Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 (12 page)

Oh, joy. The
pièce de résistance
.
Merde
, poo and triple bum.

Alison Bummer had a draw on her fag and then went off into a sort of hacking coughing fit.

I said, “Still in tip-top physical condition then, Alison, I'm pleased to see.”

Alison gave me a very unattractive look (which is actually the only look she has). And I was just walking off when I heard a little voice say, “Can I get out now? It's almost end of break and my knees are really hurting.”

Jackie said, “I'd like to let you out, but I haven't finished my fag yet.” And I realized the Bummers had some poor little first formers underneath the coats on chair duty.

I turned back. “Let them out, you two.”

Jackie pretended to be really scared. “Oh, OK then, Georgia, because we are sooooooo very very frightened of you.”

Alison joined in. “Yes, you might hurt us with your enormous nose.”

I looked at them and I thought, Right, that is it. I have been pushed to the brink of my tether. My hockey career might be over, but there is still
something I can do for England. (And no I did not mean leave it.)

I marched back so quickly to school that the stalkers had to almost run to keep up with me.

They did catch me just as I was going into Slim's outer sanctum. “Gee, what are you doing?” Jas asked.

I said, “I'm going to tell Slim about Nauseating P. Green and the Bummers.”

Everyone said, “OhmyGod!!!”

Jools said, “They will kill you if they find out.”

Rosie said, “Slim might not trust you because of all the trouble you've been in.”

I said, with great dignosity, “I will have to take my chances, then.”

Then this really weird thing happened. Jas said, “I'm going to come in with you and tell what I know as well.” So I hugged her. She tried to get away from me and spoiled the moment by saying, “Well…you know…erm…I mean, I am a member of the Ramblers' Association and…”

She would have rambled on, but Rosie said, “Yes, I'll come in as well. I will be on a reindeer farm by summer anyway, so what do I have to lose?”

All the ace gang said they would come to tell Slim with me. Even Ellen stopped sniffling long enough to join us. We were like the Six Samurai or whatever it is. We could ride around the countryside wronging rights and so on.

Then Slim appeared like a wardrobe in a dress and I slightly changed my mind.

4:30 p.m.

Well, we did it. We snitched on the Bummers and they have been immediately suspended from school and the police went straight round to their houses. God knows what will happen next.

6:00 p.m.

I'll tell you what happened next. Nauseating P. Green and her mum came round to my house. OhmyGod, they know where I live!!! They were blubbing and carrying on in an alarming way.

Nauseating P. Green brought Hammy, her hamster, round to celebrate, which was a bit of a mistake because Angus took him off to play hide and seek with Naomi and the kids. But we
managed to find Hammy in the end and I think his fur may grow back.

The P. Greens left after several centuries of excruciating boredom and goldfishiness. But sadly it didn't end there. I have become a heroine in my own lunchtime.

Vati said, “I am really, really proud of you, my love.” I thought he was going to start blubbing.

Mum was hugging me. In fact, they both forgot they were not speaking to each other and they were BOTH hugging me. Then Libby joined in with Teddy and scuba-diving Barbie. I never thought the day would dawn when I would be the victim of a group hug.

I may never do another nice thing in my life—it really isn't worth it.

9:00 p.m.

Robbie rang. I started to tell him about my day. “Hi Robbie, honestly, WHAT a day I've had. Well, guess what happened. The Bummers were sitting on some first formers and—”

Robbie interrupted me. “Georgia, look, I have to see you tomorrow, it's quite serious.”

I said, “Have you broken a plectrum?”

But he didn't laugh.

midnight

Oh God. What fresh hell now?

saturday february 5th

I am meeting the Sex God at the bottom of the clock tower. Libby wanted to come with me and ran off with my makeup bag. She ran into the bathroom and held my bag over the loo, saying, “Me come.”

I had no time to negotiate, so…I just lied. “OK, go and get your welligogs on.”

She ambled off to get them and I snatched my makeup bag and escaped through the door. There will be hell to pay when I get home. In fact, I will be surprised if there is a home left by the time I get back.

