Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 (8 page)

2:15 p.m.

Herr Kamyer has been showing us how to ask for things in shops. I know how to do this already: all you do is ask Gorgey Henri to go and ask for whatever it is you want in the shop. He does, after
all, know the language. However, Herr Kamyer thinks we should learn stuff, so he keeps going up to French people and asking for things, which is hilarious in the extreme as: a) no one has a clue what he is talking about and b) they wouldn't give him anything anyway, because he is not French.

Oh, I tell a lie. He did manage to get something. He went into the tourist information center for a map. “I vill be back in a moment, girls,
mit der
map and ve vill proceed to the Champs Elysées.”

He came out ten minutes later dithering like a loon with a souvenir walking stick but no map. As I pointed out to Jools, “The tragic thing is that they speak English in the tourist information center.”

plunging into the seine
photo opportunity

We tried the “Just step back a bit, Herr Kamyer, I can't get all your cardigan in” tactic on the banks of the Seine. But Herr Kamyer looked back before he moved so he did not plunge into the Seine. And now we really do have a photo of Herr Kamyer in his cardigan.

notre dame
4:00 p.m.

Very gothic. No sign of hunchbacks, though. So…with a marvelous display of imaginosity (and also after Herr Kamyer, Henri and Madame Slack had gone into the cathedral) the ace gang got into their hunchback gear (haversacks under coats). We were getting ready, shuffling around and yelling, “The bells, the bells,” but then Jas and I stepped onto a bit of green grass verge to take a photo of the ace gang being hunchbacks against the romantic backdrop of Notre Dame (
très
historic). Suddenly all hell broke loose. Whistles went off and some absolute loon started yelling through a loudspeaker in French at us. Then we were surrounded by blokes in uniforms. I thought we were going to be taken to the Bastille.

I said to Jas, “What have we done? Ask one of them.”

She said, “You came top in French, you ask.” Unfortunately, I had come top in French only to annoy Madame Slack. I had learned twenty-five words and then made sure I answered every question using only those words.

Just then Henri came running back to save us.
He started yelling and shrugging his shoulders, and soon everyone was shrugging shoulders. Even the bloke selling bird food. I don't know what he had to do with it.

I turned to the gang. “Wait for a big group shrug and then run like the wind into Notre Dame for sanctuary. We must beg the priests to save us.”

It all got sorted out in the end. The French loon patrol turned out to be park keepers. Sort of like park Elvises. Apparently you are not allowed to step on their grass, because it drives them insane.

Madame Slack gave her world famous “Once again a few bad apples have spoilt the reputation of England” lecture and gave us all bad conduct medals. I mean marks.

I said to Jas, “You would think that she would encourage us to bring history to life, but oh no,
au contraire
, we are pilloried on the spike of…er…life.”

9:30 p.m.

Henri took us out to a restaurant tonight. It was really groovy, apart from some old drunk at the piano who kept moaning on about
“Je ne regrette rien.”
Ellen asked, “What is he going on about?”

I said, “He's saying in French that he doesn't regret a thing, which he quite clearly should. He should regret having started this song, for one thing.”

Henri said he was a famous French singer. Good Lord.

Very very funny evening. There was a notice on our table saying what you could have to eat. It said “Frogs' legs” at the top. When the waiter came he spoke English (sort of). “Good evening, mademoiselle, what can I get you?”

I said, “
S'cusez moi
, have you got frogs' legs?”

He smiled. “Yes, m'selle.”

So I said, “Well, hop off and get me a sandwich, then.”

We laughed for about a million years. Even the waiter thought it was funny(ish). However, Madame Slack heard what had happened and said we were “giddy.”

monday january 24th

last morning in gay paree

Sitting by myself in a café because the ace gang have gone off to look at some French boys. I even ordered a cup of coffee for myself. And a croissant.
Well, actually, it looks more like an egg sandwich (because it is an egg sandwich), but at least it's not a walking stick.

pompidou centre
midday

You can't move for white-faced loons in the area around the Centre. Some of them just stand still for ages and ages, painted all white like a statue. Then when you are really bored from looking at them, they slowly move a finger, or lift a leg, and then go back to being still. And people throw coins in their hats for that. I said to Rosie, “What is the point of mime artists? Why don't they just tell you what they want?”

