скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’
Louise Rennison
Sound the Cosmic Horn! Georgia Nicolson’s 8th book of confessions is here!The original Sex God has re-landed, Masimo the Italian Stallion wants to be her boyfriend, and Dave the Laugh is still a regular snoggee. How will Georgia cope juggling all three boys? Have her days on the rack of love really gone for good? Surely not!You’ll laugh your knickers off at Georgia’s hilarious confessions.
With deep luuurve to all the usuals. I’m not saying I’m bored with
you, or that you are all usual because, believe me, you’re not.
Anyway, can we get on?
p.s. Thank you and blimey to Mr Urrrrr.
Contents
Title Page (#u3dc275b4-c99e-5693-99f7-2ba8d2ba0275)Hoooooorrrrn!! (#udd484e23-494e-50d9-8354-d433d236441c)Snot Disco Dancing (#ue2f75d22-da12-555a-ac4e-8ba4c0c91d46)Return Of The Hornmeister, Quickly Followed By The Luuurve God (#litres_trial_promo)The Piddly-Diddly Department Of Life (#litres_trial_promo)Blah, Blah, Rubbish, Rubbish, Dribble, Dribble, Arse! (#litres_trial_promo)Tent Head (#litres_trial_promo)Groove On Groovsters! (#litres_trial_promo)Georgia’s Glossary (#litres_trial_promo)Also By Louise Rennison (#litres_trial_promo)A Note from Georgia (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Hoooooorrrrn!! (#uafc0e0d4-d68e-5e05-8e18-3b7b7aee02d1)
Saturday July 16th
11:45 p.m.
Run away, run away!!!
Pant, pant, pant.
And double pants.
How in the name of God’s novelty undercrackers and matching toga have I ended up running along the streets at midnight?
I’ll tell you how. You wait ages for a Sex God to come along and then two come along at the same time. Where is the sense in that? If it is all part of Big G’s divine plan, all I can say is this, “Keep it simple, Big G, just give me one Sex God to eat at a time. And then if I am not full up I’ll have another one. Thank you. Regards to Baby Jesus.”
That is all I am saying. Inwardly, obviously, as I am nearly dead with trying to run in my high-heeled boots. I may have to lie down in a ditch in a minute.
11:50 p.m.
I had to stop and sit in the hedge by the park. I’m so out of breath. Hurrah, I am sitting in the dark like a panting vole in a skirt.
Three minutes later
Pant, pant. So this is a brief résumé of Vole Girl’s evening:
Scene 1
A top night at the Stiff Dylans gig, including an excellent Viking disco inferno dance* (#ulink_60890984-554c-504b-80dc-0486c768b478) in honour of Rosie and Sven’s forthcoming (well, in eighteen years time) wedding and Sven arriving in furry shorts.
* (#ulink_d003cdb6-1bfb-5334-b346-d5b53c7a9b95)Note to the dim – and I mean this in a loving way – the Viking disco inferno dance goes stamp, stamp to the left, left leg kick, kick, arm up, stab, stab to the left… and HOOOOOOORN!
As the pièce de whatsit, Masimo, lead singer and Luuurve God that I have been dreaming of and longing for, asked me to go outside, and said, “So, Signorína Georgia, I am free man for you. If you still want for us to go out?”
Keep in mind that he said it in his gorgey porgey Pizza-a-gogo land accent. Looking at me like I was a Sex Kitty.
Scene 2
Just as I was experiencing Swoon City and melty pantaloonies a car pulled up and Robbie the original Sex God got out.
The one who had left me and gone to Kiwi-a-gogo land. To snog marsupials and so on for the rest of his life.
Not.
Scene 3
After a moment of silence I said in a quick-thinking and casual way, “Oh, hello, Robbie, do excuse me, I have a train to catch and time and tide wait for no man.” And walked quickly off before breaking into a slight trot. Then a light gallop. Then I ended up in the hedge and that is where all this started.
In conclusion I would say that after queuing up at the cake shop of luuurve for ages I have accidentally bought two cakes.
And I am sitting in a bush.
11:56 p.m.
Oh, yet more marvellous, marvellous news, the Blunder Boys are lurking around in the park. Probably setting fire to themselves and practising being crap. Which they needn’t bother doing as they are top at it anyway.
They’ll sense I’m here in a minute and come looming out at me. The Blunder Boys have got radar for girls within half a mile.
Thirty seconds later
Mark Big Gob (who lives in my street and who I accidentally snogged once, and who has the largest lips known to humanity) larged out of the gloom and saw me panting in the hedge. He was looking at my nungas, which were heaving up and down. Stop heaving and retreat into your over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, you stupid nungas!
Mark said, “I see you are all pleased to see me, girls.”
How repellant is he? I ignored him and got up with a dignity-at-all-times sort of attitude. As I was brushing past him, he said, “Steady darlin’, you nearly knocked me over.”
The rest of the trainee idiots had sidled up by then and they sniggered and choked on their fags. Still, on the bright side cigarettes stunt your growth, so with a bit of luck most of them will remain about three foot eight.
Mark Big Gob said, “I see you’ve got the Horn. Is it for me?”
