Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 Read online

  And he shuffled off still with the trousers round his ankles.

  I will never ever tire of the sheer bonkerosity of boydom.

  back in bed

  It took us nearly half an hour to get Mr. Bucket off Libby. We greased as much of Libby’s bottom as we could reach like a little suckling pig. Eventually we cut through the top of her panties and managed to make a bit of leeway and free the bum-oley.

  For some toddlers, being greased up and pulled by brute force out of a metal bucket might have been a traumatic experience. But then not all toddlers are insane. Libby laughed and sang through the whole episode, amusing herself by gobbling stray bits of butter and smearing other bits on my head. Oh, how I joined in the merry times. Not.

  In addition Gordy and Angus lolloped in to lick at the leftover butter on her botty. Soooo disgusting. Libby was shouting, “They is ticklin’ me!!! Heggy heggy ho!!!”

  It is like the botty casualty department. My bottom, which I have no time to attend to, is being supported by Libby’s swimming ring and I have a buttered-up child rammed in next to me.

  Also, have I got a boyfriend or not?

  1:00 a.m.

  And I am still thinking about the Dave the Laugh accidental snogging in the forest incident.

  1:10 a.m.

  Perhaps this is God’s little way of saying, “She who lives by the red bottom, gets to lie in a rubber ring.”

  once more into the huffmobile

  monday august 1st

  8:00 a.m.

  Oww oww and double owww!! I think my botty has taken a turn for the worse. I wonder if it is swollen up?

  looking in the mirror

  It does look a bit on the swollen side. Oh marvelous, I will have to ask Jas if I can borrow some of her enormous winter pants. She will have got them out of her winter store by now. She starts ironing her school pants about a month before we are forced back to Stalag 14. Which reminds me, we only have about a month of holiday left. Sacré bleu and merde.

  Libby had already scarpered off to get ready for the nursery, so I thought I would just have a little dolly daydream about snogging the Luuurve God. If I made a mental picture of us snogging I might attract him to me through the psychic ethery stuff.

  ten minutes later

  Then I heard the postman coming up the drive. Ah, the postie. It’s a lovely job being a postie, you see it in all ye olde films that ye olde parents watch. Mr Postie coming up the drive with a cheery whistle and a handful of exciting letters for the family. A “good morning, ma’am” to the mistress of the house and then—

  “I’ve got a bloody stick, you furry freak, and I’m not afraid to use it!!!”

  Charming. Utterly utterly charming.

  I looked out of the window. Angus was sitting on the dustbin showing off to Naomi, his mad Burmese girlfriend and slag, by taunting the postie. Hissing and doing pretend biffing. Sticking his claws in and out. The postie had to get by the dustbin to get to the door and he was waving the stick about in Angus’s direction. Angus loves a stick. The larger the better. He lay down and started purring so loudly, I could hear it. I don’t know why he loves sticks so much, but he does. Almost as much as he loves cars.

  He thinks cars are like giant stupid mice on wheels. That he can chase after.

  He brought a stick home the other day that was so big, it took him half an hour to figure out how to get it through the gate. He did it, though, because he is top cat.

  two minutes later

  It was the same with a ginormous dead pigeon. He backed his way through the cat flap dragging the feet first, and then Gordy heave-ho’d the head bit through.

  It was an amazing double act. They were very impressed with themselves. Although slightly covered in feathers. They even arranged the bird so that it was sort of looking toward the door and propped up so that Mum could get the full benefit when she came in.

  She did get the full benefit and went ballistic jumping on a chair and screaming, etc. Angus and Gordy and the dead pigeon all looked at her.

  “Bloody murdering furry thugs!!!” she yelled.

  I said, “Look, you are really hurting their feelings.”

  And then she threw the washing up bowl at me.

  That is the kind of mothering I have to put up with.

  one minute later

  The postie has bravely got past Angus and disappeared from view as he posted our letters through the letter box. Angus had disappeared as well. Oh, I know what he is doing!

