Read Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05 Online

Authors: Away Laughing on a Fast Camel

Tags: #Humorous Stories, #England, #Diaries, #Diary Fiction, #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Fiction, #Interpersonal Relations, #Love & Romance, #Dating (Social Customs), #Nicolson; Georgia (Fictitious Character), #Girls & Women, #Adolescence, #Mammals, #Romance, #Humorous, #Animals, #Friendship

Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05 (3 page)

BOOK: Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05
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6:35 p.m.

Does that mean that SG knows what I will be wearing for the teenage werewolf party before I do?

Not that I will be going.

Will I?

I will be the last to know as usual.

 

Oh Baby Jesus and your cohorts, please make something really great happen. Otherwise I am going to bed. But I will wait for half an hour because I trust in your ultimate goodnosity.

7:35 p.m.

It's not much to ask, is it? But oh no, Baby Jesus is just too busy to make anything interesting happen.

in the loo

Sitting in the loo of life contemplating my navel.

My navel sticks out a bit. Is it supposed to do that? I hope it's not unraveling. That would be the final straw.

Vati keeps books in the loo. How disgusting is that? Pooing and reading. What is he reading? It's called
Live and Let Die
. How true.

8:30 p.m.

No one has bothered to ring me. I wonder why Dave the Laugh hasn't phoned me? I could phone him, but that would mean he might think I am keen on him.

Which I am not.

8:45 p.m.

Vati's book is about James Bond, who is a sort of special agent–type thing. Vati probably thinks he is like James Bond. Which he would be, if James
Bond was a porky bloke with a badger attachment.

9:00 p.m

I am in the prime of my womanhood, nunga-nungas poised and trembling (attractively). Lips puckered up and in peak condition for a snogging fest.

And I am in bed.

At nine
P.M.

 

Not alone for long, because my sister is now in bed with me. She has got her nighttime book for me to read to her.
Heidi.
About some girl who goes up a mountain in Swisscheeseland to live with some elderly mad bloke in lederhosen, who sadly for her is her grandfather.

I know how she feels. At least my grandad doesn't wear leather shorts. Yet.

9:15 p.m.

So far Heidi and Old Mr. Mad of the Mountains have herded up goats and eaten a LOT of cheese. A lot. They are constantly eating cheese.

9:20 p.m.

Even Libby was so bored by the cheese extravaganza that she nodded off to sleep and I slipped downstairs to phone Jas. I did it quietly because there will only be the usual tutting explosion from Vati about me using the phone if he hears me.

I whispered. “Jas?”

“Oh, it's you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I've got my jimmyjams on and I was reading my book about the wilderness course that Tom and I are going to go on.”

“Oh I am sooooooo sorry, Jas, soooo sorry to interrupt your twig work, just because I am all on my own without the comfort of human company and my life is ebbing away.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

“Jas, are you still there?”

Her voice sounded a bit distant.

“Yes.”

I said, “What is that cracking noise?”

“Er…”

“You are actually playing with twigs, aren't you?”

“Well…I…”

How pathetico.

She said all swottily, “Look, I have to go. I've got my German homework to do.”

“Don't bother learning their language; they are obsessed with goats.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lederhosen-a-gogo land people are obsessed with goats…and cheese.”

“Who says so?”

“It's in a book I am reading about them.”

“What book?”

“It's called
Heidi
. It is utterly crap.”

“Heidi?”

“Jah.”

Mrs. Picky Knickers sounded all swotty and know it all. “
Heidi
is a children's book about a girl who lives in the Alps in Switzerland.”

“Yes, and your point is?”

“That's not Germany.”

“It's very near.”

“You might as well say that Italy and France are the same because they are very near.”

“I do say that.”

“Or Italy and Greece.”

“I say that as well.”

“You talk rubbish.”

“Yeah but I don't play with twigs, like a…like a fringey thrush.”

She slammed the phone down on me.

Well. She is so annoying.

But on the other hand, no one else is around to talk to.

Phoned her back.

“Jas, I'm sorry, you always hurt the one you love.”

“Don't start the love thing.”

“OK, but night-night.”

