Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 06 (10 page)

She can be incredibly dim. He was called Moaning Clyde or Wailing Clyde or something, anyway some kind of complaining was going on
namewise. Sadly, Moaning Clyde took a shine to me and kept patting my head, so in desperation I had to buy his CD. And then he made us get a photo taken with him. He was quite a tiny chap and his head was practically resting on one of my nunga-nungas.

Jas whispered to me, “Moaning Clyde is your new boyfriend. He luuurves you.”

She might be right. I couldn't make out what he was saying; we may be married, for all I know. Still, as I said to Jas, “I don't think a hundred-year age difference is necessarily a barrier to our happiness; the fact that I will never see him again probably is, though.”

8:00 p.m.

In our hotel. Alone!!! Dad and Uncle Eddie and Mum and Libby are all at the clown-car evening do with their incredibly sad new mates.

There are twenty-two channels on the TV, which is in a chest of drawers. There isn't a TV in the wardrobe, which is a bit of a blow. But ho hum, pig's bum.

Tuning into the local stations. Mostly it is fools plucking away on banjos and singing “I am the son
of a preacher man.” Or something about God or grits, etc. But then we found a program with a sort of agony aunt person. She is called Delilah and is supposed to be cheering people up when they phone in with “luuurve trouble.”

She wouldn't have cheered me up, I can tell you that. She was an alarming shade of orange and dressed entirely in pink. There was a suggestion of the criminally insane around the pigtails area. Some poor sod phoned in about her second marriage. She said, “Good evening, Delilah, I am getting remarried and my son from my first marriage is having a little trouble coming to terms with my wedding. In fact, he is refusing to come. How can I persuade him to enjoy my lovely day?”

Delilah (looking intently into the camera with a mad/concerned look on her face) said, “So what you are saying is that your son is DEVASTATED by your new marriage?”

“Well, I wouldn't say devastated, I would—”

Delilah hadn't finished. “He is MORTIFIED that you have taken another man to YOUR BED who is not his father.”

“Well, he hasn't mentioned the bed, it was just that he—”

“He CANNOT BELIEVE his own MOTHER would deceive him and LET HIM DOWN SOOOOO BADLY. He is in TORMENT!”

After having reduced the caller practically to suicide, Delilah then said, “But as you all know, music soothes the troubled breast, and here's a little tune for you to heal the wounds.”

The tune was called “You Are a Drunk and an Unfit Mother.”

I wanted to ring the helpline number to complain about my mutti and vati, but then I would have only got through to Dad and he's not even in.

thursday may 26th
poolside
only three days till we go back to england

Even if I can't find Masimo, I can concentrate on becoming brown as a bee in a bikini. Me and Jas had just settled down to heavy sunbathing duties when Vati tried to make us go to the clown-car convention with them.

He said, “What is the point in coming to a new country and then just lolling about by the pool? You could do that anywhere; you should get out
and experience the culture.”

I said, “Dad, how many hamburgers can one person eat? And anyway, Me and Jas are soaking up the culture conversationwise poolsidewise. So get real and cut me some slack here because I am sooooo OVER you.”

“Why are you talking rubbish?”

“Well, HELLOOOO, Dad, do not even GO there—that is not rubbish, that is Hamburgese.”

He went raving and grumbling on, but at last they left me and Jas in peace for a few hours.

3:00 p.m.

I said to Jas, “Have I got strap marks?”

“Let's see…yes, you have.”

Excellent!!!

evening

In the old laughter wagon again on our way to a hotel that everyone has been rambling on about. It's called Gaylords, which says it all in my book.

I said meaningfully to Uncle Eddie and Vati, “You two are certainly in the right place then.”

Gaylords is “the Western experience under one
roof.” Apparently people can't be arsed to go to the real West, so they just come to this hotel. We went in through the “saloon door.”

inside gaylords

Oh, this is so much worse than you can possibly imagine. There are canyons and waterfalls and deserts all inside a hotel and everyone is dressed in cowboy outfits, or shorts with high heels and gold belts for the ladeez. (Didn't you know that in the Wild West the ladies wore shorts and high heels?) I said to Dad, “Now can I have a gun?”

But he and Uncle Eddie were too busy yelling “Yee-haa” and staggering around in tight leather jeans. Yes, they were wearing leather. I will just leave that image with you. Me and Jas tried at all times not to be behind them because then we would have to look at their bottoms bursting out of their tight leather jeans.

Erlack.

By the Dodge City cinema there is actually a shop that sells overalls.

I am not kidding.

five minutes later

Oh good, Dad and Uncle Eddie have bought some and they have slipped off to the “rest rooms,” or “bucks' room” (I know, I know), and come back wearing them….

 

This is a nightmare scenario.

In the bar area comfort zone they have bucking broncos as bar stools.