  He is doing his vair vair amusing trick of lurking in the top of the hedge to leap down on the postie’s head as he passes by. Tee-hee. Happy days. I wish I was a cat.

  At least I would get fed now and again.

  I wouldn’t be quite so keen on all the bum-oley licking. Although as mine is so swollen now, it would be probably easier to reach.

  Mum yelled up, “Gee, come down and have brekkie and say good-bye to your family.”

  I said, “Have I still got one? I thought that Father had left us and would never be back. That is what he promised.”

  Dad yelled up, “You think you are so bloody funny, but you won’t when I don’t give you your tenquid pocket money. Nothing to spend on your eyeliner or nit cream or whatever else it is that you plaster yourself with.”

  Nit cream?

  Has he finally snapped?

  Mum said, “Stop it, you two. Oooh look, here is a foreign postcard addressed to Georgia—I wonder who it’s from?”

  Oh my giddy gods pajamas, I leapt downstairs, putting the pain of my bottom behind me. Tee-hee. Oh brilliant, my brain has gone into hysterical clown mode.

  thirty seconds later

  Dad had the postcard in his hand and was reading it!!! Noooooo!

  He was saying in a really crap Pizza-a-gogo accent, “Ciao, Georgia, it is smee.”

  I tried to get the postcard from him. “Dad, that is private property addressed to me. If it doesn’t say ‘to some mad fat bloke,’ it isn’t yours.”

  Dad just went on reading it. “I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my fimaly.”

  Finally I ripped it out of his hand and took it upstairs.

  Mum said, “You are mean, Bob, you know what she is like.”

  Dad said, “Yes, I do, she’s insane like all the other bloody women in this family. Hang on a minute…what the hell happened to my car-washing bucket?”

  Mum said, “We had to hit it with a hammer in the end. Libby got her bottom stuck in it.”

  Dad said, “I rest my case.”

  in my room

  Oh God, I am sooooo excited, my eyes have gone cross-eyed. What does it say?

  twenty seconds later

  Ciao, Georgia. It is smee. I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my fimaly. I am hot. (You don’t have to tell me that, mate.)

  I am playing fun. Are you playing fun?

  I miss I you me.

  I call on the telefono on Tuesday for you. Ciao, bellissima, Masimoxxx

  an hour later

  After about three thousand years and a half the Swiss Family Mad all crashed off to ruin other people’s lives and I could get on the old blower.

  I nearly dialed Wise Woman of the Forest before I remembered that she had practically called me the Whore of Babylon. She is so full of suspicionosity. And annoyingnosity. How dare she suggest in front of everyone that I had been up to hanky-panky and rudey-dudeys with Dave the Laugh? She knows very well that I am going out with a Luuurve God. Who is a) hot and b) playing fun.

  What in the name of arse does “playing fun” mean?

  I must consult with my gang.

  But not her.

  I am ignorez-vousing her with a firm hand and it serves her right. I hope she realizes that I am ignorez-vousing her, otherwise it’s all a bit pointless.

  two minutes later

  I may have to call her and let her know I am ignorez-vousing her, as she can be a bit on the dense side.

  Phoned J
as.

  Her mum answered.

  “Hello Georgia, gosh you had a fabulous time camping, didn’t you? Jas said you sang and played games till all hours.”

  I said, “Er, yes—”

  “You had a great time, I bet.”

  “Er, yes, it was very, erm, campy.”

  “Good, I’ll just call Jas, dear. I think she’s in her bedroom dusting and rearranging her owls and so on.”

  You couldn’t really write it, could you? If I wrote a book and I said, “I’ve got a mate who dusts her owls and follows greater toasted newts about,” people would say, “I’m not reading that sort of stupid exaggeration. Next thing you know, someone will say they went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive. Or accidentally snogged three boyfriends at once.” Hang on a minute, everything has gone a bit déjà vu-ish. Jas came on the phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Jas, it is me, the Whore of Babylon, but I am preparing myself to forgive you.”

  “What are you forgiving me for?”

  “Because you are a naughty pally saying things about me being selfish and lax and having a million boyfriends.”