I had to apply my makeup crouching behind our garden wall. I could see Mr. Across the Road looking at me. He should do some voluntary work—perhaps he could be a seeing-eye dog or something.

11:00 a.m.

Robbie was already at the clock tower when I got there. As soon as I arrived he pulled me to him, which was a bit of a shame as he was wearing a coat with quite big buttons and one went right up my nose. I didn't say anything, though.

He said, “Let's walk to the park. I want to go to that place where we first sat together. Do you remember?”

Oooh, how
romantico
. He sang his first song to me there with my head on his knees. (He was sitting down at the time, otherwise I would have looked ridiculous.)

On the way there Robbie didn't say anything. It makes me really nervy when people don't speak. Dad says it's because I don't have much going on in my own head, which is hilarious coming from someone who knows all the words to “New York, New York.”

When we got to the exact spot where we first kissed, Robbie looked at me. “Georgia, there isn't an easy way of saying this, but I'm going to have to go away.”

I said, “Hahahahaha…I know, to Hamburger-
a-gogo…and I'm coming too. I've been practicing saying ‘Have a nice day,' and I can very nearly say it without throwing up.” I rambled on, but he stopped me.

“Georgia, love, I'm not going to Los Angeles. That interview I went to was for a placement on an ecological farm in New Zealand. And I've got it. I'm going to go live there for a year. It will be really, really hard to leave you, but I know it's the right thing to do.”

“A placement…a…in…a…Kiwi-a-gogo…Maoris…sheep…the…it…I…”

in bed
crying
a lot

How can this be happening to me? After all I've been through. The Sex God said he realized it was a shallow, hollow facsimile of a sham to be a popstar.

I said, “We could recycle our caviar tins.”

But he was serious. I should have known when he turned up on his bike that something had gone horribly wrong.

1:30 p.m.

Kiwi-a-gogo land. Loads of sheep and bearded loons. And I am sure that the men would be just as bad.

Robbie flies off to Whakatane next week.

Next week.

Perhaps I am being paid back for having the Cosmic Horn.

1:35 p.m.

Robbie said maybe I could come over for a holiday when he was settled in. I cried and cried and tried to persuade him not to go, but he said this weird thing. He said, “Georgia, you know how much I like you, but you are only young, and I'm only young and we have to have some time to grow up before we settle down.” And even though I was really really blubby, I felt a funny kind of reliefiosity.

4:00 p.m.

Phoned Jas and told her. She said “OhmyGod” about a million times. Then she came round and stayed overnight with me. She said I could wear her Ramblers' badge, but I said no, thank you.

In the middle of the night, in the dark, I said to
her, “Jas, do you know what is weird?”

“What?”

“Well, you know I am on the brink of tragicosity and everything, but…well, I've got this sort of weird…weird…”

“What?”

“I'll tell you if you stop saying ‘what.'”

I could hear her chewing in the dark. What had she found to chew?

“I've got this weird feeling of reliefiosity.”

And she said, “What, like when you need a poo and then you have a poo?”

sunday february 6th

I've spoken to Robbie. He is upset, but he is definitely going.

He cried on the telephone.

5:30 p.m.

I am absolutely full of tragicosity. I went for a walk down to the square where the gang usually hangs out. I feel lonely as a clud.

 

Not lonely as a clud for long, because I bumped into Dave the Laugh, on his way to play snooker.
He said, “Hello, groovster. How are you?”

I said, “A bit on the poo and
merde
side, to be honest.”

“Yeah, me too. Do you fancy going down to the park and hanging out for a bit?”

He's really nice actually, almost normal, in fact, for a boy. He is upset that Ellen is upset, but he says it wouldn't be right to keep going out with her just because he felt sorry for her.

I said, “You are quite literally full of wisdomosity.”

I told him about the Robbie fandango.

He smiled at me. “So then, Sex Queen, you are not going to go to Los Angeles, you are going to go to Whakatane and raise elks with Robbie?”

in my room
10:00 p.m.

Everyone is out. Mutti and Vati have gone out on a “date” and Libby is staying at her friend Josh's for the night.

