The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10. Louise Rennison
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I mean it.
7:15 p.m.
Jas phoned.
“Gee.”
“Yes, who is that?” (Even though I knew who it was.)
“It’s me, Jas.”
“Oh.”
“Look, you could have come to the cinema with us but you were in Och-aye land.”
“Huh.”
“And, well, it was just, you know, couples, and well, I don’t think Robbie would have wanted to come. He doesn’t really hang out with Tom much, you know, Robbie’s got his mates from The Stiff Dylans and because he’s got the band and …”
She dribbled on for ages.
Midnight
The nub and gist of Jas’s pathetic apology is that I am going out with an older Sex God. We came to an understanding. The understanding is that she has to show her remorse: she has to be my slavey girl for three days. And do everything I
say.
Tuesday November 2nd
Lunchtime
I made slavey girl give me a piggyback to the loo. Hawkeye said we were being “ridiculous”.
8:00 p.m.
The Sex God was waiting for me outside school!!!! How cool is that? And he was in his cool car. Fortunately I had abstained from doing anything ridiculous with my beret. So I was able to get into his car only having to concentrate on not letting my nostrils flare too much … or knocking him out with my nunga-nungas. SHUT UP, BRAIN!!!
10:00 p.m.
I must stop being jelloid woman every time I see the Sex God.
Why oh why did I say “I’m away laughing on a fast camel” instead of goodbye? What is the matter with me?
However, on the whole, taking things by and large … Yessssssss!!!!!
I live at Snogging Headquarters. My address is:
Georgia Nicolson
Snogging Headquarters
Snog Lane
Snoggington
10:15 p.m.
Phoned Jas.
“Jas, I’ve done car snogging, have you done that?”
“No … I’ve done bike snogging.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“It’s just not the same.”
“It is.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Well there are still four wheels involved.”
Good grief.
11:00 p.m.
In the car this afternoon Robbie put his head on my knee and sang me one of his songs. It was called, “I’m Not There”. I didn’t tell Radio Jas that bit.
I never really know what to do with myself when he does his song singing. Maybe nod my head in time to the rhythm?
How attractive is that from upside down?
And also if you were passing the car as an innocent passer-by you would just see my head bobbling around.
1:00 a.m.
Libby woke me up when she pattered and clanked into my room. When she had got everybody into my bed she said, in between little sobs, “Ohh, there was a big bad man, big uggy man.”
She cuddled up really tightly and wrapped her legs round me. I gave her a big cuddle and said, “It’s OK, Libbs, it was just a dream, let’s think about something nice. What shall we dream about?”
She said, “Porridge.”
She can be so sweet. I gave her a little kiss on her cheek and she smiled at me (scary). Then she ripped the pillow from underneath my head so that Pantalitzer and scuba-diving Barbie could be comfy.
Wednesday November 3rd
7:00 a.m.
Woke up with a crick in my neck and a sort of airtank shape in my cheek where scuba-diving Barbie had been.
Dad came into the kitchen in a suit. Blimey.
No one said anything. Apart from Libby, who growled at him. It turns out that it wasn’t a nightmare she had last night, she just woke up and caught sight of Dad in his jimjams.
Mum was in her usual morning dreamworld. As she came out of her bedroom getting ready for work she was wearing her bra and skirt and nothing else. I said, “Mum, please, I’m trying to eat.”
But then Vati did this GROTESQUE thing. He got hold of one of Mum’s nunga-nungas (honestly!) and sort of squeezed it and went, “Honk, honk!”
In the bathroom I was checking the back of my head and profile. (There’s a cabinet which has two mirrors on it. You can look through one and angle the other one so that you can look at the reflection of yourself sideways.) Then I put Mum’s magnifying mirror underneath and looked down at myself, because say the Sex God had been lying on my knees sort of looking up at me adoringly and singing (which he had), well I wanted to know what that looked like.
I wish I hadn’t bothered for two reasons.
Firstly when I looked down at the mirror I realised that my nose is GIGANTIC. It must have grown overnight. I looked like Gerard Depardieu. Which is not a plus if you are not a forty-eight-year-old French bloke.
Secondly you can definitely see my lurker from underneath.
8:18 a.m.
Jas was waiting for me at her gate. I was a bit aloof and full of maturiosity. Slavey girl said, “I’ve brought you a Jammy Dodger all to yourself.”
“You can’t treat me badly and then bribe me with a Jammy Dodger, Jas.”
She can though, because I was soon munching away.
On the way up the road I said to Jas, “Do you think my nose is larger than it was yesterday?”
She said, “Don’t be silly, noses don’t grow.”
“Well everything else does – hair, legs, arms … nunga-nungas. Why should your nose be left out?”
She wasn’t a bit interested. I went on, “And also can you see I have a lurker up my left nostril?”
She said, “No.”
“But say you were sort of looking up my nose, from underneath.”
She hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. She has the imagination of a pea. Half a pea. We were just passing through the park and I tried to explain.
“Well, say I was singing. And you were the Sex God and you were lying with your head in my lap. Looking up adoringly. Marvelling at my enormous talent. Waiting for the appropriate moment to leap on me and snog me to within