Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 (6 page)

Jas's mutti and vati are out and we are practicing for our trip to Froggyland by eating a typico French peasant meal:
pomme de terre
and
les
baked beans
avec le
sauce
de
tomato. Oh, and of course,
de rigueur
…we wore our berets and stripey T-shirts.

I said, “I 'ope that Gorgey Henri can control his passion for me when we reach Paree.”

Jas was also wearing what she imagines are sexy shades. She's wrong, though—they don't make her look French, they make her look blind.

She said, “Gorgey Henri does not have
la
passion for you, he thinks you are
la
stupid schoolgirl.”

“Oh,
mais non
,
ma
idiot,
au contraire
he thinks I am
la
genius.”

We both had a lot of frustrated snogging energy so we had to do “Let's go down the disco” dancing on Jas's bed for about an hour. We were pretending we were in a French disco inferno, which means we yelled,
“Mon Dieu!” “Zut alors!”
and
“Merde!”
A LOT.

midnight

I think I may actually have broken my neck from doing too much head banging.

thursday december 30th

Woke up this morning and there was a sort of weird light in the bedroom. When I opened the curtains I discovered that it had snowed overnight!!!

Mr. Next Door was already up wearing ludicrous snow wear—bobble hat, duffle coat and rubber trousers, clearing his path with a shovel. He got to the end of the path near the gate and then had a breather to survey his handiwork. He
probably imagines he is like Nanook of the North.

It's a shame if he does, because as he walked back up his newly cleared path, he went flying on a slippy bit and ended up skidding along on his rubber trousers.

Happy days!

11:45 a.m.

Oh,
très sportif
. We are going to have the Winter Olympics! All the gang are going to meet up on the back fields for snow fun and frolics.

“What are you going to wear?” I asked Rosie.

“Short black leather skirt, new knee boots and a LOT of lip gloss.”

“That is not exactly sensible winter wear.”

“I know,” she said. “I may freeze to death, but I will look fabbity fab fab.”

She is not wrong. I may have to rifle through my wardrobe for glamorous
après-ski
wear.

I don't know why I am bothering, really, as the Sex God is not here, but you have to keep up appearances for good humorosity and fashionosability's sake.

Phoned Jas. “Jas, what are you wearing for the sledging and snow sports extravaganza?”

“Well, I was thinking snug and warm.”

“Well, you can't just wear your huge winter knickers, Jas.”

“Hahahaha-di-haha. What are you wearing?”

“Hmmm…ski pants, ankle boots and I think roll-neck top and leather jacket. Oh, and waterproof eye makeup in case of a sudden snowstorm.”

12:00 p.m.

I think snow wear quite suits me. My hat deemphasizes on the conk front which is always a good thing. Lashings and lashings of mascara and lip gloss for extra warmth and I am just about ready.

I managed to sneak out of the house without Libby hearing me. I love her, but she is being a pain about this cat costume thing—she won't take it off and it is beginning to be a bit on the pingy pongo side.

1:00 p.m.

I was a bit late because Angus kept following me and I had to chuck snowballs at him to dodge him.

Dave the Laugh, Ellen, Jools, Rollo, Mabs, Sam, Rosie, Sven, Jas and some lads I didn't know were sledging down a hill on the back fields. Well,
apart from Ellen, who was in a ditherama at the top of the hill. She was not exactly dressed for downhill sledging (her skirt was about half an inch long and she was wearing false eyelashes). But neither was anybody else exactly dressed for downhill sledging, and that wasn't stopping
them
. As the rest of them whizzed down the hill in a sledge sandwich—boy-girl-boy-girl sledge—Ellen was fiddling with her hair and gazing down the hillside.

She said, “I've been going out with him for nearly three weeks now. In hours, that is…er…a lot.”

I didn't say anything.

“Do you think he likes me as much as I like him?”

I didn't say anything. I am keeping my wisdomosity to myself.

“Do you think I should ask him?”

“What?”

“Ask him how much he likes me?”

