‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’. Louise Rennison
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Название: ‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’
Автор: Louise Rennison
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007338061
isbn:
Confessions of Georgia Nicolson 6
‘…Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers.’
Louise Rennison
In memory and love for the boys, Oscar Kakoschka and Arthur Hewlings. God bless.
Luuurve to the fabbest family a girl could have: Mutti, Vati, Soshie, Johnboy, Eduardo, Hons, Bibbity, Kimbo, Jolly, Arrow, Millie and the three remaining chickens. Oh, and welcome to the new diggy dog, Billy. Big luuurve to the Kiwi-a-gogo and Isle of Wight branches of mayhem. And of course to the Ace mates: Salty Dog ‘of course you haven’t broken it you fool otherwise you couldn’t speak’ Pringle, Mizz Morgan, Elton, Jimjams, Guildford calling, Phil and Ruth in Froggland, Jeddbox, Big Fat Bobbins, Kim ‘you can have that one mate’ and Sandy, Jools and the Mogul, Lozzer or Mrs Bridges as I know you, Ian the computer, Jenks, the Hewlings and the Willans (yes that means you, Candy), Baggy Aggiss and Jo, B and J, Mrs H and Dan, Alan ‘it’s not a perm’ Davies, Jo Good(ish). And of course to Stewpot and Sue (please no more jokes about snot). Ay up to the Northern branch: The Cock, Ann-marie, Katy and Patrick; to the Ace Gang from Parklands: Rosie, Barbara, Christine C, Linda, Ali and everyone. To Chris the Organ. Love to the Captain and thank you for letting me use your togglestick thing. To the St Nicks crew for everything, and in particular to Dezza the vicar for joy and love and the APPALLING jokes about farting. (And also to young Phil and family…just love, nothing to do with farting.) Also a big kiss to the new cruise mates: Bungalow Steve, Dancing Steve, Simon the Rock God and Adéle, Ironing Tony and Marg. Big luuurve to Mirella, Dave and the very gorgey Mattea. Thank you to Karen Cunningham for the lovely frocks and to that Eve the Minx. Finally thank you to everyone at my work family at HarperCollins: the divine Gillie, fabby Sally Martin and groovy Sally Gritten; to Caroline and all in the publicity and design departments – what a beyond marvy job you have all done. Thank you to Emma at Midas. Bye bye Dom. And as always best love to the Empress. The end. P.S. Hahahaha you thought I had finally shut up, didn’t you? But finally, thank you to all the fabby readers of my books and all of you who have sent me such lovely letters (and now and again inscribed thongs…). I luuuurve you all. I do. I think this is everything…hopefully! Luuurve Lou xxxxxxx.
Table of Contents
Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.
Howdy, Hamburger-a-gogo land! Brace yourselves for a knicker invasion!!!
Let the nuddy-pants bison disco inferno dance commence!
Bum bum bum bum oley bum bum, and good afternoon officer
“What PANTS through yonder window breaks?”
Dear Chumettes and Chums,
I hope you are all righty as two all righty things. I am, though ONCE AGAIN I am full of exhaustiosity. I have been as busy as a bee (two bees) finishing my latest oeuvre. Oh yes, AND I have been to Hamburger-a-gogo land to see for myself the nation that cannot be bothered to put the “i” in the second half of words…like aluminium, for instance, which those lazy cats spell aluminum. Where would we be if none of us could be bothered to finish off our words properly? I’ll tell you where we would be, we would be up shi cree without a padd…that’s where.
As you will see, I have reached new heights of sophisticosity in this latest of my oevvres…boys, lipstick, snogging, snogging, red-bottomosity, jokes about sausages and pants – the list is endless.
I do this only because I love you.
Georgia
p.s. You don’t know what oevvre means, do you?
p.p.s. You think it is french for eggs, don’t you? Like oeuf.
p.p.p.s. You think I have been saying that I have just finished writing my new egg.
p.p.p.p.s. Look it up in the glossary, you lazy minxes, I am far too tired to explain. I have to go and have a lie down on my snogging emporium (bean bag)…zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.
Saturday May 7th
Sun shining like a big yellow shining…er…warmey planet on fire thing.
Yesssssssss!
10:05 a.m.
I am quite literally not wandering lonely as a clud, in fact I am treading lightly in the Universe of the Very Nearly Quite Happy.
10:10 a.m.
Something full of miraculosity has happened. My vati, world renowned fool and paid-up member of the Big Twit club, has for once in his entire life accidentally done something good. We are going to Hamburger-a-gogo land! Honestly.
And guess who is there already? Besides a lot of people in huge psychedelic shorts and that bloke who is half-chicken half-colonel. I’ll tell you who is there, the Luuurve God is there! Masimo, the Italian Stallion, has gone to visit his olds, leaving me – his new, lurker-free-nearly almost girlfriend – back here in Billy Shakespeare land. So he thinks! Imagine how thrilled he will be when I pop up and say “Howdy!”, or whatever it is they say over there.
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