The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10. Louise Rennison

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      She hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. She has the imagination of a pea. Half a pea. We were just passing through the park and I tried to explain.

      “Well, say I was singing. And you were the Sex God and you were lying with your head in my lap. Looking up adoringly. Marvelling at my enormous talent. Waiting for the appropriate moment to leap on me and snog me to within an inch of my life.”

      She still didn’t get it, so I dragged her over to a bench to illustrate my point. I made her put her head on my lap. I said, “So … what do you think?”

      She looked up and said, “I can’t hear you singing.”

      “That’s because I’m not.”

      “But you said what if you were singing?”

      Oh for Goodness O’Reilley’s trousers’ sake!!! To placate her I sang a bit – the only thing that came into my head was “Goldfinger”. Singing it brought back horrible memories because Dad and Uncle Eddie had sung it the night Dad came home from Kiwi-a-gogo. They were both drunk and both wearing leather trousers. Uncle Eddie said, “To impress the ladies.” How sad and tragic is that?

      Anyway, I was singing “Goldfinger” and Jas had her head on my lap, looking up at my ever-expanding nostrils. Sort of on nostril watch!

      I said, “Can you see my lurker up there?”

      Then we heard someone behind us having a fit. We leaped up. Well, I did. Jas crashed to the floor. It was Dave the Laugh, absolutely beside himself with laughing. I said, “Er … I was just …”

      Jas was going, “I was just looking up … Georgia’s nose for … a … bit …”

      Dave the L said, “Of course you were. Please don’t explain, it will only spoil it for me.”

      He walked along with us. I couldn’t help remembering snogging him. And using him as a Red Herring. But he was funny. And he wasn’t snidey. Just laughing a lot. In a Dave the Laugh way.

      After he went off I said to Jas, “He seems to have forgiven me for being a callous minx, doesn’t he? He is quite groovy-looking, isn’t he?”

      Uh-oh I hope I am not becoming a nymphowhatsit. It is true though, I did think he looked quite cool. And a laugh. He’s going to The Stiff Dylans gig this weekend. I said to Jas, “Do you think that he is going with Ellen?”

      Why do I care? I am the girlfriend of a Sex God.

      Still, I wonder if he is going with Ellen …

       German 11:15 a.m.

      Whilst Herr Kamyer was writing something pointless on the blackboard about Helga and Helmut I did an excellent improvised impression of a boy’s trouser snake.

      Everyone said it was very lifelike.

      Hockey

      3:00 p.m.

      Adolfa (Sportsführer and part-time lesbian) has been relatively quiet this term. She had extravagantly big shorts on today. As we got changed I said to Jas, “It’s you she wants, Jas. I know because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Look at the size of her shorts, they are JUST like your knickers.” Jas hit me.

       Jas’s place

       6:00 p.m.

      Doing homework (peanut butter sandwich-making and hairstyling) with Ellen, Jas and Rosie. We were discussing the arrangements for The Stiff Dylans gig. Because of some trivial French test coming up all of our parents have turned into elderly Nazis. We can’t go out late during the week and we have to be picked up by our Loonleaders (dads).

      I casually found out that Ellen is meeting Dave the Laugh at the gig. I said, “Oh, are you a sort of item, then?”

      She went a bit girlish. “Well, you know, he said, ‘Are you going to the gig?’ and I said, ‘Yeah,’ and he said, ‘See you there, then.’ ”

      Rosie said, “Yes, but does he mean ‘If you are going I’ll see you there because you will be, like, THERE to see’? Or does he mean ‘See you there, like in see YOU there’?”

      Ellen didn’t know, she was in a state of confusiosity. Join the club, I say.

      As I wandered home I was thinking. One thing is true. He is not making the effort to meet her before the gig. Hahahahaha.

      Home

      7:00 p.m.

      Hang on a minute, though, Robbie has not arranged to meet me before the gig either. Is he expecting me to just turn up because I am, like, his official girlfriend?

      Oh well, it’s only Wednesday, he’ll call me and sort it out. Probably.

       10:00 p.m.

      No call from Robbie.

      I started softening up Dad for Saturday.

      “Vati, you know how hard I have been working at school … well …”

      He interrupted me. “Georgia, if this is leading up to any suggestion of quids leaping out of my pocket into your purse … forget it.”

      What an old miser.

      “Vati, it’s not to do with money. It’s just that my friends and I are going to a gig on Saturday night and …”

      “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

      “It’s all right, Dad, I’ll just, you know, come home with the rest of the gang and …”

      He’s going to pick me up at midnight. It’s hardly worth going out. I made him promise me that he’d crouch down behind the wheel and not get out of the car.

      Midnight

      SG hasn’t called me. How often should he call me? How often would I call him? About every five minutes seems right.

      Maybe that’s too keen. It implies I haven’t got any sort of life.

      I haven’t.

       1:00 a.m.

      OK, every quarter of an hour.

       1:15 a.m.

      It says in my Men Are From Mars book that boys don’t need to talk as much as girls. The СКАЧАТЬ