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‘… and that’s when it fell off in my hand.’
Louise Rennison
Brilliantly funny, teenage angst author Louise Rennison’s fifth book about the confessions of crazy but lovable Georgia Nicolson. Louise is a star on the HarperCollins teenage list.11.20 a.m.This is my fabulous life: the Sex God left for Whakatane last month and he has taken my heart with him.11.25 a.m.Not literally of course otherwise there would be a big hole in my nunga-nungas.11.28 a.m.And also I would be dead. Which quite frankly would be a blessing in disguise.12.00 p.m.It is soooo boring being brokenhearted……but Georgia doesn't remain brokenhearted for long: frequent snogging extravaganzas with old flame, Dave the Laugh, and the arrival of jelloid-knee-inducing Italian Stallion, Masimo, mean that Georgia has her work cut out to be the composed sex-kitten that she aspires to be.Follow Georgia's hilarious antics as she desperately muddles her way through teenage life and all that it entails: make-up disasters, rapidly expanding nunga-nungas, school – urgh, unsympathetic friends, highly embarrassing family (and pets) and, of course, BOYS.
Copyright (#ulink_225f05be-b015-56cd-8df5-f1f2ff3fe0b8)
First published in Great Britain in hardback by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2004 First published in Great Britain in paperback by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2005
HarperCollins Children’s Books A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Find out more about Georgia atwww.georgianicolson.com (http://www.georgianicolson.com)
Copyright © Louise Rennison 2004
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780007183203
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007402731
Version: 2015-01-27
A Note from Georgia
Dear Chumettes,
Bonsoir!!! I am writing to you from my “imagination den” (or my bed as some people call it), just to say how much I hope you like “…and that’s when it fell off in my hand.” Interestingly, the Hamburger-a-gogo types (who I suspect may be a button short of a cardigan) called my book “Away Laughing on a Fast Camel”. They said that “…and that’s when it fell off in my hand.” sounds too rude.
They are indeed weird, but what you have to take into account is that they don’t really speak English as such. For instance “fag” only means homosexualist in their land. It doesn’t mean cigarette. So when I wrote that “Alison Bummer lit up a fag”, they said they thought that was “kind of cruel” because they thought she was setting fire to a gay person. I think that illustrates what I am up against.
Anyway, my little chums, I have spent many happy minutes… er… hours writing this and there were a lot of other things I could have been doing, believe me. Juan and Carlos - my imaginary maidservants - could have spent time amusing me, but I said (in my mind), “No, Juan and Carlos! Put down your guitars! Stop plucking! I must write another book for my lovely fans.”
That is how much I love you all.
A LOT.
I do.
I am not exaggerating.
I LOVE YOU ALL.
Georgia, XXXXXXX
p.s. But I am not on the turn.
Contents
Cover (#u327abeeb-658d-5e6e-8fe8-ade9c0cdb093)
Title Page (#u1e2dc68b-c393-579c-a332-1328276c2bc1)
Copyright (#u3211971b-46d1-5000-8272-b93d4409043c)
Dedication (#u4f2b29cb-ae9a-5bdb-973d-c03cca3b92f5)
Alone, all aloney, on my owney (#ue78f5867-ff15-5c29-a1b4-462a6294f52f)
Son of Angus, otherwise known as Cross-eyed Gordy (#litres_trial_promo)
Snog factor 25 and a half (#litres_trial_promo)
“…and that’s when it fell off in my hand.” (#litres_trial_promo)
Once more into the oven of love (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Georgia’s Glossary (#litres_trial_promo)
‘…then he ate my boy entrancers.’ Sample Chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson Series (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Alone, all aloney, on my owney (#ulink_e8f9af9f-1829-5fa4-ac82-e3d69421fcbb)
Saturday March 5th 11:00 a.m. as the crow flies
Grey skies, grey cluds, grey knickers.
I can’t believe my knickers are grey, but it is typico of my life. My mutti put my white lacy knickers in the wash with Vati’s voluminous black shorts and now they are grey.
If there was a medal for craposity in the mutti department, she would win it hands down.
I am once again wandering lonely as a clud through this Vale of Tears.
I wish there was someone I could duff up but I have no one to blame. Except God, and although He is everywhere at once, He is also invisible. (Also, the last person who tried to duff God up was Satan, and he ended up standing on his head in poo with hot swords up his bum-oley.)
11:20 a.m.
This is my fabulous life: the Sex God left for Whakatane last month and he has taken my heart with him.
11:25 a.m.
Not literally, of course, otherwise there would be a big hole in my nunga-nungas.
11:28 a.m.
And also I would be dead. Which quite frankly would be a blessing in disguise.
12:00 p.m.
It is soooo boring being brokenhearted. My eyes look like little piggie eyes from crying. Which makes my nose look ginormous.
Still, at least I am a lurker-free zone. Although with my luck there will be a lurker explosion any minute.
Alison Bummer once had a double yolker on her neck; she had a big spot and it had a baby spot growing on top of it.
I’ll probably get that.
12:05 p.m.
Phoned my very bestest pally, Jas.
“Jas, it’s me.”
“What?”
“Jas, you don’t sound very pleased to hear from me.”
“Well… I would be, but it’s only five minutes since you last phoned and Tom is just telling me about this thing you can do. You go off into the forest and—”
“This hasn’t got anything to do with badgers, has it?”
“Well… no, not exactly, it’s a wilderness course and you learn how to make fire and so on.”
Oh great balls of merde here we go, off into the land of the terminally insane, i.e. Jasland. I said as patiently as I could because I am usually nice(ish) to the disadvantaged, “You are going off on a course to learn how to make fire?”
“Yes, exciting, eh?”
“Why do you have to go on a course to learn how to open a box of matches?”
“You can’t use matches.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a wilderness course.”
“No, wrong, Jas, it’s a crap course where people are too mean to give you any matches.”
She did that sighing business.
“Look, Georgia, I know you’re upset about Robbie going off to Kiwi-a-gogo land.”
“I am.”
“And you not having a boyfriend or anything.”
“Yes, well…”
“And, you know, being all lonely, with no one to really care about you.”
“Yes, all right Jas, I know all th—”
“And the days stretching ahead of you without any meaning and—”
“Jas, shut up.”
“I’m only trying to say that—”
“That is not shutting up, Jas. It is going on and on.”
She got all huffy and Jasish.
“I must go now. Tom has got some knots to show me.”
I was in the middle of saying, “Yes I bet he has…” in an ironic and très amusant way when she brutally put the phone down.
12:30 p.m.
Alone, all aloney.
On my owney.
The house is empty, too. Everyone is out at Grandad’s for lunch.
I was nearly made to go until I pointed out that I am in mourning and unable to eat anything because of my heartbreak.
Mine is a pathetico tale that would make anyone who had a heart weep, but that does not include Vati. He said he would gladly leave me behind because talking to me made him realise the fun he had had when he accidentally fell into the open sewers in India.
1:15 p.m.
Looking out of my bedroom window. Entombed in my room for ever. Like in that book, The Prisoner of Brenda, or whatever it’s called.
Except I could go out if I wanted.
But I don’t want to.
I may never go out again.
Ever.
