The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10. Louise Rennison
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care.) If I counted up the number of times I’ve been tutted at…I could open a tutting shop. It’s just SO not fair…How can my parents take me away from my mates and make me go to New Zealand? Who goes to New Zealand?
In the end, when I pointed out how utterly useless as a mum she was, she lost her rag and SHOUTED at me.
“Go to your room right now!”
I said, “All right, I’ll go to my ROOM!! I WILL go to my room!! And do you know what I’ll be doing in my room? No you don’t, so I’ll tell you! I’ll be just BEING in my room. That’s all. Because there is nothing else to do!!!!!!”
Then I just slammed off. Left her there. To think about what she has done.
Unfortunately it means that I am in my bed and it is only six o’clock.
7:00 p.m.
Oh Robbie, where are you now? Well, I know where you are now actually, but is this any time to go away on a footie trip?
On the bright side I am now the girlfriend of a Sex God.
7:15 p.m.
On the dark side, the Sex God doesn’t know his new girlfriend is going to be forced to go to the other (useless) side of the universe in a week’s time.
7:18 p.m.
I can’t believe that after all the time it has taken to trap the SG, all the make-up I have had to buy, the trailing about, popping up unexpectedly when he was out anywhere…all the planning…all the dreaming– it’s gone to waste. I finally get him to snog me (number six) and he says, “Let’s see each other but keep it quiet for a bit.” And at that moment, with classic poo timing, Mutti says, “We’re off to New Zealand next week.”
My eyes are all swollen up like mice eyes from crying. Even my nose is swollen. It’s not small at the best of times, but now it looks like I’ve got three cheeks. Marvellous. Thank you, God.
9:00 p.m.
I’ll never get over this.
9:10 p.m.
Time goes very slowly when you are suicidal.
9:15 p.m.
I put sunglasses on to hide my tiny mincers. They are new ones that Mum bought me in a pathetic attempt to interest me in going to Kiwi-a-gogo land. They looked quite cool, actually. I looked a bit like one of those French actresses who smoke Gauloise and cry a lot in between snogging Gerard Depardieu. I tried a husky French accent in the mirror.
“And zen when I was, how you say? Une teen-ager, mes parents, mes treès, treès horriblement parents, take me to Nouvelle Zelande. Ahh merde!”
At which point I heard Mum coming up the stairs and had to leap into bed. She popped her head round the door and said, “Georgie…are you asleep?”
I didn’t say anything. That would teach her.
As she left she said, “I wouldn’t sleep in the sunglasses if I were you, they might get embedded in your head.”
What kind of parenting was that? Mum’s medical knowledge was about as good as Dad’s DIY. And we had all seen his idea of a shed. Before it fell down on Uncle Eddie.
Eventually I was drifting off into a tragic snooze when I heard shouting coming from next door’s garden. Mr and Mrs Next Door were out there, banging and shouting and throwing things about. Is this really the time for noisy gardening? They have no consideration for those who might want to sleep because they have tragedy in their life. I felt like opening the window and shouting, “Garden more quietly, you loons!”
But then I couldn’t be bothered getting out of my snuggly bed of pain.
Police raid
Mucho excitemondo
12:10 a.m.
When the doorbell rang I shot out of bed and looked down the stairs. Mum had opened the door wearing a nightdress that you could quite easily see through! Even if you didn’t want to. Which I didn’t. She has no pride. There were a couple of policemen standing at the door. The bigger one was holding a sack up in front of him at arm’s length and his trousers were shredded round the ankles.
“Is this your bloody cat?” he enquired, not very politely for a public servant.
Mum said, “Well, I…er.”
I ran down the stairs and went to the door.
“Good evening, constable. This cat, is it about the size of a small Labrador?”
He said, “Yes.”
I nodded encouragingly and went on. “And has it got tabby fur and a bit of its ear missing?”
PC Plod said, “Er…yes.”
And I said, “No, it’s not him then, sorry.”
Which I thought was very funny indeed. The policeman didn’t.
“This is a serious business, young lady.”
Mum was doing her tutting thing again, and combining it with head shaking and basooma adjusting. Deeply unattractive. I thought the policeman might be distracted by her and say, “Go and put some clothes on, madam,” but he didn’t, he just kept going on at me.
“This thing has had your neighbours penned up in their greenhouse for an hour. They managed to dash into the house eventually but then it rounded up their poodles.”
“Yes, he does that. He is half Scottish wildcat. He hears the call of the wilds sometimes and then he…”
“You should keep better control of it.”
He went moaning on in a policemany way for hours and hours. I said, as patiently as I could, although I had enough things to think about as it was, “Look, I’m being made to go to Whangamata by my parents. It is at the other, more useless, side of the universe. It is in New Zealand. Have you seen Neighbours? Is there nothing you can do for me?”
My mum gave me her worst look and said, “Don’t start, Georgia, I’m not in the mood.”
The policeman didn’t seem “in the mood” either. He said, “This is a serious warning. You keep this thing under control otherwise we will be forced to take sterner measures.”
Mum was hopeless as per usual. She started smiling and fiddling with her hair.
“I’m really sorry to have troubled you, inspector. Would you like to come in and have a nightcap or something?”
It was so EMBARRASSING. He probably thought we ran a brothel in our spare time. The “inspector” was all smiling and he said, “That’s very kind of you, madam, but we have to get on. Protecting the public from vicious criminals, dangerous moggies, and so on.”
I didn’t say anything as I took the wiggling sack, I just looked ironically at his chewed trousers.
Mum went BERSERK about Angus. She said, “He’ll have to go.”
I said, “Oh yes, perfect, just take everything that I love and destroy it. Just think of your own self and make me go halfway round the universe and lose the only boy I love. You can’t just leave Sex Gods, you know, they have to be kept under constant surveillance and…”
She had gone into her bedroom.
Angus strolled out of the bag and strutted around the kitchen looking for a snack. He was purring like two tanks. Libby wandered in all sleepy with her blankin’. Her night-time nappy was bulging round her knees. The last