Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 06 (5 page)

Vati said, “What about a cattery, then?”

That is when Angus came in with a spade. We all just looked at one another.

Vati said, “Well, there is only one thing for it. I am going to have to ask for a bit of neighborly support.”

7:15 p.m.

Dad went to Mr. Next Door first. As he went through the door he said, “Alfred and I have always had a bit of a understanding. I know we've had our differences
vis-à-vis
the damage Angus has done to his rhododendrons but—”

I said, “And when he rounded the Prat Poodles up and trapped them in the greenhouse.”

“Yes, well…”

“And then rode them round like little horsies.”

“Yes, well…”

“And the dog psychiatrist having to come in…”

Dad took his coat off.

7:25 p.m.

Dad said, “I'll just pop across the road to Colin and, you know, see if maybe he could just keep an eye on feeding them.”

7:28 p.m.

Dad's back. He said, “He laughed.”

Dad has slammed off to the pub to talk to Uncle Eddie and see if he knows any fools who might help us out.

7:33 p.m.

Doorbell rang. I looked down the stairs from the safety of my bedroom.

Mutti answered. Uh-oh. It was one of our beloved boys in blue. And as policemen go, he didn't look pleased.

Now what? I scampered down the stairs next to my mutti to give her moral support. Although, as it happens, basooma support would have been more appropriate. Hasn't she got one single piece of clothing that doesn't reveal far too much flesh?

I put an interested look on my face. It's the one I use when Hawkeye asks me where my homework is. It usually results in double detention, but you can't have everything.

The constable looked at me, and it wasn't his “guardian of the community and servant of the people” look. He said to Mum, “Good evening, madam, can you tell me if you know this person?”

And he held up Grandad's O.A.P. card, the one with the photo of him with the earring in. Don't ask.

Mum said, “Yes, it's my father…. Oh my God, is he alright?”

The officer said, “Yes, he is, madam, but he is a danger to himself and others.”

I said, “You can say that again, Officer. I don't need a helmet and truncheon to figure that out.”

Mum said, “Shut up, Georgia.”

Which I think is probably abusive behavior, but I let it go.

 

It turns out that for once, the officer was the bearer of glad tidings. Grandad had set out on his six-hundred-mile bike ride to the Lake District and fell off at the end of his street. But not before he knocked the policeman off his new community bike.

“I'd had it for only a week, madam.”

I tried to look concerned.

The policeman opened his notebook. “The gentleman we have now positively identified as your father was wearing Lycra shorts and kept falling off his bike. I asked him to walk a straight line.”

Mutti said, “Oh my goodness, had he been drinking?”

The officer said, “I don't know, madam, but he refused to walk the line on account of an old war wound. Then he said”—the officer looked down at his notes again—“‘Do you want to come back to my place, Constable, and have one for the road?'”

You have to give Grandad full marks on the lunacy scale.

8:00 p.m.

The policeman radioed in to his station and Grandad was released from chokey after being
charged with careless biking and not having a bell. Apparently the budgie bell he had sellotaped onto the handlebar doesn't count.

He now has a criminal record.

Mum was all flustered and apologizing to the policeman as he went off.

“I am so sorry, Officer, I hope you can mend your bike and you haven't been hurt at all.”

The policeman said, “No, well, I'm quite tough, madam.”

“Yes, well, you do seem very fit. I do a bit of aerobics myself, it's awfully good for keeping in shape.”

The policeman winked at her—honestly!—and he said, “Yes, I can see that. Anyway, madam, I'd better be on my way.”

And then he said that classic thing that you only see on TV. He said, “Mind how you go, it's a jungle out there.”

Mum practically wet herself with laughing; she is so so sad and embarrassing. After the policeman had gone I just looked at her and she said, “What? What?”

I said, “You know what. You were practically slavering over him.”

“Well, he was a nice young man—of course, far too young for me.”