  Jas said, “It’s up to you how many boyfriends you have, I am not my brother’s keeper.”

  “Jas, I know you aren’t. You haven’t got a brother.”

  “I mean you.”

  “I haven’t got a brother, either, thank the Lord. I do, however, have an insane sister, who by the way is now probably going to be done for TBH.”

  “You mean GBH—grievous bodily harm.”

  “No, I mean TBH. Toddler bodily harm. Josh’s mum has complained about her and she is suspended from nursery school. She is staying with Grandfarty and he is looking after her. She is the first person in our family to get a restraining order besides Grandad.”

  Jas was not what you would call full of sympatheticnosity.

  “I don’t think she will be the last person in your family to get a restraining order, Georgia, I am a bit busy, actually.”

  “Jas, please don’t have Mrs. Hump with me, I need you, my dearest little pally wally. Pleasey please, be frendy wendys. Double please with knobs. And a tiny little knoblet. And—”

  “Alright, alright, stop going on.”

  She deffo had the minor hump, but it was only No. 4 on the having the hump scale (cold shoulderosity work).

  “Jas, come on, remember the laugh we had when we all snuck off to the boys’ tent? And I came and told you that Tom was there, didn’t I? Even though you were singing ‘Ging gang gooly.’”

  “Well yes, but—”

  “I displayed magnanimosity, which isn’t something everyone can say. But I did it because I luuurve you. A LOT.”

  “OK, don’t go on.”

  “You are not ashamed of our luuurve, are you, Jas?”

  “Look, shut up, people might hear.”

  “What do you mean, the people who live in the telephone?”

  “NO, I mean, anyway, what’s happened?”

  “I’ve got a postcard from Masimo and we have to call an extraordinary general meeting of the ace gang.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.”

  in the park

  2:00 p.m.

  Naaaice and sunny. I wore my denim miniskirt and halter neck and some groovy sandals. I will have to do something with my legs, though, because they give me the droop, they are so pale. Rosie had some eye-catching shorts on. They had pictures of Viking helmets all over them. She said, “Sven had them specially printed in my honor, groovy, aren’t they?”

  I said, “That is one word for them.”

  Rosie said, “Sven has got his first djing job next weekend and I am going to be his groupie. You all have to come.”

  ten minutes later

  We settled down in the shade underneath the big chestnut tree by the swings. The bees were singing and the birds a-buzzing, dogs scampering around, people eating ice creams, toddlers sticking ice creams in their eyes by mistake, etc. A lovely lovely summer afternoon, ideal to sort out the game of luuurve.

  We had just passed around the chuddie and decided for Ellen where she should sit after about eight minutes of: “Well, erm, I should sit in the shade, really, don’t you think, because of the ultraviolet, but, erm, what about, erm, not like getting the sun and then like maybe not getting enough vitamin D because that would be, like, not great. Or something.”

  Finally she sat with her top part in the shade and her legs sticking in the sun because we told her no one had ever got cancer of the knees. Which might or might not be true, but sometimes (in fact, very often, in my experience) lying is the best policy. Especially if you can’t be arsed talking about something boring anymore.

  one minute later

  I don’t know why I bother lying because Ellen has gone off to the loos to run her wrists under cold water so she doesn’t get sunstroke of the arms.

  Jas still hasn’t turned up. I wonder if she has progressed to No. 6 on the hump scale and is doing pretend deafnosity?

  thirty seconds later

  The ace gang started talking about the camping trip and sneaking out to see the lads at night.

  Mabs said, “I had a go at snogging with Edward.”

  Jools said, “What was it like?”

  Mabs chewed and popped and said, “Quite groovy, we did four and then a spot of five.”

  I said, “Oh, so you missed out four and a half as well. I said I thought it was a WUBBISH idea that Mrs. Newt Knickers came up with. Who apart from her and Tom would do hand snogging?”

  Mabs said, “What do you mean ‘as well’?”

  I said, “What do you mean ‘What do you mean “as well”’?”

  Mabs put her face really close to mine.