Nothing will make me go on one.

two minutes later

I am sitting on a bucking bronco stool, I have a pair of horns in between my legs…so has everyone. We are all sitting at the bar on bucking bronco stools. My dad and Uncle Eddie are wearing overalls. The bar staff are all dressed like Wyatt Earp and crack a whip when you order a drink. Nothing could be worse.

Wrong. Oh, so very wrongey wrong wrong.

The bucking bronco bar stools actually buck. I found this out when “Rawhide” came on the speaker system. I was too late getting off, and before I knew it I was being thrown backward and
forward and round and round. I was clinging onto the horns for dear life. Jas had fallen half off hers and was nearly upside down. Libby was absolutely hooting with laughter and yelling, “Giddyup!!!”

God, I feel sick. The stools eventually stopped bucking when “Rawhide” finished, and me and Jas scrambled off and had a rest on a rock.

four minutes later

“Rawhide” came on again, and Libby and Mum, Dad and Uncle Eddie, and everyone else at the bar started bucking about like loonies. It is sooooo sad. Dad fell off. Good.

two minutes later

Dad and Uncle Eddie have made loads of new fat overally mates.

Hoorah.

The fun just goes on and on. From the safety of our rock we were watching a boy with alarmingly big white teeth and those leather things that cowboys wear over their jeans. They are called chaps, for some reason. Cowboys wear them when they are rounding up cattle. White-teeth boy wasn't rounding up cattle, he was line dancing like a fool.

I said to Jas, “He makes Sven seem normal.”

Then he caught me staring at him, winked, and came over.

“Do you mind if I take a little rest beside you, ma'am, I'm a bit saddle sore.”

I said, “Sadly, it's a free country.”

He sat down and said, “Hi, you all. Whereabouts in Australia are you all from?”

I said, “I'm English.”

And he whistled and said, “Awesome!”

Is it?

Then he tipped his hat back and said, “Honey, I bet you are a real good kisser.”

What a cheek!

I said with haughtiology and glaciosity: “I'm afraid I don't do snogging with strangers.”

Jas almost choked on her megasize Coca-Cola (i.e., Coke in a bucket).

Big-teeth boy said, “What is snoggling?”

Snoggling?

It turned out that Mr. Goofy knew next to nothing about the British language. For instance, when I asked politely, “Were you always an arse and a prat, or were you once just a prat?” he didn't understand what I meant.

Fortunately we were interrupted in our interesting cross-cultural chat by Libby. She came over singing, “Head 'em cup, knead 'em in. Soooooorrreee hide!” and sat on my lap.

She was looking at my new “friend” and then looking at his trousers.

“Georgeee, why is that man so bulgy?”

Then she slipped down from my knee and before I could stop her she went and stood looking and looking at his pouch trousers. He just had time to say, “Well, how are you all doing, little miss?” before she thumped him in the trouser-snake area.

Happy days.

And lovely holiday moments.

friday may 27th
only two more days to go

We were driving to the clown-car convention when we saw a big four-wheel drive car thing, and in the rear window it had a sticker that said
HONK IF YOU SEE THE TWINS FALL OUT
, which I though was vair vair
amusant
.

I said to Vati, “We could have one that said ‘Don't honk if Uncle Eddie falls out.'

Mum said, “Don't be so rude.”

But she needn't have bothered, as Uncle Eddie had his headphones on and was singing along (badly) to “I Am Proud to Be a Redneck.”

Which I think is spookily karmic, as his whole head is practically now a red neck, if you see what I mean.

at the clown-car convention
2:00 p.m.

Me and Jas slipped off by ourselves to get away from the overall-wearing fools. And do more sunbathing.

Libby came with us to the ice cream stall and she started her usual shouting. “Me want a big big one pleeeeeeease!”

The elderly man and woman behind us, both dressed from top to toe in gingham, said, “Isn't she the cute one?”

I looked around, but amazingly they were talking about Libby.

“Hey now, let us get you a treat, little lady.”

And they paid for her ice cream.

She said, “Fank oo ladies.”

They were keen as mustard to know us, and gingham-man said to me, “How are you all enjoying your day?”

I said, “Oh, fab, I haven't enjoyed myself this much since I injured my ankle at hockey.”

But I said it with a charming and light smile.

Mrs. Gingham said, “Oh, that is a cute accent you've got there. Whereabouts in Ireland are you from?”

Then Libby, in between mouthfuls of ice cream, said, “I can sing my song.”

Oh no. I tried to gag her but she bit my hand and went on really loudly and with gusto.

“Poo pooo bum bum. Poo bummy bum bum, arse.”

Oh good.

The Ginghams clapped and laughed.

“Oh, soooo cute. But what is ‘arse?' That is not a word I know. Is it an Oirish word?” Mrs. Gingham asked.

Libby started smacking her behind, singing, “Bum bum, arse arse.”

