it. We were gonna go and grab a coffee but then Murphy appeared looking off the scale in terms of general gorgeousness and hitching a ride straight into cutesville. Anyway he offered me a lift home on el vesperama, as they say in Italy. It was great, although unfortunately we didn’t see any of the Pulse Editorial Team. Must remember to change my romantic list to reflect this new development.  

4:05p.m. 

Murphy’s asked me to dance with his crew next week on Wednesday!!!!!! I can’t of course because I have Irish Dancing. And I am already way, way behind schedule for the Irish Dance competition. But he said he thought I was good. Really good. When I said I had Irish Dance class the same night,he got that look again like when I said I didn’t know the Irish could break-dance. He said, ‘You don’t have to do whatyou’ve always done, it’s OK to do new things.’ Then he zoomed off on his bike, leaving me standing there a bit open mouthed – like Sorcha the other day. This is not so good.  

4:32p.m. 

Trying to remember the last time Irish Dancing was new and exciting. It seems like it was a long time ago.  

4:54p.m. 

So Mum knows about me being on a motorbike and is having a complete nervy b about it. I was like ‘MOM, it’s a moped, not a motorbike’. Dad got all wistful and said when things ‘got a bit easier’ he was going to get another motorbike but then Mom gave him a look which is very like my Aisling Hard Stare. Dad then completely shut up about getting his own bike. It was too late for Mum though, she went completely mental (almost on the scale of Killer Kennedy) and said I can’t go on Murphy’s bike any more. How unfair is that? Hanging out with Murphy is the only fun I’ve had since we got to stupid Ireland and now I’m not allowed to do it any more because old new-kitchen bore Aunty Stella thinks the knuckleheads are some kind of threat to the establishment because they like urban music and wear ridiculous trousers. What kind of world are they living in? This is unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair x 1,000,000.  

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