Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 (4 page)

Gorgey Henri was talking about the trip and sitting on his desk. Phwoar. I know that I am putting my red bottom aside with a firm hand but he is very groovy-looking.

When Gorgey Henri said, “I will show you…how you say…my EVERYTHING in Paris,” I said, “Ooer,” which made Rosie laugh uncontrollably for about five minutes.

4:20 p.m.

Forced to stay behind again to help with the
Peter Pan
fiasco. I think it's a crime against humanity to have to look at Wet Lindsay's stick legs night after night. But can I explain that to lesbian of the modern world Miss Stamp? No. She is in a fever
of excitement, adjusting costumes, and sending Nana the dog (a.k.a. Pamela Green) scampering around. P. Green is alarmingly good as a dog. I may teach her some amusing tricks.

backstage
6:00 p.m.

Backstage, rifling through the props box, because Tinker Bell (played by Melanie Andrews, 48DD in the basooma department) broke her wand when Nana leapt up at her by mistake.

I said to Rosie, as we rummaged around trying to find another one, “Do you think it's awfully wise to let Melanie Andrews loose on stage?”

Rosie said, “No, I don't. She's not small, is she? What if her enormous basoomas make her topple over and she kills a first former?”

I said, “I think in our capacity of backstage staff we should ban her on health and safety grounds.”

tuesday november 30th

The Stiff Dylans are rehearsing every night. Robbie said I should come along and listen at the weekend when they are doing their new set. I think
I should take an interest in my new life. I could make some suggestions about lyrics and so on.

saturday december 4th

Sven and the lads have organized a nature ramble tomorrow afternoon. I asked Rosie, “What does that mean?”

“Well, you know, we ramble off to the park and then we snog.”

I can't go, though, because I am going to go to rehearsal with The Stiff Dylans. They have a mini-tour of Scotland and Wales just after Chrimbo. Then they will be cutting their new album. Man. That is not what the album is called. That is just what pop-type people say.

I rang Jas to tell her. “The Stiff Dylans are cutting a new album, man.”

“Why is it called
Man
?”

Sometimes when I talk to Jas I can feel the will to live ebbing away.

sunday december 5th

Remind me never to go to a band rehearsal again. It is soooooo boring watching other people do stuff. And talking about themselves. And me not
being in it. I just sat at the back and nodded my head for about a million years.

Also, I believe the rest of the lads think I'm a bit weird. I don't know why. I have always been the height of sophisticosity around them. Well, apart from when Dom, the drummer, asked me what I was going to do at college and I said, “Backup dancing.”

Oh and also when I danced around at a gig in front of Dom's dad because I thought he was an American talent spotter, but he wasn't. He was just Dom's dad waiting to help them pack up. And he thought that I was trying to get off with him.

But apart from those two minor hiccups I have been sophisticosity all round, I like to think.

Anyway, here is a brief resume of my glorious night:

• a)
  nodded my head for a million years
  
• b)
  sat on a drum kit in the van on the way home
  
• c)
  lost my balance and put my foot through the bass drum
  
• d)
  had to be dropped off first because I had to be in by ten o'clock on a school night
  

Double
merde
.

At least when I have to do the boring old panto stuff I can have a bit of artistic license with Rosie.

I wonder how the nature snog went. I suppose Dave the Laugh went with Ellen.

I don't think that The Stiff Dylans think I am full of maturiosity. I think they think I am the Yoko Ono of the band and that I will split them up.

monday december 6th

I can't believe the poo-osity of my life. Hawkeye said that as “a special treat” Rosie and I could help backstage at the panto every night until the final performance.

Hawkeye is without a doubt a sadist and ex–prison warden. And probably a man.

panto rehearsals

I taught Nauseating P. Green to catch a mini Mars in her mouth from four feet. She is taking this dog business alarmingly seriously. She even brought me a stick, but as I said to Rosie, “I draw the line at tickling her tummy.”

