I know that sounds like one of Mum's gross TV-chef recipes but actually it's a love poem for Giselle, our French exchange girl. Everyone's trying to impress her - my brother, William, the Revengers, Colin the builder - they're all after her. I thought if I said something beautiful to Giselle in French she'd like ne best, but I could only think of 'Bonjovi, j'apple Alistair. That didn't exactly set her heart on fire... unlike the shed which turned into the barbecue at Mum's boring Bondi Beach party! Me and the revengers want to throw a proper party with people our own age, kissing and crisps. If Giselle comes to that, she'll be able to see how attractive and mature I am. Ooh la la!