Then I noticed that a gorgey
garçon
was watching me watching the white-faced loons. I kept catching him looking at me. He was cute.
Très
cute. And his trousers were relatively normal. And he wasn't wearing a beret. And he was handbag-free.

He caught my eye and smiled quite a dreamy smile. He was very intense-looking, with incredibly dark curly hair. However, I am a red bottom–free zone and I was just about to ignore him when he went off.

Ah well.
C'est la guerre
, as they say here, although what the railway station has to do with anything, I don't know. (Or is that
gâre
? Oh, I don't know. As I say to Madame Slack, French is a foreign language to me.)

five minutes later

The gorgey French boy came back and brought me a red rose!! He said, “For the most beeootiful girl,” kissed my hand and then went off into the crowd.

Honestly.

The ace gang were dead impressed. We discussed it for ages. It didn't fit into the snogging scale anywhere. And it wasn't a “see you later.” Was I supposed to follow him? Should I have done something erotic with the rose?

As I have said with huge wisdomosity many times, boys the world over are a bloody mystery.

au revoir

We got on the train and said
“Auf Wiedersehen”
to the city of romance. We have our memories to take home with us. More importantly, we also have our HUGE comedy berets.

We found them in a souvenir shop in the station that sold musical Eiffel Towers, nuddy-pants cancan dancers and other sophisticated gifts. The berets are gigantic and they are wired around the rim, so that they stick out about a foot from your head. They are quite hilarious in the extreme. We each got one. I can't wait to wear them to school. They make the lunchpack berets seem traditional by comparison.

When we got on the train, Madame Slack went off to the teachers' compartment, probably to chat with Gorgey Henri about handbags they had known and loved. We took the opportunity to try on our new berets. All six of us leaned out of our carriage window wearing our gigantic berets as the train pulled out. We were yelling “
AU REVOIR
, PARIS! WE LOVE YOU ALL!!!”

And guess what? The people on the platform all waved and cheered. They were shouting,
“Bonne chance!”
I think.

I asked Jas, as we tucked into our cheesy snacks for the journey, “Do you think that the French-type people think we really like our berets?”

She said, “No, I think they think we are English people and therefore not normal.”

“How could they think that?” asked Rosie.

Then I noticed that Rosie was wearing a false mustache as well as her beret.

on the ferry heading home

Uneventful trip home because we had a normal captain (i.e., English).

Also we had chips. A LOT.

I was quite overcome when we saw the white cliffs of Dover, until I realized we weren't going to Dover and they are just some crappy old white cliffs of somewhere else.

midnight

Arrived home to my loving family. As I came up the drive, Angus shot over the wall and gave me a playful bite on the ankle as he passed. I opened the door and yelled, “
C'est moi!
Your daughter is home again, crack open the fatted calf and—”

Angus had pushed his way in first and Dad started yelling. “Get that bloody cat out! This house is full of fleas.”

I said sternly to Angus, “Angus, stay out of the house, it is full of fleas!” But the Loonleader didn't think it was funny. Even though it was.

12:10 a.m.

Libby was pleased to see me, at least. She woke up when I came in and said, “Heggo, Gingey.”

She made me a card with a drawing of a cat band on the front. Angus is the lead singer, although why he is upside down, I don't know. The audience is little mice and voles in disco wear.

By the time I had unpacked my bag, Libby had fallen back to sleep in my bed with her “fwends.” She is so lovely when she is sleeping, and I gave her a kiss on her cheek. I wonder how I will get on without her when I go to America. It made me feel a bit weepy, actually. I must have boat lag.

Just as I was dropping off into snoozeland, Mutti came in. I think she might have had a couple of glasses of
vino tinto
, because she looked a bit flushed.

“Hello darling, welcome back. How was France?”

“Fantastique.”

“This came for you.” And she handed me a letter. In the Sex God's handwriting!! Wow and wowzee wow!

Mutti came and sat on my bed.

“So, did you have a fab time?”

“
Oui. Très sportif.
Night-night.”

“Did you see the Eiffel Tower? It's amazing at night, isn't it? Was it all lit up?”

Oh, good grief. I know she was being a nice mutti and everything, but I wanted to read my Sex God notelet. I said kindly, “Mum, I'm a bit boat-lagged. I'll tell you all about it in the morning.”

She touched Libby's cheek and then she touched mine.