Wet Lindsay was trying to take her tights off by herself when she lost her balance and nearly crashed into the sanitary towel dispenser. It really
cheered me up. She got the mega-hump when I was laughing and doing my impression of her crashing about stuck in a pair of tights. Which was vair vair amusing but old Tiny Forehead didn't think so. After calling me “a pathetic little twit” she stomped off into a stall to get changed.

However, as any fool knows, I am the mistress of invention and with the aid of my compact mirror I was able to look under the door of the stall. I made Rosie come and have a look in the mirror because she didn't believe that Wet Lindsay wears a thong in real life. But she had to believe the evidence of her own peepers when she saw the thong nestling in Wet Lindsay's bum-oley. RoRo had to have a reviving chewy fruit before she could speak again. Then she said, “I am very sensitive, you know. That sort of thing may ruin my chances of becoming a vet.”

So all is well that ends well.

10:00 p.m.

Our house had been a relatively loon-free zone, but it was too good to last. Uncle Eddie was round tonight. As usual, he came balding into my room with one of his hilarious “jokes.” He said, “Can a
cross-eyed teacher control her pupils?” And looned off laughing like a bald loon.

10:15 p.m.

Robbie phoned and he didn't mention the bass drum incident, which is a plus. He said, “What have you been up to, sex kitty?”

Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

midnight

I do feel like a bit of a French Resistance person, though, because I only see Robbie sort of in secret. There is no normal stuff with him. I said that to Rosie, and she said, “What do you call normal?”

“Well, you and Sven, you see each other all the time and you must do normal stuff.”

She just looked at me. “Have you met Sven?”

Hmmm, she has a point. Jas and Tom do normal stuff, though. In fact, they act like they have been married for about a trillion years. I'm not saying I want to be as boring as Jas and Tom—collecting frog spawn and doing homework together is too tragic for words. But what do you do with Sex Gods? Besides snog and worship them, I mean.

thursday december 9th

Opening night of the panto. When the audience started clapping to prove they believed in fairies, Tinker Bell flew out of control and crashed against the back piece of scenery, which fell over to reveal Miss Stamp having a fag. Very funny indeed, I thought.

And much less boring than watching Peter Pan prancing around in green tights.

9:50 p.m.

Something quite alarming happened tonight. I was just sneaking off from the dressing room when Nauseating P. Green came bounding along, still with her dog ears on. And she had her mum, who is not unblessed in the huge glasses department, with her. They were both blinking at me and following me out of the door. Like two giant goldfish in skirts.

P. Green said, “I told Mum that you were the one who really helped me with my dog tricks.”

Mrs. Nauseating P. Green said, “It's really nice that Pamela and you are such good friends. Would you like to come round to our house on Christmas Eve? We do round robin storytelling and dress up.”

I said, “Hrrmmmmm…Oh, is that the time, I must dash!” And made a desperate bid for freedom.

As we walked home, Rosie said, “She loves you very very much. You are her bestest pal.” Good grief.

friday december 10th

Christmas frenzy mounting. I put some tinsel around my sports knickers for that little festive touch in P.E. Miss Stamp for once did not have a nervy spaz, which was a bit scary. Things soon got back to normal in Latin, though, because Hawkeye made us take the false snow (cotton wool) off our heads.

wednesday december 15th

last day of term

Hurrah!!! Thank you, thank you, Baby Jesus!!! Free, free at last!

last german lesson

We were all a bit on the hysterical side. I think the teachers must have been out for a pre-Christmas beverage, if you know what I mean, because Herr Kamyer told us an incomprehensible joke about a Swiss cheese (please don't even ask) and then
laughed for about forty years. AND as we were going down the corridor we bumped into Gorgey Henri.

“Merry
Noël
,” I said to him and he kissed my cheek and said, “
Merci, au revoir.
I look forward to 'aving you all again in the New Year.”

Which made us apopletic with laughter. I thought I might have to throw a bucket of cold water over Rosie and Jools.

Henri smiled at us and said, “You are so crazee.” Then he walked off in his groovy gravy jeans.

“Gorgey Henri is quite literally…gorgey,” I said. “He is yummy scrumboes and also…”

Rosie said, “Scrummy yumboes?”

“Mais oui.”

6:30 p.m.

Last night of the panto.
Mucho excitemondo
(not).