“Night.”

10:00 p.m.

Oh, I am so restless and bored. I think my mouth may be sealing over because of lack of snogging. Or shrinking. I wonder if that can happen? They say “Use It or Lose It” on all those really scary posters in the doctors' surgery, mainly for very very old people who are too lazy to walk about, and then their legs shrink, possibly. But it may be the same for lips.

10:05 p.m.

No sign of any shrinkage on the basooma front.

in the loo
11:00 p.m.

In Dad's James Bond book it says, “Bond came and stood close against her. He put a hand over each breast. But still she looked away from him out of the window. ‘Not now' she said in a low voice.”

Now I am completely baffled. What in the name of arse does that mean?

A hand over each nunga?

Like a human nunga-nunga holder.

Do boys do that?

wednesday march 9th

No letters from the Sex God.

And I haven't heard anything from Dave the Laugh either.

Still, what do I care, I am full of glaciosity for him.

I wonder if he will go to the party on Saturday. Not that I am interested, as I will be at home embroidering toilet roll holders or whatever very sad spinsters do.

bathroom
8:30 a.m.

Oh fabulous, I have a lurking lurker on my cheek. The painters are due in this week and that is probably why I am feeling so moody.

That and the fact that my life is utterly crap.

Still, a really heavy period should cheer me up.

Maybe if I disguise the lurker with some eye pencil it will look like a beauty spot.

breakfast

Mutti said, “Georgia, why don't you just hang a sign on your head that says, ‘Have you noticed I've got a spot, everybody?'”

I tried to think of something clever to say to her but I am too tired.

 

I was dragging myself out the door to another day of unnatural torture (school) when the postman arrived. It takes him about a year to get up our driveway because he tries to dodge Angus. Angus loves him. He is his little postie pal. The postie who is not what you would call blessed in the looks department was furtively looking around and shuffling about. I said helpfully, “Angus is off on his
morning constitutional, so I am afraid you can't play with him.”

The postie said, “I know what I would like to do with him and it involves a sack and a river. Here you are.”

And he shoved a letter at me. Not ideal behavior in a servant of the people I don't think.

Then I noticed it was an aerogramme-type letter. For me. From Kiwi-a-gogo land. From the Sex God.

Oh joy joy joy joyitty joy joy.

And also thrice joy.

I looked at the writing. So Sex Goddy. And it said “Georgia Nicolson” on it.

That was me.

And on the back it said:

From Robbie Jennings R.D. 4

Pookaka lane
(honestly)

Whakatane

New Zealand

That was him. The Sex God. I started skipping down the street until unfortunately I saw Mark Big Gob and his lardy mates. He doesn't even bother to look at my face; he just talks to my nungas.

Mark was leery like a leering thing and he said, “Careful, Georgia, you don't want to knock yourself out with your jugs.” And they all laughed.

Thank goodness I had worn my special sports nunga holder, or my “over the shoulder boulder holder,” as Rosie calls it. At least my basoomas were nicely encased. Anyway, ha di hahahaha to Mark Big Gob—nothing could upset me today because I was filled with the joyosity of young love.

I did stop skipping, though, and walked off with a dignity-at-all-times sort of walk.

Mark still hadn't had his day, though; he shouted after me, “I'll carry them to school for you if you like!”

He is disgusting. And a midget lover. I don't know how I could have ever snogged him.

8:35 a.m.

Jas was stamping around outside her house, going “Oh
brrrrr
, it is so nippy noodles,
brr
.”

She had a sort of furry bonnet over her beret. I said, “You look like a crap teddy bear.”

She just went on shivering and said, “Do you think we will get let off hockey because of Antarctic conditions?”

“Jas, you live, as I have always said, in the land of the terminally deluded and criminally insane. Nothing gets us off hockey. We are at the mercy of a storm trooper and part-time lesbian. Miss Stamp LOVES Antarctic conditions. You can see her mustache bristling with delight when it snows.”

If Jas has to wear a furry bonnet in cold weather, I don't think much of her chances of survival on her survival-type course.

Still, that is life.

Or in her case, death.

