Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 05 Read Online Free Page B

front.
    in the loo
11:00 p.m.
    In Dad’s James Bond book it says, “Bond came and stood close against her. He put a hand over each breast. But still she looked away from him out of the window. ‘Not now’ she said in a low voice.”
    Now I am completely baffled. What in the name of arse does that mean?
    A hand over each nunga?
    Like a human nunga-nunga holder.
    Do boys do that?
    wednesday march 9th
    No letters from the Sex God.
    And I haven’t heard anything from Dave the Laugh either.
    Still, what do I care, I am full of glaciosity for him.
    I wonder if he will go to the party on Saturday. Not that I am interested, as I will be at home embroidering toilet roll holders or whatever very sad spinsters do.
    bathroom
8:30 a.m.
    Oh fabulous, I have a lurking lurker on my cheek. The painters are due in this week and that is probably why I am feeling so moody.
    That and the fact that my life is utterly crap.
    Still, a really heavy period should cheer me up.
    Maybe if I disguise the lurker with some eye pencil it will look like a beauty spot.
    breakfast
    Mutti said, “Georgia, why don’t you just hang a sign on your head that says, ‘Have you noticed I’ve got a spot, everybody?’”
    I tried to think of something clever to say to her but I am too tired.
    Â 
    I was dragging myself out the door to another day of unnatural torture (school) when the postman arrived. It takes him about a year to get up our driveway because he tries to dodge Angus. Angus loves him. He is his little postie pal. The postie who is not what you would call blessed in the looks department was furtively looking around and shuffling about. I said helpfully, “Angus is off on hismorning constitutional, so I am afraid you can’t play with him.”
    The postie said, “I know what I would like to do with him and it involves a sack and a river. Here you are.”
    And he shoved a letter at me. Not ideal behavior in a servant of the people I don’t think.
    Then I noticed it was an aerogramme-type letter. For me. From Kiwi-a-gogo land. From the Sex God.
    Oh joy joy joy joyitty joy joy.
    And also thrice joy.
    I looked at the writing. So Sex Goddy. And it said “Georgia Nicolson” on it.
    That was me.
    And on the back it said:
    From Robbie Jennings R.D. 4
    Pookaka lane (honestly)
    Whakatane
    New Zealand
    That was him. The Sex God. I started skipping down the street until unfortunately I saw Mark Big Gob and his lardy mates. He doesn’t even bother to look at my face; he just talks to my nungas.
    Mark was leery like a leering thing and he said, “Careful, Georgia, you don’t want to knock yourself out with your jugs.” And they all laughed.
    Thank goodness I had worn my special sports nunga holder, or my “over the shoulder boulder holder,” as Rosie calls it. At least my basoomas were nicely encased. Anyway, ha di hahahaha to Mark Big Gob—nothing could upset me today because I was filled with the joyosity of young love.
    I did stop skipping, though, and walked off with a dignity-at-all-times sort of walk.
    Mark still hadn’t had his day, though; he shouted after me, “I’ll carry them to school for you if you like!”
    He is disgusting. And a midget lover. I don’t know how I could have ever snogged him.
    8:35 a.m.
    Jas was stamping around outside her house, going “Oh brrrrr , it is so nippy noodles, brr .”
    She had a sort of furry bonnet over her beret. I said, “You look like a crap teddy bear.”
    She just went on shivering and said, “Do you think we will get let off hockey because of Antarctic conditions?”
    â€œJas, you live, as I have always said, in the land of the terminally deluded and criminally insane. Nothing gets us off hockey. We are at the mercy of a storm trooper and part-time lesbian. Miss Stamp LOVES Antarctic conditions. You can see her mustache bristling with delight when it snows.”
    If Jas has to