Unbelievable!!!

in my bedroom

How very embarrassing my family is.

midnight

Still, on the plus side, Grandad's cycling days are over and he can now be on house-burning-down duties for when we go to Hamburger-a-gogo land. Hurrah!!! And also zippety do dah!!!

tuesday may 17th
five days to hamburger-a-gogo land
evening

Oh, I just can't stand this hanging around waiting to go on the Luuurve plane.

Come on come on!!!

I've been trying out arrival outfits. Boots or shoes? It's hard to know what to do weatherwise. Also I may have to go from day wear to evening wear, depending on the time zone business. I am practicing speaking Hamburgese, even in my own head. The key seems to be to add stuff, so instead
of weather you say weatherwise. Timewise. Day-wise. Luuurvewise, etc.

But on a more seriouswise note, this time business is v. v. aggravating fashionwise.

I said to Jas on the phone (she is opting for sensible sports casual for traveling), I said to her (Mistress of the Time Lords): “Are we flying backward in time or what?”

“Yeah, they are five hours behind us.”

“Why are they? Why can't they just keep up with us? Didn't we invent time?”

“What?”

“You know, Greenwich mean time—didn't we invent it? So why don't they just be the same as us?”

“Because they would be getting up in the middle of the night.”

“So?”

But you can't reason with Jas.

wednesday may 18th
four days to hamburger-a-gogo land
evening

I am still in a ditherspaz about what to wear. I've been through all of my clothes about a million times.

Still, on the plus side I have definitely decided what to wear nailwise. I have chosen Pouting Pink.

I am absolutely full of exhaustosity.

Dragged myself downstairs for a reviving snack.

Grandad has come round for instructions about looking after the house and cats.

in the front room

Grandad started fiddling about in his pockets.

“I've got something for you.”

Oh joy unbounded. A boiled sweet.

I love him and everything, but why does he have to be so, you know, so grandad-ish?

The TV was on, with my extremely unfit vati lolling around in front of it. As I sat down to try and get my tights away from Gordy, Vati said, “Now then, Georgia, why don't you tell me how much spending money you expect for the holiday. Then we'll have a good laugh and go from there.”

Vair vair amusing. Sadly, I have to humor him though. I said, “Well, it's only for a week, isn't it? And we've got the hotel rooms and food and so on, so actually, all in all, I think a thousand quid would just about cover it if I don't buy anything extravagant.”

Mum said, “Don't be silly, Georgia.”

Grandad said, “Do you remember when you took Georgia to the doctor's surgery when she was a couple of weeks old?”

Mum ruffled my hair (very annoying) and looked all nostalgic. “I remember every single thing about your life, darling girl. You've been a pleasure and joy to me from the moment you were born.”

Dad said, “Bloody hell, Connie, calm down.”

But Mum had gone off into mumland. “Do you know you had no hair when you were born, all baldy, like Uncle Eddie? So sweet.”

Oh God.

Grandad was still rambling on. “Yes, and there was that woman in the waiting room.”

Mum went, “Oooh yes, I'd forgotten her.”

Grandad said, “And she was looking in all the prams and going, 'Oooh, what a lovely baby,' and then she looked in at Georgia and said, 'Christ, look at the conk on this baldy one! Come and look!'”

What???

All the “grown-ups” were laughing.

Mum said, “Well, that's why I always used to
stroke your nose every time I fed you so that I could sort of squeeze it into shape a bit.”

in my bedroom

I looked in the mirror. My nose had been fondled from birth and it was still like it was.

2:00 a.m.

Woke up from a dream where a customs official at the airport charged me excess baggage for my nose.

thursday may 19th
three days to hamburger-a-gogo land
in bed

I am sleeping on my back, and I have made a sort of splint for my nose out of elastoplasts and matchsticks so at least it can't grow anymore.

friday may 20th
8:00 a.m.
two days to hamburger-a-gogo land

Tore off the elastoplasts, ow bugger and ow and buggery ow. I hope Masimo appreciates what a lot of trouble I am going to, beautywise. Although unless my brain drops out I will not be telling him
that I sleep in a nose splint.

