‘Knocked out by my nunga-nungas.’. Louise Rennison

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СКАЧАТЬ things in a basket (Angus and Libby). After two hours of trying to find the cottage and listening to Vati ramble on about the “wonderful countryside” I was ready to pull Dad’s head off, steal the car and drive, drive like the wind back home. The fact that I can’t drive stopped me, but actually I’m sure that, once behind the wheel, I could pick it up. How difficult can it be, anyway? All Dad does is swear at other cars and put his foot down on some pedal thing.

      Finally arrived at some crap cottage in the middle of nowhere. The nearest shop is twelve hundred miles away (well, a fifteen-minute walk).

      The only person younger than one hundred and eighty is a half-witted boy (Jock McThick) who hangs around the village on his pushbike(l).

      In the end, out of sheer desperadoes, I went outside after supper and asked Jock McThick what him and his mates did at nights. (Even though I couldn’t give two short flying sporrans.)

      He said, “Och.” (Honestly, he said that.) “We go awa’ doon to Alldays, you ken.” (I don’t know why he called me Ken but that is the mystery of the Scottish folk.)

      It was like being in that film Braveheart. In fact, in order to inject a bit of hilariosity into an otherwise tragic situation, I said, when we first saw the cottage, “You can tak’ our lives, but you cannae tak’ our freedom!!”

       1:15 a.m.

      It’s a nightmare of noise in this place: hooting, yowling, snuffling … and that’s just Vati! No, it’s the great Scottish wildlife. Bats and badgers and so on … Haven’t they got homes to go to? Why do creatures wake up at night? Do they do it deliberately to annoy me? At least Angus is happy here though, now he is not under house arrest. It was about one a.m. before he came in and curled up in his luxurious cat headquarters (my bed).

       Saturday October 23rd 10:30 a.m.

      Vati back as Loonleader with a vengeance. He came barging into “my” (hahahahahaha) room at pre-dawn, waggling his new beard about. I was sleeping with cucumber slices on my eyes for beautosity purposes so at first I thought I had gone blind in the night. I nearly did go blind when he ripped open my curtains and said, “Gidday gidday, me little darlin’!” in a ludicrous Kiwi-a-gogo twang.

      I wonder if he has finally snapped? He was very nearly bonkers before he went to Kiwi-a-gogo land and having his shoes blown off by a rogue bore can’t have helped.

      But hey, El Beardo is, after all, my vati and that also makes him Vati of the girlfriend of a Sex God. So I said quite kindly, “Guten morgan, Vati, could you please go away now? Thank you.”

      I think his beard may have grown into his ears however, because he ignored me and opened the window. He was leaning out, breathing in and out and flapping his arms around like a loon. His bottom is not tiny. If a very small pensioner was accidentally walking along behind him they may think there had been an eclipse of the sun.

      “Aahh, smell that air, Georgie. Makes you feel good to be alive, doesn’t it?”

      I pulled my duvet round me. “I won’t be alive for much longer if that freezing air gets into my lungs.”

      He came and sat on the bed. Oh God, he wasn’t going to hug me, was he? Fortunately Mutti yelled up the stairs, “Bob, breakfast is ready!” and he lumbered off.

      Breakfast is ready? Has everyone gone mad? When was the last time Mum made breakfast?

      Anyway, ho hum pig’s bum, I could snuggle down in my comfy holiday bed and do dreamy-dreamy about snogging the Sex God in peace now.

      Wrong.

      Clank, clank. “Gergy! Gingey! It’s me!!”

      Oh Blimey O’ReiIley’s trousers, it was Libby, mad toddler from Planet of the Loons. When my adorable little sister came in I couldn’t help noticing that although she was wearing her holiday sunglasses, she wasn’t wearing anything else. She was also carrying a pan. I said, “Libby, don’t bring the pan into …”

      But she ignored me and clambered up into my bed, shoving me aside to make room. She has got hefty little arms for a child of four. She said, “Move up, bad boy, Mr Pan tired.”

      Then she and Mr Pan snuggled up against me. I almost shot out of bed, her bottom was so cold … and sticky … urghh.

      What is it with my room? You would think that at least on holiday I might be able to close my door and have a bit of privacy to do my holiday project (fantasy snogging), but oh no. There will probably be a coachload of German tourists in lederhosen looking round my room in a minute.

      I’m going to go and find the local locksmith (Hamish McLocksmith) and get two huge bolts for my door, and you can only get in by appointment.

      Which I will never make.

       11:00 a.m.

      Libby has clanked off with Mr Pan, thank the Lord. I don’t like to be near her naked botty for long as something always lurks out of it.

      I think Mum and Dad are playing “catch” downstairs. I can hear them running up and down giggling “Gotcha” and so on.

      Sacré bloody bleu. Très pathetico. Vati’s only been back for eighty-nine hours and I feel more than a touch of the sheer desperadoes coming on.

       11:10 a.m.

      Still, who cares about his parentosity and beardiness? Who cares about being dragged to the crappest, most freezing place known to humanity? I, Georgia Nicolson, offspring of loons am, in fact, the GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD. Yessssss!!!! Fab and treble marvellosos. I have finally trapped a Sex God. He is mine miney mine mine. There is a song in my heart and do you know what it is? It is that well-known chart topper, “Robbie, oh Robbie, I … er … lobbie you!!! I do I do!!!”

       1:00 p.m.

      Hung around, sitting on the gate watching the world go by. Unfortunately it didn’t. All that went by were some loons talking gibberish (Scottish) and a ferret.

      Then Jock McThick or whatever his name is loomed up on his bike. He has an unfortunate similarity to Spotty Norman, i.e. acne of the head. This is not enhanced by him being a ginger nob.

      Jock said, “Me and the other lads meet oop at aboot nine just ootside Alldays. Mebbe see you later.”

      Yeah, right, see you in the next life, don’t be late. Nothing is going to make me sadly go and hang out with Jock and his mates.

       8:59 p.m.

      Vati suggested we had a singsong round the piano tonight and started off with “New York, New York”.

       9:00 p.m.

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