Dave the Laugh and I talked for ages. About life and the universe and everything. Yes, we did. And then…we SNOGGED again!!! I can't believe it!!! I am like Jekyll and Whatsit in babydoll pajamas.

10:05 p.m.

I must have the Cosmic Horn because of spring (even though it is February).

Dave the Laugh said we are only teenagers and we haven't been teenagers before, so how can we know what we are supposed to do.

He's right, although I haven't a clue what he is talking about. He said we should just live live live for the moment!!! Blow our Cosmic Horn and be done with it.

10:07 p.m.

I must do something. I feel like I am going to explode.

10:10 p.m.

Phoned Jas. “Jas.”

“Oui.”

“Do you ever get the urge?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, to flow free and wild.”

She was thinking. “Well, sometimes when Tom and I are alone in the house together.”

“Yes…?”

“We flick each other with flannels.”

“Jas, you keep talking on the telephone and I will send out for help.”

“It's good fun…what you do is—”

“Jas, Jas, guess what I am doing now.”

“Are you dancing?”

“Yes I am, my strange little pal. But what am I dancing in?”

“A bowl?”

“Jas, don't be silly. Concentrate. Try to get an image of me flowing wild and free.”

“Are you dancing in…your P.E. knickers?”

“
Non
…I am DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS!!!”

And we both laughed like loons on loon tablets.

 

I danced for ages round the house in my nuddy-pants. Also, I did this brilliant thing—I danced in the front window just for a second whilst Mr. Across the Road was drawing his curtains. He will never be sure if he saw a mirage or not.

That is the kind of person I am.

Not really the kind of person who goes and raises elks in Whakatane.

the end
midnight

Looking out of my bedroom window. (Partially dressed.)

I can see Angus, with a few of his sons and daughters, making an escape tunnel through Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road's hedge. He's still blowing his horn, even though he has no horn to blow.

 

Surely God wouldn't have invented red-bottomosity unless he was trying to tell me something. Perhaps He is saying, “Go forth, Georgia, and use your red bottom wisely.”

That will be it. So I can snuggle down now, safe in the sanctity of my own unique bottomosity.

Hang on a minute, who is that? By the lamppost? Oh, it's Mark Big Gob with his latest girlfriend, walking home. He must have dumped the midget and moved on to bigger things, because this one at least reaches his waist. Still, I cannot point the finger of shame at him. None of us is perfect. Although I don't think it's entirely necessary for his mouth to be as big as it is. He is like part bloke, part blue whale.

1:00 a.m.

Still looking out the window.

Perhaps I could have Dave the Laugh as an unserious boyfriend, and for diplomatic world relations–type stuff, also have that gorgey French boy who gave me the rose in gay Paree.

Hmmm. Here come Mutti and Vati, back from their night out.

So, I could have the Cosmic Horn for now. And I could save the Sex God for later!!

Perfect. Providing he doesn't get a Kiwi accent and start snogging sheep.

Mutti and Vati have got out of their car and although they are holding each other up, they are still not fighting, so all is still well with the world.

Hang on a minute. They're not holding each other up, they are snogging.

That is so sad. And disgusting.

 

So all's well that ends well in God's land.

I'll just say good-night to the stars. Good-night stars.

And the moon. Good-night moon, you gorgeous,
big, round, yellow, sexy thing.

Phew, I really have got the Cosmic Horn badly.

billio •
From the Australian outback. A billycan was something Aborigines boiled their goodies up in, or whatever it is they eat. Anyway, billio means boiling things up. Therefore, “my cheeks ached like billio” means—er—very achy. I don't know why we say it. It's a mystery, like many things. But that's the beauty of life.

 

Boboland •
As I have explained many, many times English is a lovely and exciting language full of sophisticosity. To go to sleep is “to go to bobos,” so if you go to bed you are going to Boboland. It is an Elizabethan expression (oh, OK then, Libby made it up and she can be unreasonably violent if you don't join in with her).

 

Boxing Day •
The day after Chrimboli Day (Christmas Day—keep up).

It is called Boxing Day because that is the day you are supposed to open your presents. You don't do it on Baby Jesus's birthday because that is when he is opening his presents (symbolically). How pleased he must have been to get some frankincense (not).