Is he mad? Is he implying that I have got the Horn for him? I would rather plunge my head into a bucket of whelks than let him anywhere near me. I can’t believe that his hand once rested on my basooma. And that his enormous gob had squelched around my face. Erlack. If anything, he gave me the Anti-Horn.
Sadly, it was then I realised that in fact he was right, I did have the horn. Horns actually. I was still carrying my Viking bison horns that I had worn to rehearse Rosie’s wedding dance.
Still, what is so very unusual about that?
Five minutes later
Quite a lot, actually, when you think about it.
Which I won’t.
Oh double merde and ordure and poo.
12:15 a.m.
Got to my street. My tootsies are killing me. The light is still on in the front room. Oh noooo. That means the terminally insane (Mutti and Vati) are still up. I must avoid them at all costs. I can’t speak to them. Not now. Not any time if I have my way.
I snuck really really quietly through the front door and stashed my horns in a secret place where they will never be found (the ironing basket).
Aaahh. Safely in. Now quietly, quietly up the stairs to my room. Quietly, quietly like a little mousie. Mousie girl opening little doorsies. Shhhhh. Shhhh. Nearly safe. Quietly into the room like a quiet thing on quiet tablets. No sign of the Furry Freak brothers, a.k.a. my cats Angus and his cross-eyed son Gordon, thank the Lord.
As I opened my bedroom door Gordy’s face appeared upside down an inch away from my fringe. I looked into his mad cross-eyes. Why does he do that – lurk on top of the door like a bat? He did a little croaky noise and licked my face with his horrid rough tongue. I managed not to cry out or be sick.
12:25 a.m.
There is a half-eaten mouse on my pillow.
12:30 a.m.
Oh God, that means that Gordy licked my face after he had crunched up the mousey head. I am almost bound to get the Black Death. Nothing nicer than a few pustulating boils when you have boyfriend trouble.
One minute later
Crept downstairs to get rid of the mousey. I had it on a piece of cardboard. When I say mousey what I mean is two ears and a bit of tail. Too crunchy for Gordy’s delicate little murderer’s gob, I suppose.
As I was going back upstairs Mutti called out from the front room, “Is that you, Gee?”
I said, “No,” and went up to get into my snuggly bed of pain.
In bed under the sheets of life
One minute later
Can’t be bothered getting undressed as I’m so full of confusiosity.
Five minutes later
I’d better make an effort though and at least take my boots off. My feet are probably all swollen from my mad running and I don’t want to have them surgically removed again.
The boots, I mean, not my feet.
Anyway, the nub and gist is that I have accidentally acquired two Luuurve Gods.
I may never sleep again.
One minute later
I won’t have time to sleep if I’ve got two boyfriends, tee hee…
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Sunday July 17th
7:00 a.m.
Woke up from a dream where Dr Clooney was looking at my head and saying, “I have never seen anything like it! Her head is one enormous boil!” and for a minute forgot that I have two boyfriends.
I checked in the mirror and there has been no pustulating boil extravaganza, so I seem to have escaped catching the Black Death from Gordy’s little mousey snack, thank the Lord. Although my head has exploded, hairwise. I may have to iron it.
7:35 a.m.
Crept downstairs and made some toast and tea. I must keep my strength up.
There is snoring coming from every room. Mum made Dad sleep in the spare room because of his snoring and she is louder than him! I must be kind, though: she probably has difficulty breathing because of the weight of her enormous nungas. If mine grow as big as hers I will definitely donate them to some charity.
It is a nice day. The birds are humming and the bees a-singing and I can see Angus the furry Luuurve Machine lolling around in the morning sun with Naomi. They are very much in love if the amount of bum-oley licking is anything to go by.
Back in my bed with snacksies
Five minutes later
I must consult with a book of wisdomosity.
Five minutes later
This double boyfriend fandango is not mentioned in Mutti’s book How to Make Any Twit Fall in Love with You.
Three minutes later
Maybe Robbie and Masimo will have to have fisticuffs at dawn to decide who gets me. Who knows what the right etiquette is in this scenario?
One minute later
One thing is for sure. I will not be asking Dave the Laugh, my Horn Adviser and occasional snoggee, to the fight. He will only think it is a laugh and start shouting out stuff like, “Hit him with your handbag, Masimo!” or “Mind the hair, love!” Anyway, Dave is too busy to give me advice these days. He will be with his “girlfriend”. I wonder what number they have got up to on the snogging scale?
Shut up, brain! I don’t want to think about Dave – he is an ex-snoggee. And just a mate. I have enough to worry about without Dave popping up all the time (oo-er).
7:55 a.m.
This does mean that I am going to have to be on high beauty and glamorosity alert at all times. One of my multi boyfriends may be so driven by snognosity that he rushes round here first thing in the morning. I must be prepared. But no one must know. I must exude glamour but in a natural just-tumbled-out-of-bed way.
Soooo just a hint of foundation, touch of bronzer, lippy, mascara and tiny bit of eyeliner. Which I like to think looks like I have a touch of the Egyptian in my genes.
That is what I like to think.
8:00 a.m.
Now what to wear? Nightwear or daywear?
What would you wear if you had unexpectedly woken up to the doorbell ringing and you didn’t know who it was but you suspected it might be a Luuurve or a Sex God?
8:01 a.m.