  “Georgia, you said and forgive me if I’m right…‘oh, so you missed out four and a half as well.’ Which means ‘Oh, so you missed out four and a half as well AS ME.’ Meaning you must have missed out four and a half with someone. The only someone around was Dave the Laugh.”

  Oh my red herringnosity skills were letting me down.

  Mabs was going on and on like Jas’s little helper.

  “So what did you get up to with Dave the Laugh by the river?”

  I said in a casualosity at all times sort of way, “Ah well, I’m glad you asked me that. Because suspicionosity is the enemy of friendshipnosity. The simple truth is that Dave and I were playing, erm, tig. Yes, and I accidentally fell in a stream and then I went back to my tent because I was, er, wet.”

  Rosie said, “You and Dave were playing tig. I see. One moment; I must give this some serious thought. Luckily I have my pipe.”

  Oh no.

  two minutes later

  Good Lord, I am being interrogated by Inspector Bonkers of the Yard.

  The inspector (i.e., Rosie with her pipe and beard on) continued, “You expect us to believe that you and Dave the Laugh gamboled around the woods playing a little game of tig?”

  I said, “Yes.”

  Rosie said, “You are, it has to be said, my little chumlet, even dimmer than you look.”

  Ellen came back then, just in the knickers of time. I smiled at her and said in a lighthearted but menacing way, “You haven’t told us about Declan. It is ace gang rules that we do sharesies about snogging.”

  Rosie and Mabs raised their eyebrows at me, but I ignorez-voused them.

  Ellen heaved herself into her Dithermobile and said, “Well, Declan showed, well, he showed me, something and—”

  Inspector Bonkers of the Yard winked, sucked on her pipe and went, “Ay ay.”

  Ellen went even redder and more dithery.

  “No, I mean, it was his Swiss Army knife.”

  Inspector Bonkers got out a pretend notebook.

  “Alright. So you looked at his knife and then did you snog?”

  Ellen said, “Well, when we were, like, leaving to go back to camp—he gave me a number three and then—”
/>   “Then quickly went on to number four.”

  “Well, no, he…”

  “He missed out number four and went straight for the nungas?”

  “No, well, he—he, like, he said, he said, ‘See you later.’”

  Oh dear God, we were once more in the land of s’later. Will we never be free?

  one minute later

  But at least it stopped anyone going on about the Dave the Laugh fiasco.

  one minute later

  Jas turned up. She looked quite nice, actually, if you like that mad fringey look. She said, “I was just talking to Tom on the phone, he’s playing footie this arvie with the lads. He’s got some new boots.”

  I said, “No!! Honestly!”

  And she gave me a huffty look. I don’t want to have more rambling lectures from her, so I went and gave her a hug and a piece of chuddie.

  Anyway, we had just settled down and I got out my postcard from Masimo to show the gang when Jools said, “Oh God, Blunderboys alert!”

  They were shuffling about by the bushes at the far end of the swing park. Mark Big Gob was absent, probably carrying his tiny girlfriend around somewhere. Junior Blunderboy was with them, though. I noticed he had a belt round his elephant jeans. So now he didn’t look like a twit anymore. He looked like a twit with a belt on.

  Mabs said, “Don’t look at them and they’ll get bored.”

  I said, “Can we get back to the matter I hold in my hand?”

  Rosie went, “Oo-er.”

  I gave her my worst look.

  I went on, “What do you think ‘I am playing fun’ means?”

  Ellen said, “Well, erm, I don’t know but you know, well—well, you know when a boy says ‘See you later,’ well, like when Declan said ‘See you later’ and that was, like, three days ago now. So, er, this is, like, later, isn’t it? Or something. And he hasn’t, like, seen me.”

  Even though we were actually officially having the official ace gang meeting officially for me (as I had officially called it), I did feel quite sorry for Ellen. And also it has to be said it would be a bloody relief if she did get off with Declan.

  Then she would leave Dave the Laugh alone.

  Not that it was any of my business whether she left Dave the Laugh alone or not.

  I mean, he had a girlfriend, anyway.

  Probably.