 

bum-oley •
Quite literally bottom hole. I'm sorry but you did ask. Say it proudly (with a cheery smile and a
Spanish accent).

 

Changing of the Guards •
Outside of Her Maj's pad (Buckingham Palace or Buck House as we call it) there are a load of blokes marching about with bearskins on their heads. They are guarding her against—er—stuff—the French, probably. After a bit they get tired and droopy and have to be changed for new ones.

 

Chrimbo/Chrimboli •
Christmas Day, really, but as you know, time is money.

 

Churchill Square •
A shopping center (mall) named after Sir Winston Churchill who won World War II. (Although my grandad said he won the war by parachuting into Germany and landing on Hitler's motorbike and overcoming him with native cunning and superior military skills. What you have to take into consideration is that my grandad is bonkers).

 

Cliff Richard's Y-Fronts •
Y-Fronts are boys' knickers, but they are not worn by any boy you would want to know. Cliff Richard is a living legend (who is now a Lord—or is it a Lady?).

 

clud •
This is short for cloud. Lots of really long boring poems and so on can be made much snappier by abbreviating words. So Tennyson's poem called “Daffodils” (or “Daffs”) has the immortal line “I wandered lonely as a clud.”

Ditto Rom and Jul. Or Ham. Or Merc. Of Ven.

 

coach •
Er…bus. Oh, I get it. You think that “coach”
is like a trainer-type person! Oh, I see now. You thought we climbed onto a person for our trip to gay Paree. No wonder you were on the edge of bamboozlement. You see in England coach means a bus as well as a trainer. It's a bit confusing. But we are allowed to say what we like because we made up English in the first place.

 

conk •
Nose. This is very interesting historically. A very long time ago (1066)—even before my grandad was born—a bloke called William the Conqueror (French) came to England and shot our King Harold in the eye. Typical. And people wonder why we don't like the French much. Anyway, William had a big nose and so to get our own back we called him William the Big Conkerer. If you see what I mean. I hope you do because I am exhausting myself with my hilariosity and historiosity.

 

David Beckham •
Of course you know who David Beckham is. He is the sensationally vain English football captain. He is married to Posh Spice. But we love the little scallywag (don't start pretending you don't know what scallywag means).

 

DIY •
Quite literally “Do It Yourself!” Rude when you think about it. Instead of getting someone competent to do things around the house (you know, like a trained electrician or a builder or a plumber), some vatis choose to do DIY. Always with disastrous results. (For example, my bedroom ceiling has footprints in it because my vati decided he would go up on the roof and
replace a few tiles. Hopeless.)

 

duffing up •
Duffing up is the female equivalent of beating up. It is not so violent and usually involves a lot of pushing with the occasional pinch.

 

duff •
useless

 

Edith Piaf •
Some French woman who used to sing
“Je ne regrette rien,”
which means she didn't regret anything. Which is ironic as she was only four foot high and French.

 

first footing •
Traditional Och Aye land madness. On the stroke of midnight on December 31st some complete fool (a vati) knocks on your door and gives you a lump of coal. No one knows why. Ask the Scottish folk. And whilst you are at it, ask them about sporrans. And deep fried pizza.

 

first former •
Kids of about eleven who have just started “big” school. They have shiny innocent faces, very tempting to slap.

 

form •
A form is what we call a class at English secondary schools. It is probably a Latin expression. Probably from the Latin
formus ignoramus.

 

fringe •
Goofy short bit of hair that comes down to your eyebrows. Someone told me that American-type people call them “bangs” but this is so ridiculously strange that it's not worth thinking about. Some people can look very stylish with a fringe (i.e., me) while others look
goofy (Jas). The Beatles started it apparently. One of them had a German girlfriend, and she cut their hair with a pudding bowl and the rest is history.

 

geoggers •
Geoggers is short for geography. Ditto blodge (biology) and lunck (lunch).

 

gusset •
Do you really not know what a gusset is? I do.

 

horn •
When you “have the horn” it's the same as “having the big red bottom.”