“Don't grow up too fast, love.” She looked all tearful.

What is the matter with grown-ups? They are always banging on about how childish you are and telling you to grow up and so on, and then when you do, they start blubbering.

After she'd left I ripped open my letter.

Phwoar. I put the letter under my pillow. My very first love letter.

1:00 a.m.

Well, unless you count that one that Mark Big Gob sent me, which looked like he had written it with a stick.

1:05 a.m.

Dave the Laugh sent me quite a nice letter when Wet Lindsay deliberately hit me on the ankle with her hockey stick. Actually, the reason I say “I'm away laughing on a fast camel” instead of “good-bye” is because of him.

And “nippy noodles.”

1:10 a.m.

And “poo parlor division” instead of “loo.”

tuesday january 25th

Exhausted, but up like a startled earwig at 8:15
A.M
., thanks to Libby blowing her new bugle in my ear. What complete fool had bought her that? Dad, obviously.

stalag 14

I wore my beret proudly this morning (not the huge one, as I didn't want to get a reprimand first thing). I wore my beret
à la française
on the side of my head. When I saw Hawkeye, I said, “
Bonjour Madame
, I
aime
a lot your
très bonne
outfit
ce matin
.”

“Just get into Assembly and try to be normal for once.” That's nice, isn't it? You try to add a little bit of beautosity and humorosity into a dull world and that is the thanks you get.

As we slouched past Elvis's hut, I nudged Jas. “Elvis has got a bell! How ludicrously sad is that?” He has a bell on the outside of his hut and a sign
above it that says: “Ring the bell for the caretaker.” Hahahahahaha.

assembly

Slim in tip-top jelly form this morning, in her attractive elephant-tent dress. We were all still in
la belle
France mood, saying “Ah,
bonjour
” and nodding at one another a lot and shrugging.

Slim ordered, “Silence, at once. And stop shuffling around like silly geese. I have something very serious to tell you. I am sorry to say that the whole school has been very badly let down by a few bad apples. Girls from this school have been involved in a criminal act. And I intend to make an example of them by punishing them in the severest manner.”

All of the ace gang looked at one another. God's slippers, what had we done now? Surely Madame Slack hadn't told Slim about the hunchback incident? Or the accidental French flag fiasco?

Hawkeye was glaring at us as we shuffled around. Slim went on. “Two girls have been arrested for shoplifting in town. Charges are to be made.”

All of us went Yessssss! (inwardly). The Bummers had finally come to the end of their reign of terror. Yesss!!!

But then we noticed a dog in the ointment. The Bummers were in the row in front of us, looking as tarty and spotty as normal, and also…not bothered.

Slim continued. “The two girls are Monica Dickens and Pamela Green. They are, as of today, expelled from school. I trust this will be a warning to any girl who imagines that crime has no consequences.”

We were all amazed at the news. I kept saying to the others, “Nauseating P. Green? And ADM? Shoplifting?”

Jools said, “Nauseating P. Green can hardly see the end of her nose. She would be a crap shoplifter. She'd have to ask a shop assistant to point things out to her.”

She is not wrong.

Weird to think that behind those huge glasses lurked a mistress criminal.

I said, “And ADM? She came to a school dance in ankle socks once. That is not shoplifting wear.”

break

Behind the sports hall we all huddled together under our coats discussing the scandalosa.

Rosie said, “I can't believe Nauseating P. Green actually went shoplifting in a gang with ADM.”

I said, “Do you remember when ADM owned up to Miss Stamp about not having had a shower after games last term? And no one had even noticed that she hadn't. Miss Stamp didn't notice. In fact, I don't think she had actually noticed that ADM had even been doing games. That is not the attitude of a mistress criminal. That is the attitude of an astonishingly dim person. Which is what she is.”

“I was never very nice to them,” said Jas. “I feel bad now. I wonder if we can visit them in jail and maybe take them things…you know, knitted things and so on. Oranges.”

I said, “Jas, they are not in the Crimean War. They don't need you to knit balaclavas. They won't go to jail.”

Jas was rambling on, “Well, Slim said they were expelled and bad apples and so forth and—”

“Jas, can I say something?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, I—”

“That is not shutting up, Jas, that is keeping on talking rubbish.”