“Er…I don't know…I mean, boys are, you know, not girls with trousers on, are they?” I astonished even myself with my outburst of extreme wisdomosity. Ellen looked at me all blinky and expectant, like I was a fortune-teller or
something. I felt a bit like that bloke in
Julius Caesar
, the one who says, “Beware the idle of March.”

Ellen asked me why she shouldn't ask him. Good question. Good. “Er…because Dave might feel like you are putting pressure on his individualosity.”

“His individualosity?”

“Yes.”

“What, by asking him if he likes me as much as I like him?”

“That's the one.”

“Well, what should I do instead, then?”

“Be cool, and, you know…er, funny and relaxed…and fun and happening and…er…so on.” What am I talking about? Alarmingly, Ellen seemed to think I made sense.

By this time, Dave and the gang had struggled back up the hill with the sledge. Dave said, “Nippy noodles, isn't it?” He was smiling at me. He's got a really cool, sort of naughty, smile. It makes you think of lip nibbling. “Look, girls, I couldn't put my hands down the front of your jumpers, could I? To warm them up? There would be nothing rudey-dudey in it, you understand. To me your nunga-
nungas are just a pair of giant mittens.”

Ellen looked a bit puzzled. As I have said many times, I wonder if Ellen is quite a good enough laugh for Dave the Laugh.

friday december 31st

new year's eve
2:00 p.m.

The ace gang are going to SEVEN parties, but as a mark of respect Jas and I have decided not to go with them. We are having our own widows' celebration.

Actually, I would rather go out than be cooped up with Jas, but I know that Dave the Laugh will be there and I don't want to entice my bottom into another display of redness. Especially as I have got snogging withdrawal VERY badly.

11:00 p.m.

This is the glorious start to my New Year…

Jas and I stayed in and watched people on television kissing each other and waving their kilts around. Jas is staying over and my so-called parents and Libby have gone out to some sad party. They actually asked if I would like to go with them.
When I indicated that I would rather set fire to myself they left me alone. However, as a special treat Mum got us some food. I said to Dad, “Jas is more of a champagne girl, really, so if you could just get a few bottles. I think that would make our fabulous evening go with a swing.”

He didn't even bother to reply.

On the stroke of midnight, Jas said, “Shall we?”

And I said, “Jas, don't even think about asking me to snog you.”

She got all huffy. “No, I wasn't going to. I was going to say, shall we have a celebratory disco inferno dancing experience with the aid of soft toys?”

12:30 a.m.

And a happy New Year to one and all!!!

Our New Year “Let's go down the disco” experience, with the aid of Charlie Horse and Teddy as partners, was actually quite good fun on the funosity scale. Although I was slightly worried about Jas because she did actually snog Teddy.

She said, “I'm pretending it's Tom.”

I said, “Teddy is very very like Tom in many
ways—his furry ears, for instance.”

We were just biffing each other with Charlie and Teddy when the phone rang.

It was SG and Tom phoning from the Isle of Man. Yeahhhhhhh!!!

The Sex God said, “Happy New Year, gorgeous, see you soon.” Then he had to go and toss dwarfs or whatever it is they do in the Isle of Man to celebrate. I read that they still beat criminals with bits of old twigs there, so anything could happen.

Jas was Mrs. Moony Knickers after talking to Hunky, and we just went back to watching people snogging and singing on TV.

1:15 a.m.

Ho hum pig's bum.

When my “family” got home, as a hilarious treat, Dad had brought home a bit of coal. He said, “It's called ‘first footing.'” It should be called “first loon in.” He burst in like the original red-faced loon and said, “Happy New Year.” Then he tried to hug me and Jas. We beat him off with Teddy and Charlie Horse and then Libby joined in and hung on to his beard, as Jas and I made a bid
for freedom to my room.

sunday january 2nd

11:30 a.m.

To keep our spirits up, Jas and I made a list of things to take to Froggyland with us.

“We are going to have to hire an extra ferry to take our hair products over,” I told her.

monday january 3rd

2:00 p.m.

