Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 by Stop in the Name of Pants! Page A

instance, last night I got mobbed by women in the chippie after the gig. Which is nice. And I got free chips and a pickled egg, but on the other hand, when I got home I found they had bloody stolen another of my feather codpieces. Which I have to have handmade.”
    Oh, how vair vair disgusting. Now I have been exposed to every sort of porn in this house, moldyporn, kittyporn and now baldyporn.
    Speaking of kittyporn, where are Angus and Naomi?
    And cross-eyed Gordy?
    back in my room
    It’s all gone suspiciously quiet.
    I looked out of the window over Next Door’s garden.
    I can’t see the pussycat gang, but I can see Gordy.
    four minutes later
    I am concerned that Gordy is hanging around with the wrong crowd. He is actually playing with the Prat poodles and, I can hardly believe my eyes, he is chewing on their rubber bonio. It’s not right.
    It’s probably just an adolescent phase he is going through.
    11:29 p.m.
    I went down to get a drink of water and a jammy dodger to ward off late-night starvation. Mum came in a bit red faced from too much vino tinto, or just sheer embarrassment at being her. She went into the front room where Dad and Uncle Eddie were practicing some sort of dance for Uncle Eddie’s act. I couldn’t bear to have a look, but I will just say this, the music they were using was “I’m Jake the Peg, diddle diddle diddle dum, with my extra leg,” by Rolf Harris.
    Mum slammed off to bed without saying good night.
    Dad came out of the front room and said to me, “Uh-oh, women’s trouble!”
    midnight
    I must get away from here. I must get to see the Luuurve God. Dad owes me a fiver for being his slavey girl. So that means I have only 450 pounds to go.
    I wonder if he will believe me if I say he said he would give me 50 pounds to get his lager?
    monday august 8th
    8:30 a.m.
    I am still not used to having my bed to myself. Even Angus didn’t come in all night, he’s probably too bloated with sausage to haul himself up the stairs. I wouldn’t say I am exactly missing Libby, but I feel a missing space in my bed where her freezing bottom used to be.
    in the kitchen
    Oh brilliant, Mutti and Vati are not speaking AGAIN. They are so childish.
    Dad yelled from the bedroom, “Connie, have you seen my undercrackers?”
    And Mum went on buttering her toast.
    There was a long silence and then Dad said, “Er, hello…is there anybody there?”
    I looked at Mum and she was chomping away on her toastie.
    I said, “Mum, I would like to discuss dates with you about my Italian holiday. Do you remember that we agreed I would go next week? Well, do you think I should travel to Rome on the Friday or the Saturday? It would be better on the Saturday because then Vati could drive me to the airport. It would be best all round, don’t you think, that he hired a proper car. For safety and embarrassment reasons.”
    Dad yelled again from the bedroom, “Connie, stop playing the giddy goat, I’m going to be late. I cannot find any of my undercrackers.”
    Mum said to me, “You don’t need to worry about the lift and so on.”
    I said, “Fanks, Mum.”
    She said, “You don’t need to worry about a lift because you are not going anywhere.”
    What???
    Then Dad came into the kitchen. With a towel wrapped around what he laughingly refers to as his waist. He said to Mum, “Where are all my undercrackers?”
    Mum pointed to the kitchen bin.
    Dad went ballisticisimus. And a half.
    It didn’t really seem the right moment to ask him about the lift to the airport. Or the 500 pounds I would need for proper spendies, so I skipped back up to the safety of my room.
    fifteen minutes later
    Well, it’s good that the whole street knows about my dad’s undercrackers and my mum’s insanity. It makes for a tighter community spirit.
    I do think that Dad should learn that, as our revered headmistress Slim says,