All the Small Things

Which explains why, when I was walking out of M&S in ‘disgrace’ and in the general direction of HMV, Claude Sweetlove found me.

Let me introduce Claude Sweetlove.

While I go to the boys grammar, she’s (yes, she) is at the girls. She’s also infatuated with my friend, Benji Sheppard, and always seems to pop up whenever he’s around, so most of her social life consists of following likely looking boys around Salisbury (You know, like a rogue fangirl or a loser)

“FELIX!”

And you hear hear before you see her.

“….What?”

“Felix, oh my God! You won’t believe what I’ve done!”

I faced Claude, and let me tell you now, the first thing you ever see with Claude is her hair.
Seriously.
It’s massive.
She burns her corkscrew curls into oblivion nigh on every night, so it kind of frizzes up in an afro life affair. Today it’s flat, which, logically, means something’s wrong.

“Claude, calm down. What happened?”

“Well, you know I arranged to meet up with Benji?”

“You didn’t shut up about it.”

“Well…” She broke off, biting her nail. “I got the day wrong! I turned up yesterday, and he the day before and now it looks like I’ve stood him up!”

“Oh God, irony, much?”

“Shut up. Anyway, I called him to say sorry, and he was really stilted like, he said he was with
someone called Angel. Felix, I… I think it’s his girlfriend.”

This time, she bit her lip.

Whoa, whoa whoa.

Hang on. Did she just say Angel?

“Did you just say Angel?”

“Angel, yeah. I think that’s what he said. But do you-”

“Angel Engels?”

“Felix, how the hell am I meant to know? All I heard was he was with Angel.”

Let me tell you about Angel.

Gabriel ‘Angel’ Engels was LEG.END.ARY at our school, for no reason other than managing to score three tries and two conversions at a district rugby match at the age of eleven and height of five foot two.

(He was also legendary for accidently setting himself on fire once, but that’s a different story).

He left after year seven to go to Germany for two years and must have since turned up again.
Mind you, who can blame him for leaving?

(The initiation ceremony at school is-
To find a year seven
To find a locker
To place the year seven on top of the locker and leave them there over the lunch hour)
(Again, no-one knows why)

I decided to explain this to Claude.

“Claudey, bearing in mind Angel Engels is a bloke who Benji happens to be friends with, I think you’re
quite safe.”

One eyebrow disappeared beneath her fringe. “Ohhh….”

“Yeah, Claude. Feel stupid.”

“I thought Angel was a girls name.”

Let me tell you why we call him Angel.

His first name is Gabriel.

Duh.

(I’m sorry, but you’d have to be an idiot not to get that one)

“Angel left in, like, year seven to go and wear lederhosen and drink copious amounts of beer with the Krauts.”

She hit me with her bag. “Don’t be racist, you’re half German ”

“Yes, and that only promises the fact that I’ll pass at least one GCSE with slightly more than a C and
probably grow a crap ‘tashe in later life. Claudey, face it, there’s nothing good about Germany. Even
you chose French over it”

We were walking by now, her doing her messed up half lope that she thought would attract the male
variety (she’s wrong, by the way).

“Yeah, but we get to go to France. Think of the boys, Felix!”

“Yeah, and you seem to do nothing but!”

“French men are meant to be one of the most beautiful kinds…” she said in a semi-dreamlike state.

I had to kick her.

(Trust me, it's the only way to shut her up once she gets going)