 

Isle of Man •
A ridiculous island in the sea in between Scotland and Ireland. You travel on a boat full of mad people being tossed about like a cork. Then you get there and it's full of people from Liverpool and the most exciting thing about it is that the cats don't have tails. Honestly.

 

Kiwi-a-gogo land •
New Zealand. “A-gogo land” can be used to liven up the otherwise really boring names of other countries. America, for instance, is Hamburger-a-gogo land. Mexico is Mariachi-a-gogo land and France is Frogs'-legs-a-gogo land.

 

Maths •
Mathematics.

 

Michael Parkinson •
He interviews people on a TV chat show. He has very nice gray hair and shiny suits. Like a badger. But without the big digging paws. As far as I know.

 

nicked •
stolen

 

nippy noodles •
Instead of saying “Good heavens, it's quite cold this morning,” you say “Cor—nippy noodles!!” English is an exciting and growing language. It is. Believe me. Just leave it at that. Accept it.

 

nub •
The heart of the matter. You can also say gist and thrust. This is from the name for the center of a wheel where the spokes come out. Or do I mean hub? Who cares. I feel a dance coming on.

 

nuddy-pants •
Quite literally nude-colored pants, and you know what nude-colored pants are? They are no pants. So if you are in your nuddy-pants you are in your no pants, i.e., you are naked.

 

nunga-nungas •
Basoomas. Girl's breasty business. Ellen's brother calls them nunga-nungas because he says that if you get hold of a girl's breast and pull it out and then let it go—it goes
nunga-nunga-nunga
. As I have said many, many times with great wisdomosity, there is something really wrong with boys.

 

Old Bill •
The police, a.k.a. “the filth” or “our brave lads in blue.” Depending on whether they can hear you or not.

 

piggies •
Pigtails. Or “bunches,” I think you call them. Like two little side ponytails in your hair. Only we think they look like pigtails. English people are obsessed with pigs; that is our strange beauty.

 

porkies •
Amusing(ish) Cockney rhyming slang. Pork pies = lies. Which is of course shortened to porkies.
Oh, that isn't shorter, is it? Well, you can't have everything.

 

prat •
A prat is a gormless oik. You make a prat of yourself by mistakenly putting both legs down one knicker leg or by playing air guitar at pop concerts.

 

rate •
To fancy someone. Like I fancy (or rate) the Sex God. And I certainly do fancy the SG as anyone with the brains of an earwig (i.e., not Jas) would know by now. Phew—even writing about him in the glossary has made me go all jelloid. And stupidoid.

 

R.E. •
Religious education.

 

Rolf Harris •
An Australian “entertainer” (not). Rolf has a huge beard and glasses. He plays the didgeridoo, which says everything in my book. He sadly has had a number of hit records, which means he is never off TV and will not go back to Australia. (His “records” are called “Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport,” etc.)

 

sledging •
Something you do in nippy noodles season. When it snows thickly enough to cover the ground you leap onto a bit of wood that has runners on it. Then you lie on the board (sledge) and skim, skim like a bird across the snow. In theory. In practice you leap onto the sledge and crash immediately into a tree.

 

spondulicks •
A Sudanese term for money. Possibly.

The reason we use it is because in olden days English people used to go to other countries where the weather was nicer (i.e., everywhere) and say to the
leaders of these other countries:

“Hello, what extremely nice weather you are having, do you like our flag?” And the other (not English) people would say: “Yes, it's very nice, is it a Union Jack?” And the old English people would reply: “Yes. Where is your flag?” And they would say: “We haven't got one actually.” And we'd say: “Oh dear. That means you have to give your country to us then.”

That is how we became world leaders and also how we got foreign words in our language.

By the way, it is a very good job that I have historosity at my fingertips; otherwise certain people (i.e., you) would feel hopelessly dim.

 

sporrans •
Ah, I'm glad you asked me about this because it lets me illustrate my huge knowledgosity about Och Aye land. Sporrans are bits of old sheep that Scotsmen wear over their kilts, at the front, like little furry aprons. Please don't ask me why. I feel a nervy spaz coming on.

 

Water Board •
A bunch of blokes who look after the nation's reservoirs and water supply.