Onwards! Before I do, I feel I should point out my hatred of the term British Accent. What is a British Accent? It could just as easily be a Welsh, Scottish or Northern Irish accent as an English one. Although now I am amusing myself by imagining Becca yelling "Abfab" in a Norn Iron accent - catch yourself on, wee girl. For what it's worth, I am English and live in London and am 27 years old. I spent 3 years living in Northern Ireland. I am therefore a better judge of England and the British Isles than Ann, Scholastic and Team Ghosties.
Chapter 4
Kristy chapter. K-Ron annoys me but I have to laugh at her recap of Stacey, Stacey's Mom and the Ashes. Ahahahaha. They are freaking out. Kristy laughs. She's told it isn't funny. She agrees that it is really tragic. And then laughs again. I'm a bad person and going to hell, but I too would have laughed. Mrs McGill phones the airline to try to sort the mix-up out and Stacey is freaking out over not having clothes. Of course. To be fair, my luggage always gets lost when I travel and it is really hideous being without stuff. However, I was in a position once where I had no one to borrow from, I was sharing a room with a guy and I had to sleep in my bra and knickers and I was really embarrassed. And then wearing the same clothes the next day and they were all stinky. Waaaaaaaaaah. Anyway, Kristy offers to lend Stacey some clothes. Stacey is not happy. Shut up, brat. How bad can a pair of jeans and a turtleneck be for a day or so? She borrows her mom's clothes and complains about it. Shut up, Stacey. Kristy winds up her by telling her she looks like her mom. Ha.
The SMS kids go down to meet the Canadian kids and they all have to take a shoe off and find the owner of another shoe. I hate stupid ice-breakers like this. Kristy bickers with Michel who dislikes her sneakers and baseball taste. Hate at first sight. Or is it?
Chapter 5
Claudia is in the 'Brook at Playground Camp. 2 Counselors didn't turn up. Rather than the supervising adult sorting this out, she instead tells Jerry who happens to be a Head Counselor, 16, and Janine's ex-boyfriend to sort it out. So he recruits Janine.
Sigh.
Why can't the adults of the 'Brook do anything? Surely Ms Garcia should have employed her, not Jerry. What if Janine had been a crack addict and Jerry employed her so he could get high? Won't someone think of the children?
Janine and Jerry bicker. Janine is bossy because she wants to do a good job. Claudia is sullen. Not much else happens.
Chapter 6
Ugggh. Mal's chapter begins like this.
As the Thames ripples silently outside, through the Tate Gallery windows, like the flowing of my life,
The day grows old, and I feel tortured, like the portraits by William Blake
Shut up, Mal. The Thames is filthy with a strong undercurrent, so the flowing of your life is a mess. There.
Anyway, they are at the Tate to meet Mal's cousin who was supposed to be there to meet her at 4.30/4.45pm and take her home for dinner but now it's 5.30 and still no sure. I personally would have said "Sorry Mal, been waiting an hour, can't hold on, you'll have to see her another time" but there we go. But no, probably because Mal is a BSC member, they all wait. Mrs McGill finally says they need to go and Gillian the Flake turns up. Gillian turns out to be an author. An unpublished one. Husband Peter wears gabardine pants. I have no idea what they are. Ah, look like ordinary trousers to me, although more common in the 1950s. Well, I suppose Ann thinks that we are all stuck in the 50s?
Son Brett wants his smashing book read. Shut up, Brett. You are not a character in an Enid Blyton book. Far more likely he would have said "cool book".
They arrive back at Gillian's, who happens to live in Chelsea. Nice. Brett is now talking like an American and describes his book as "cool". Ah, there we go. We can only use the word cool when pretending to be American. My head hurts.
Mal is supersitter and then goes to have dinner with Gillian and Peter. Gillian has been working on the family tree and this is where it gets so stupid, my head hurts.
Mal is very distantly related to Shakespeare.
Meh. I'm sure if all Brits traced far enough, we could probably all find a vague link.
I hate this book.