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

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       4:30 p.m.

      On my bed in rollers. V attractive.

      Reading my book Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff for Teens to cheer me up and calm me down.

       4:45 p.m.

      Hey, there is a chapter about hair! Honestly! How freaky-deaky is that? It’s called “Be OK with your bad hair day”.

       5:00 p.m.

      The short and short of it is that we are obsessed with our looks and imagine that other people really care about what our hair looks like. But they don’t!!

      So that is OK, then. Took out my rollers.

       5:10 p.m.

      Vati ponced into my room (not knocking, of course) and said, “Tea is on the … what in the name of arse have you done to your head? You look like you have been electrocuted.”

      I hate my dad. Twice.

       5:30 p.m.

      Time for my pore-tightening mask. (Because there is nothing worse than loose pores.)

      Hmm. I lay there with my pores tightening.

      In the book it recommends yoga for inner harmony. I must start doing it again.

       5:35 p.m.

      Mind you, the author says he is “super glad” that he took up yoga at a young age.

       5:37 p.m.

      Perhaps he is a “super tosser”?

      5:39 p.m.

      Or am I being “super critical”?

      Who knows?

      Phoned Jools with my pore-tightening mask still on, trying not to crack it. Dad was pretending to be an orangutan (not much pretending needed) as a “laugh”. I ignored him.

      I said to Jas, “Nyut nar nu naringj?”

      “Purple v-necked top. Purple hipsters.”

      Hmm.

      “Phoned Rosie. “Nut nar nu noing nid nor nhair?”

      “Pigtails.”

      Crikey. We seem to be running the gamut of style from hippie to Little Bo Peep and beyond.

       6:20 p.m.

      I’ve tried on every single thing in my wardrobe. Oh buggery, I am in a state of confusiosity. I wish I had a style counsellor. I’m going to get one when I appear on record awards ceremonies with the Sex God. It won’t be Elton John’s style counsellor. It will be someone normal. And stylish. And a good counsellor.

       6:30 p.m.

      I have decided to go for the radically sophisticated look for the gig, i.e. all black. With for special effect, black accessories (providing I can sneak out with Mum’s Chanel bag without her noticing).

       6:35 p.m.

      I’m wearing a V-necked black leather vest, short skirt and boots.

      What does that say about me? Casual sophisticate? Inner vixen struggling to get out? Girlfriend of a Sex God? Or twit?

       6:38 p.m.

      I wonder what SG will be wearing? What does it matter? We are all in the nuddy-pants under our clothes.

      I LOVE his mouth. It’s so yummy and sort of curly and sexy. And it’s mine all mine!!! Mind you, I love his hair, so black and gorgey. And his eyes … that deep deep blue … mmmmm … dreamsville. And his eyelashes. And his arms. And his tongue … In fact, there isn’t one bit of him I don’t like. Of all the bits I’ve seen, anyway.

      I wonder what his favourite bit of me is? I should emphasis it. My eyes are quite nice. My nose, yes well, we’ll just skip over that. Mouth … mmm, a bit on the generous side, but that can be a good thing.

       6:45 p.m.

      Phoned Jas.

      “Jas, what do you think is my best feature? Lips? Smile? Casual sophisticosity?”

      “Well, I don’t know what to say now, because I was going to say your cheeks.”

      Good grief.

       6:50 p.m.

      Phoned Jas again.

      “What do you think on the basooma front? You know, emphasise them, do the, ‘Yes, I’ve got big nunga-nungas but I’m proud of them!’ or strap them down and don’t breathe out much all night?”

      That’s when Vati went ballisticisimus about me being on the phone.

      “Why the hell do you talk rubbish to Jas on the phone when she is coming round here in a minute and you can talk rubbish to her without it costing me a fortune?!!!!”

      It’s not me that talks rubbish. It’s him. He just shouts rubbish at me. He’s like Hawkeye with a beard.

      I said to Mutti, “Why doesn’t the man you live with go for a job as a combination cat molester and teacher?”

      Beautosity headquarters

      7:00 p.m.

      Jas came round to my house for us to walk to the clock tower together. Also I needed her for a cosmetic emergency. I had forgotten to paint my toenails and my skirt was so tight I couldn’t bend my leg up far enough to get to my toes. I suppose I could have taken my skirt off but what are friends for?

      I am too giddy and girlish with excitement to paint straight anyway. We went into the front room, which is warmer than my room – mind you, so is Siberia (probably). Vati was watching the news. Huh. Jas started on nail duty. I thought a subtle metallic purple would СКАЧАТЬ