Miss Stamp bought Coca-Cola and cakes for the cast as an end-of-show party thing. Unfortunately the little cakes were saying, “Eat me, eat me, you know you want to,” and so Rosie and I were enticed by them. We only ate a few, but
Hawkeye noticed and now we are banned from the party.
Quel dommage
(not).

8:00 p.m.

Peter and the rest of the ridiculous Lost Boys are poncing around on stage. I may have to eat myself soon, I am so bored. I wonder where the Sex God is now? And if he is thinking about me. I wonder if he thinks about me as many times a minute as I think about him.

I've had to pretend that I am in training for hockey every night this week. Somehow, even though I believe that the only good relationship is an open and honest one, I can't bring myself to tell him that I am helping people into tights.

8:10 p.m.

Rosie found something
très très magnifique
in a props basket at the back of the store cupboard—theatrical fur. Fake fur that you stick on with a special glue and you can make beards and sideburns and so on with it.

8:25 p.m.

Rosie and I have to be on duty at the side of the
stage, handing things over to Wendy and Peter and Captain Hook and so on when they come off. They are all sooo excited. And theatrical. Wet Lindsay just shouts orders like “Sword!” or “Panstick!” if she has to have her stupid shiny forehead touched up. It's VERY annoying, and boring beyond even the Valley of Boredom.

But now we have introduced the theatrical fur into the proceedings. Every time one of us has to go and get something from backstage we stick on a bit of theatrical fur, but just carry on doing our tasks as normal.

8:45 p.m.

At first we had a sort of six o'clock shadow effect, but by the final curtain we had entered properly into the spirit of hairiness. Rosie had big furry hands and sideburns and I had one huge eyebrow right across my forehead. And no one noticed!!! Too busy admiring themselves to notice that two teenage werewolves were handing them their props. Very very funny.

Rosie and I were nearly dead from laughing by the time the curtain came down. The cast went out front to talk to their parents, still in their ridiculous
outfits, even Nana. In fact, if I was P. Green's mum I would be worried about ever getting her out of her dog costume.

Whilst they did that we sneaked off home. I have rarely seen anything as funny as Rosie in her school uniform and beret with HUGE sidies and furry hands.

Luckily I managed to skedaddle home without seeing anyone I knew.

bed

It took me about a year to get my eyebrow off. In the end I had to use nail polish remover. I've practically removed my forehead.

I must get plenty of beauty sleep and regrow my forehead because I am seeing my boyfriend this weekend. It's only one hundred and eighty hours until he leaves for the Isle of Man with his family for Christmas. And fifty-six of those will be spent sleeping. Unless Libby visits my bed.

saturday december 18th

churchill square

Out with the ace gang shopping for Chrimbo presents and lurking around hoping to bump into
lads. We were just having a rest on a wall when the Bummers came sauntering past. Jackie Bummer was dressed completely in leather. Leather skirt, jacket, boots, coat…all of it nicked, I bet. She is like a walking crime wave. As a decent citizen I should turn her over to the Old Bill; however, I have my principles and I will never be a snitcher. Especially as snitchers can end up on the wrong end of a duffing incident.

Jackie looked at us like we were snot on legs and said, “Have to dash, little girls, only six shoplifting days till Christmas.”

God, they are soooo common and tarty.

4:00 p.m.

At home with my thoughtful Chrimboli gift. I hope Dad appreciates the ENORMOUS lengths I went to to get him some new socks. I had to wander around very old people's shops for ages to find anything suitable.

5:00 p.m.

I wonder why I haven't heard from SG yet? I've got eight outfits on standby duty and have
applied undercoat foundation but it's very tense-making not knowing what is going on.

living room

Mutti and Vati wrestling about tickling each other. Vati had a very alarming pair of jogging trousers on. I suppose it's nice that they are so affectionate, but I don't like to think of certain people snogging. The Queen, for instance. Imagine the Queen getting to number seven with Prince Philip…erlack. Or Herr Kamyer with Hawkeye…erlack, erlack! Or Mr. and Mrs. Next Door in the nuddy-pants.