“But—”

We could have kept that up for centuries, but then the Bummers walked around the corner. Jackie Bummer said, “Clear off, tiny tots, we want to have a fag and you are sitting in our ashtray.”

Jools (bravely, but stupidly) said, “This is just ground, anyone's ground, it's not—”

Alison came over and got hold of her hair, “You are
in
our ashtray, so why don't you get
out
of our ashtray.”

We grumbled and groaned as we collected our things. I hate them, I hate them. As the Bummers lit up their fags, Jackie said, “Sad about the criminal element in this school, isn't it?”

In a fit of stupidosity, I said, “Yes, well, why don't you leave, then?” To which Jackie answered, “Careful, Big Nose, as a severe duffing often offends.” Then she flicked her cigarette ash onto my head and said, “Oh, whoops.”

I had to wash my hair with soap in the loos and
then dry it upside down under the hand dryer. Fortunately, I had my mega-duty hair gel with me. Otherwise there would have been a Coco the Clown incident.

maths

It's a bit funny not having P. Green's head bobbing around at the front of the class. “I miss her,” said Rosie. “It's not the same firing elastic bands with no target.” She is all heart.

Still, I can't spend any more time thinking about other people. It's only two hours until I meet the Sex God. It's double blodge after this, so providing I don't have to do anything disgusting with pond life, I will be able to get my nails done and foundation on, and possibly mascara, if I crouch down at the back.

double blodge

I thought of an hilarious biology joke (which is not easy). I wrote to the gang in a gang note: “Lockjaw means never having to say you're sorry.”

They did their famous cross-eyed sign of approval.

Also, I have made a lovely new furry friend (no, not Jas). It's a pickled vole. There are all kinds of disgusting things pickled in jars in the blodge lab, but this is a really cute vole that has its little paws up so that it looks like it is waving at you.

I wave back. I may call it Rover. Rover the vole.

last bell
in the loos

Mucho excitemondo.
My hand was shaking when I was doing my eye shadow. I very nearly put Sex Shimmer all over my face, which is not attractive. I made Jas wait for me to walk out to the gate. I said, “So, Jazzy Knickers, what are you up to tonight? Whilst I am seeing my boyfriend?”

She was sitting on the sink looking at her sideways reflection. “I've got quite nice cheeks, haven't I?”

“Jas, you've got adorable cheeks. One on each side of your nose. Couldn't be better.”

She thought I meant it. “Tom is doing his irrigation project and I'm doing my German homework tonight. It's due in. You should do yours—Herr Kamyer will have a nervy spaz if you don't.”

“Jas, as I have said many, many times…never
put off until tomorrow what you can avoid altogether.”

Jas was still admiring her cheeks. “Well, you say that, but what will you feel like when you go to Germany and you can't say anything?”

“I'm not going to go to Germany.”

“You might, though.”

“Well, I won't.”

That shut her up for a minute.

“But say you had to.”

“Why, what for? I don't like pickled cabbage.”

“What if Robbie had to go there for a gig? You'd feel like a
dumschnitzel
.”

Actually she did have a point.

4:20 p.m.

We walked out across the yard to the gates. I made Jas shield me, just in case any of the Oberführers were around and noticed that I was all made up. Since the shoplifting fiasco all the staff and prefects are on high alert. Miss Stamp even told Melanie Andrews off because she didn't have a name tag in her sports knickers. I really, really don't want to imagine how she found that out.

Rosie, Jools and Ellen were loitering without intent near Mr. Attwood's hut, so we all linked up. Robbie was leaning on the gate. Phwoar!! I could feel his Sex-Goddy vibes even by Mr. Attwood's special bell. But then I noticed that he was not alone. He was talking to Tom and Dave the Laugh and Rollo! Ellen, Jas and Jools nearly fell over with shock. They had no makeup on. Also Ellen had mistakenly put her beret on because she couldn't be arsed to open up her haversack. Emergency, emergency!!!

Ellen snatched off her beret and said, “OhmyGod, ohmyGod, what shall I do?”

In the end Rosie and I formed a sort of defensive wall behind which Ellen and Jas and Jools applied emergency lippy and rolled over their skirts. Rosie and I had to pretend to be swapping books. I was laughing attractively and so was Rosie, as if we were casually unaware that we had three mates crouching behind us. Jas said from near my ankles, “What are they doing? Can they see us?”

“They're just talking.”