She was still going
“Brrr brr,”
but I didn't let it spoil my peachy mood.

“Jas, guess what? Something
très très magnifique
has happened at last.”

“Brrr.”

“Shut up
brrring
, Jas.”

I got out my aerogramme.

“Look, it's from SG.”

“What does it say?”

“I don't know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven't opened it yet. I am savoring it.”

“It's not a pie.”

“I know that, Jas. Please don't annoy me. I don't want to have to beat you within an inch of your life so early in the day.”

We trudged up the hill to Stalag 14. But I had a song in my heart.

“Jas, I have a song in my heart, and do you know what it is?”

But she just ran off into the cloakroom to sit on the knicker toaster (radiator) for a few minutes to thaw out.

Still, I did have a song in my heart called “I Have a Letter from a Sex God in My Bumbag.”

assembly

Slim told us exciting news this morning. Elvis Attwood, the most bonkers man in Christendom and part-time caretaker, is retiring. We started cheering but had to change our cheering into a sort of “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow” thing because Hawkeye was giving us her ferret eye. Slim was rambling on in her jelloid way, chins shaking like billio.

“So, as a special thank you for all the magnificent work Mr. Attwood has put in over the years, we
will be having a going-away party for him. We will have music and so on, and perhaps Mr. Attwood will show us how to ‘get with it,' as you girls say.”

She laughed like a ninny. Get with it? What in the name of her enormous undergarments is she raving on about? The last time Elvis did any dancing he had to be taken to the casualty department. So every cloud has a silver lining.

 

I said to the ace gang as we trailed out of Assembly to R.E., “What started out as a
schiessenhausen
day has turned out to be a groovy gravy day.”

I am looking forward to R.E. because whilst everyone has their little snooze I can read my letter from the beloved.

r.e.

We all snuggled down at the back. Ro Ro is knitting something for the teenage werewolf party. I think it might be a full-length beard. Jools was doing her cuticles and Jas was reading her wilderness manual. She loves it because it has lots of photos of girlie swots building incomprehensible things out of twigs. Anyway, time to read my letter.
Miss Wilson was beginning to ramble on about World Peace and asking us for our views. I don't want to have to answer anything, I just want her to soothingly write stuff on the board or rave on. So I put my hand up. That startled her. I said, “Miss Wilson I have been very troubled in my mind.”

That started Rosie off in uncontrollable sniggering. Miss Wilson looked at me through her owly glasses. She is the most strangely put together person I have ever come across. Where does she get her clothes from? Did you know that you could get dresses made out of felt with matching booties for grown-ups? She has clearly been to the circus shop that Slim buys her wrinkly elephant tights from.

Anyway, Miss Wilson was vair vair interested in my troubled mind.

“Is it something of a theological nature, Georgia?”

“Yes indeedy, Miss Wilson. This is what is troubling me. If God is, you know, impotent…”

Miss Wilson went sensationally red, so now her head matched her booties.

“Well…er…Georgia, erm,
impotent
means not being able to have any children…I rather think you mean
omnipotent
.”

“Whatever. Well, if He is, does that mean that He is with you even when you are in the lavatory?”

Miss Wilson started rambling on about God not being really a bloke like other geezers but more of a spiritual whatsit. Hmmm. She has a very soothing manner. Jools had finished her cuticles and was having a little zizz on her pencil case.

I opened my letter with trembly hands. I wondered how long it would take me to fly to Kiwi-a-gogo land.

Dear Georgia,

Sorry it has taken me so long to write to you but it has been full on since I got here. The countryside around here is fantastic, it's all formed from volcanic activity. There are volcanos near here that are still live and there is a lot of geothermal activity.

Yesterday when we were eating our lunch outside, the table was heaving and lurching about. That's because the molten steam trapped beneath the Earth's crust makes the ground move and shake around.
It was amazing, the sheep were going backward and forward and the trees were going up and down. There are bore fields around the whole area where they tap the steam and make electricity out of it. The lads took me to see a rogue bore called Old Faithful that explodes every fifteen minutes.

BOOK: Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05
5.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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