The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10. Louise Rennison
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5:00 p.m.
She didn’t ring back. Typical.
My room.
In bed
10:30 p.m.
Mum and Libby came back in. When they popped their heads round my door I pretended to be asleep. Libby crept over quietly– well, her idea of creeping quietly, which is the loudest thing I have ever heard.
Mum whispered, “Give you big sister a kiss, Libbs, because she’s upset.”
Then I felt this wet thing sucking on the end of my nose. I shot up in bed. I said, “Does anyone else’s sister kiss like that? Why is she so obsessed with my nose?”
11:15 p.m.
After the nose-sucking incident I am as awake as two awake things. Just gazing out of my bedroom window into the dark night. When you gaze at the stars it makes you feel really small. We have been discussing infinity in Physics: you know, how there is no end to the universe, and so on. Herr Kamyer said there might even be a parallel universe to the one we live on somewhere out there. There might be another Georgia Nicolson sitting in her bedroom, thinking, What on earth is the point?
11:17 p.m.
Another Georgia Nicolson who is being forced to leave a Sex God and all her mates (and this does not include Jas). To go to the other side of the world. Double merde.
11:29 p.m.
I’ve just had a horrible thought. If there is a parallel me, there will be a parallel Wet Lindsay. And a parallel Nauseating P. Green. And two pairs of Mr Next Door’s shorts. Good grief.
Thursday July 22nd
Day before the last day of my life
Hunger protest
2:00 p.m.
Even though it is quite obvious even to the VERY dim that I am not eating. Mum hasn’t noticed. She said, “Do you want some oven chips and beans?”
And I said, “I will never eat again.”
She just said, “OK,” and tucked in with Libbs.
I had to creep into the kitchen and finish off the chips she had left.
4:00 p.m.
In my room. Practising feeling lonely and friendless in preparation for the months ahead.
4:05 p.m.
I haven’t heard from my so-called mates for days. Well, since this morning, anyway. I don’t need to practise. I AM lonely and friendless.
4:10 p.m.
I went into the front room to watch TV. Libby was snoozing but woke up when I sat down. She stood up on her little fat legs and put her arms up to me.
“I love my Georgie, I lobe my Georgie.”
She made it into a little song:
“Haha, I lobe my Georgie,
I love my little Girgie, Gingie, Gingie.
Hahahaha. Ginger, I love Ginger…my Ginger.”
In her tiny mad brain I am half cat, half sister. I picked her up and we snuggled down on the sofa together. At least I have someone who loves me in this family, even if she is bonkers.
Mum came in and said, “You look really sweet together. It only seems a little while ago that you were that size, Georgie. Dad and I used to take you to the park and you used to have a little hat with earflaps that were like cats’ paws. You were such a sweet little girl.”
Oh good Lord, here we go. It will be, “How did my little girl get so big…?”
Sure enough, Mum’s eyes got all watery and she started stroking my hair (very annoying) and doing the “How did my little Georgie get so…” routine.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on where you were sitting) Libby let off the smelliest, loudest fart known to humanity. It came out of her bum-oley with such force that she lifted off my knee– like a hovercraft. Even she looked surprised by what had come out of her.
I pushed her off my knee and leaped up. “Libby, that is disgusting!!!! I blame you, Mum, for the bean extravaganza. It’s not natural, the amount of stuff that comes out of such a little girl.”
Phwoaar…
Grandad farted once when we were out in the street. Really loudly. When he looked around behind him there was a woman walking her dachshund dog. You know, those little sausage dog things. The woman heard Grandad’s fart (who didn’t?) and she said, “Well, really!!”
And Grandad said, “I’m terribly sorry, madam, I seem to have shot the legs off your dog.” Which was possibly the last semi-sane thing he said. I’d still rather stay here with him than go to Kiwi-a-gogo.
I said to Mum, “Well, can I go and live with Grandad, then?”
And she said, “He lives in an old people’s home.”
And I said, “So?”
But she is so mad and unreasonable she wouldn’t even discuss it.
11:30 p.m.
All my mates came and did a candlelit vigil underneath my bedroom window. Sven wore a paper hat. I don’t know why. Does it matter? It was just his Swedish way of saying goodbye. They all sang “Mon Merle a Perdu une Plume” as a tribute. Well, they sang the first verse before Mr and Mrs Next Door came and complained that they were frightening their dogs. Jas said, “I’m going to stay silently here all night.”
But then Sven said, “Chips, now.” And they all went off.
It was so sad.
Friday July 23rd
The day the world ends
Midday
Decided to have to be dragged out of bed by the police so that the world will know how I have been treated. I have tied myself to the bedhead with my dressing-gown sleeves. I can imagine the newspaper headlines: Promising hockey superstar teenager fights attempts to force her to Kiwi-a-gogo land. I’ve put on a hint of make-up just in case, for the photos.
12:10 p.m.
Mum surprised me by bursting into my room all flushed like a pancake.
“Guess what?!!!! We’re not going to New Zealand because your dad is coming home!!!!!”
I said, “What?”
She was hugging me and didn’t seem to notice I was like a rigid hamster in bed.
I was a bit dazed. “Vati, home, coming?”
Great news!!!!!!!!
1:00 p.m.
My dad has had his shoes blown off by a rogue bore!!!!! All this hot steam shot out of something he was fixing and he leaped off and broke his foot. Mum has put her foot down with a firm hand and said she will not take her children to a place where steam shoots out of the ground.
She said to me, “It’s hard enough getting you to get out of bed as it is, I’m not giving you more excuses.” Which is incredibly unfair, but I didn’t say anything, because inside I was saying “Yessssss!!!!!!”
The only fly in the manger