Rosie said, “We're going to have to pretend to notice them in a minute, are you ready?” Then the
three of them leapt up like leaping things and we all walked up to the gates in a state of casualosity (and lip-glossiness).

Robbie looked marvy. He gave me his dreamy smile and pushed his hair back. “Hello.”

I was in Ditherland. It's bad enough when it's just me and him, but in front of the lads and, in particular, in front of Dave the Laugh, I turn into Herr Kamyer in a skirt (i.e., a prat).

I was completely out-dithered by Ellen, however, who I thought might start doing Highland dancing, she was hopping about so much. Tom was nuzzling Jas and she was all red and smiley and dim. How come boys don't go spazoid? They all seemed very cool. I noticed (even though I didn't care) that although Dave the Laugh said hi to Ellen and kissed her cheek, he didn't do any nuzzling. In fact he gave me a look.

It was a “Hello, red-bottomed minx, we meet again”–type look.

my bedroom
9:00 p.m.

I had a dreamy time hanging around with the Sex God. I made all kinds of excuses about wanting to
get things from all the shops so that people would see us together. I waved at loads of people, even if I didn't know them very well. I even waved at Mr. Across the Road as he staggered out of the pet shop with two tons of kitty litter. He was so surprised, his bottom nearly dropped off.

Robbie said, “Shopping is over, now it's time for snogging.” Then we went and had
le
snog
par excellence
out by the racecourse.

midnight

I wonder if Jas is right for once. Maybe Nauseating P. Green will have to go to the naughty girls' prison. Like in
Prisoner: Cell Block H
. She might get duffed up every day by sadists. Much the same as school, really.

Shut up, brain.

I care too much for people. I am a bit like Jesus. Only not so heavily bearded.

wednesday january 26th

stalag 14

On our way to the Art room we had a quick burst of “Let's go down the disco” in the corridor until we nearly crashed into Nauseating P. Green's
mum. She was crying as she went into Slim's office.

Oh, poo.

break

Hiding in the games cupboard. It's full of hockey sticks, but at least it is not minus fifteen degrees like it is outside.

Kate Richardson told me that Jackie Bummer has got ten leather coats, all different colors. And Jackie was also showing off and saying that she and Alison made Nauseating P. Green and ADM go and do their shoplifting for them. Like in
Oliver Twist
…or is it
David Copperfield
? Anyway, one of those really depressing stories about tiny orphans with Fagin in it. They frightened P. Green and ADM into going into shops and putting leather coats on under their own coats and walking out of the shop and then handing them over to the Bummers. They said that if they didn't get six each they would do something horrible to P. Green's hamsters. They even gave them a special tool to get the security labels off.

Rosie said, “Well, why did they get caught, then?”

I explained, “Because P. Green tried to steal six coats at once. She put them all on under her own coat and then got trapped in the revolving door as she tried to get out.”

1:00 a.m.

On the bright side, Mutti says I can have some new boots. To wear to the gig that my boyfriend is playing at on Saturday at the Buddha Lounge.

1:10 a.m.

Did I mention that there is a gig on Saturday that my boyfriend is playing at? Once again I can expose myself as girlfriend of a Sex God. Ooer.

thursday january 27th

german

Herr Kamyer was telling us about the Müller family from our German textbook—about Klaus going camping and getting his
kocher
out. Klaus always uses his
kocher
to
koch
his
spanferkel
(suckling pig). Jas was annoying me by doing a quiz in
Cosmo
. Not an interesting quiz about what kind of skin you have or whether you are a sex bomb or not. It's to find out what your natural
body clock is. Whether you should stay up late and get up late, or whether you should get up early and go to bed early.

Who cares? Jas does. She wrote me a note: “I like to get up early and that makes me a Lark-type person. Tom likes to get up early as well, so he's a Lark and not an Owl, and that makes us get on really well. I wonder what the German for ‘lark' is?”

I wrote back: “Larken.” But she doesn't believe me.

 

I ended up doing the stupid boring quiz because it insinuated itself into my brain. I am very impressionable, which is why people should be very careful about what they bother me with. For instance, when we did
Treasure Island
I developed a limp. Anyway, it turns out that I am a moderate Owl. On our way to Maths I said to Jas, “That means that, although I like to go to bed late and get up late, I am not very fond of field mice.”