Moped around at Jas's. We are united in widow sadness. We listened to sad songs and practiced being interviewed on
Michael Parkinson
. Jas is hopeless at it. When I (as Parky) asked her what her hopes for the future were, she said, “World peace and more freely available organic vegetables.” How interesting is that?

Not, is the correct answer.

 

Ooooh, I am soooo bored and lonely. NOTHING happens around here.

I lolloped home up our street. At least Angus is happy, though. He is lolling around on the wall overlooking Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road. He is a
very proud dad. I wonder how long it will be before we are allowed to name the kittykats? Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road are being very unreasonable about it all and won't discuss it.

When I got back to the house Mum said, “Robbie rang you. The number's beside the phone.”

I got the usual jelloid knickers (and added leg tremblers and a quick spasm of quivering-a-gogo).

 

Should I phone him back or just wait for him to phone again? I must think.

Perhaps if I ate some chocolate orange egg it would calm me down. There was one left under the tree.

The front room was a nightmare of beardosity. Vati had some of his mates from work and Uncle Eddie round watching the football. He was slurping beer and being all jolly. “Georgia, this is Mike, Nick, Paul and Bingo…the lads!”

Lads? Since when were lads eighty-five? And a half.

The great tragedy is that the “lads” are going to be forming a football team. I was about to say, “Should men in your physical condition hurl themselves around a football pitch?” But then Dad
dropped his bombshell.

“Georgia, what is this with Robbie? Why is he phoning you all the time and coming round? How old is he?”

I said with great dignosity, “Father, I am afraid I can't discuss my private life with you as I have a date with
Lord of the Flies
.”

He said, “Who's he, then?” And the “lads” all laughed.

I said, again with great dignosity, “It is a book by William Golding that I have to study for my homework.”

10:30 p.m.

I can't phone Robbie because then Dad will know that I am phoning him and that will make him even more full of suspiciosity.

11:00 p.m.

Lord of the Flies
is so boring…and so weird. I always thought boys were very very strange, but I didn't think they would start eating each other. Bloody hell, I must make sure I never end up on an island with a bunch of boys!

wednesday january 5th

Tom arrived back from the family Chrimboli. Jas was ridiculously excited. She is a fair-weather pal, because I know I will be dumped now that her so-called boyfriend is back. And SG isn't back until next Tuesday.

friday january 7th

Snowed like billio overnight. Angus leapt out of the front door like he normally does and completely disappeared from view, the snow was so deep. He loves it and is leaping and sneezing about in the back garden.

Rosie and the gang are going sledging down the back fields. But I am not in the mood for winter sports until my beloved returns. I explained this to Rosie and she said, “Make love, not war.” What is she talking about?

Besides, I saw Ellen and Dave the Laugh holding hands down at Churchill Square yesterday and it made me feel a bit funny. I don't know why.

saturday january 8th

10:00 a.m.

Robbie phoned from East Jesus (or Prestan-a-
gogogogoch…anyway, somewhere in Welsh country). The gigs are going really well, but he is shattered and can't talk much because his throat is sore from singing. He said, “I miss you, gorgeous.”

Boo hoo, this is so sad.

Still, he is back on Tuesday. I may distract myself by doing snogging exercises to limber up.

sunday january 9th

3:00 p.m.

My exercise regime: doing my yoga sun salute ten times and then pucker-ups (like Mick Jagger) forty times.

6:00 p.m.

Stalag 14 starts again tomorrow. Shall we never be free? On the bright side, the snow gives a very good comedy opportunity for an outing of glove animal.

8:00 p.m.

Rang around the ace gang.

“Rosie.”

“
D'accord.
It's me.”

“Is it you?”

“Yes.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Rang back. “I'll just say this: Operation Glove Animal and Snow Blindness.”

“Pip, pip.”

Phoned Jools and Mabs and Ellen, who are all prepared. Then I phoned Mrs. Useless Knickers. “Jas, it's snowing. Prepare glove animal.”