Went down into the kitchen for brekky. Yip yip and three times yip, in fact yipyipyip!! Last day at Stalag 14 and then I set off on the grand adventure
de
LUUURVE.

bathroom
8:05 a.m.

I have been keeping up a daily plucking plan to keep the orangutan gene at bay. However, I may get Jas to do an impartial inspection of the backs of my legs, as it is useless being smoothy smooth on the front if you are chimpish at the back.

Lalala.

Massage in exfoliating products (Mum's) and make small circles to slough off naughty old cells and leave skin like baby's botty (without the poo).

The flight is eight hours so I should have just about enough time to apply my makeup, do my nails and then be ready to bump into Masimo in a casual and natural way.

lunchtime

As it is raining quite hard, for once we are allowed to loll around in the canteen. Sadly, that means we
have spectacular sad sacks as company. The rest of the ace gang went to the loo to redo their hair—they are so vain, they are like a bunch of Chelsea footballers. I bagsied a table by putting all my things on five chairs and then pretended to be learning my part as MacDuff in
MacUseless,
just in case Nauseating P. Green saw me by myself and came to tell me about her hamsters. Or her new enormous glasses. Her being cast as Lady MacDuff is the worst thing that has happened. I think she thinks that we are actually man and wife. I was so busy pretending to read that I didn't notice the whiff of tiny foreheadedness until it was too late. I looked up to see Wet Lindsay sitting down with her skungy mates at the table next to me.

She said, “Georgia, normal people need only one chair to sit on. Clear those bags up.”

I looked at her, and I was going to say something like “Normal people have a bit of skull between their eyebrows and their fringe,” but she was quite likely to give me detention even on the last day of term. So I let a small smile play around my lips and imagined her in her thong crashing into the sanitary towel dispenser like she did last term. Happy memories.

As I didn't respond, she went back to talking absolute bollocks to her sad mates. I don't know what was keeping the ace gang, unless Ellen had had another dither attack and fallen down in the lavatory. Or maybe Jas was chatting about her fringe.

I was unwrapping my lunchtime jammy dodger when I nearly fell off my chair. I could hear Lindsay whining on, whiney whine, and then she said, “Mas is having a great time in the States, he's been gigging with a group in New York and—”

What? What??

I was interrupted by the gang arriving. They were all singing “My gosh I'm fit, but don't I know it!” so loudly that I couldn't hear anything else Wet Lindsay said.

4:15 p.m.

On the way home with Jas.

“Jas, HOW could he be in touch with her? Did he phone her? Why? Why?”

“Well, I don't know, but he's not…he's not like your boyfriend, is he? And…”

“Jas, I hope you are not going to try and be reasonable, because then I really will have to kill you.”

bedroom

Oh, no, I am once more on the rack of love.

I must speak to the Hornmeister.

Even if I show no pridenosity, I must know what he thinks.

I can't phone him now, though, in front of Mum. Why can't I have a mobile phone???

Oh goddy god god.

5:00 p.m.

Libby has got her “boyfwen” Josh with her. Even my little sister has got a boyfriend. She and Joshy went off into her room and I could hear them murmuring and singing together.

Oh, I am so fed up.

5:15 p.m.

Mum is still pratting about; for once, when I wish she was out, she is in. Typico.

She said, “Why are you mooning around? What are you up to?”

Honestly.

5:20 p.m.

I can't bear this tensionosity.

Libby came in to my room to sing me a new song that she has learnt at kindy. I notice that Josh has quite a lot of lipstick on. She cleared her throat and then began singing in her little but very piercing voice; the tune is the same one as for “Sex Bum.”

Quite quite delightful. She sang:

Yes, that is what my little sister is learning at her kindy.

Songs about bottoms.

5:30 p.m.

I must speak to Dave.

Libby's back in for another round of “Sex Bum.”