And the Ginghams clapped along. I hope they weren't escapees from the circus-clown-car mental home.

Then Mrs. Gingham said, “Oh, I seee, honey. You mean your derrière! You say arse in Oireland but in the United States we would say FANNY. Can you say that word, dear? ‘Fanny'? Let me pat your little fanny.”

I dragged Libby away quickly. With a bit of luck she would forget all about the fanny business.

As we went off, Mrs. Gingham yelled, “Now you all come back and visit us from Oireland again, begorrah.”

Good grief.

But God bless them—if you can't beat them, join them, I say.

Me and Jas shouted back, “Top of the morning to you!”

saturday may 28th
one more day

The week has whizzed by, even though I didn't have any luck finding Masimo. What I like most about here is that everyone likes us. A LOT. It has made me and Jazzy Spazzy in such a good mood that we even went to watch a clown-car race.

Actually it has to be said, seeing a lot of clown cars roaring around a race track is very hilarious. It's
like watching very old people with ponytails skating or something. At least my dad doesn't do that.

Dad and Mum and Uncle Eddie have made loads of new mates, and we all went out to a takeaway hamburger place for the last lunch.

You drive up to some clown head thing and then you shout your order at it, and it talks back to you and then you go and get your order.

Now, that is what I call culture. Why can't we have something like that in England? I think I will suggest it to Hawkeye when I get back to Stalag 14.

It would make lunchtime a whole new experience clown head thingwise.

2:00 p.m.

As the olds went off to get last-minute pressies and Libby went to get something for the kitties, me and Jas made our small but meaningful tribute to our visit to Hamburger-a-gogo land. The only good thing about the nightmare trip to Gaylords was that we got to buy some souvenir bison horn hats. We were able to wear them for our farewell nuddy-pants photo session in the hotel room.

It was vair vair amusing. Jas in the nuddy-
pants and bison horns, reading a book on the ginormous bed. Me adjusting the TV in the bathroom in my bison horns and nuddy-pants. Packing suitcases, applying lippy, etc. Vair vair amusing indeed. I was nearly dead with laughing.

 

Loreen and Jolene and Noelene and Gaylene and all the other lenes at the hotel actually cried when we left…honestly. They were hugging us and so on. Saying “Now, you all come back to us, soon as you can, missing you already.”

Still, as I said to Jas, “They are only human.”

Adiós amigos
, as you say in Hamburger-a-gogo land. I love you all. But I must go, as I have a Luuurve God to find.

sunday may 29th
11:00 a.m.

Circling over England. Blimey, it looks like toytown.

heathrow airport

Home again home again jiggity jig!

Rain rain, lovely rain.

Vati's ludicrous van mate has come to pick us up.

His van has a big sticker on it that says
IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR LOVE, HAVE A LOOK AT THE DRIVER'S HORN
.

Still, no one knows me at Heathrow.

1:00 p.m.

As we were trying to get all our stuff in the van, a policeman came to tell us to move along because we were blocking the road.

I beamed at him. “Good morrow, Constable, and how are you on this fine English eve?”

He looked at me as rain bounced off his helmet.

“I'm as well as can be expected under the circumstances, madam.”

“We've just come back from Hamburger-a-gogo land and the police over there have guns. Do you have a gun concealed about your person, Officer?”

“I very often wish I did, madam. Can you pop into your van now so that we can sort out the twelve-mile tailback you are causing?”

Mum said, “I honestly am doing my best, Sergeant, but my husband's comedy cowboy hat is a bit difficult to fit in anywhere without…”

I could see that the officer was on the point of shoving Mum and the hat in the back in a quite forceful way, when Libby piped up.

“I know a song, Mr. Bobbyman.”

Even I have to admit that Bibs can look like an ordinary charming child sometimes, and she had her fairy crown on and a pink dress, so you could be forgiven for the mistake.

The officer sighed and bent down to her.

“OK, just sing me a little verse before your
mummy and daddy quickly get in the van and GO HOME.”

You never know what toddlers will remember. Libby sang her botty song to the officer. But worse, much worse than that, she sang the American version.

She put her hands on her hips and gave her all to the constable.

“Bum-oley, bum-oley, fanny fanny bum bum.”

I thought he was going to faint. He tried to stop her—God knows we all did—but on it went, even when Dad put her under his arm and shoved her in the back of the van.

“Poo poo and bummy bum bum FANNY! Pat my little fanny!”

3:30 p.m.

Dropped Jazzy Spazzy off at her house. She said, “It will be weird not being together, won't it? Call me as soon as you get home.”

I very nearly hugged her. But then I remembered we are back in Stiff Upper Lip land and I don't want any rumors of lesbianism to spread; you never knew who might be watching.

On the way home to our house we sang “I Was
Born Under a Wandering Star.” Vati is in a remarkably good mood. I can't believe that looking at clown cars can cheer you up, but it has.

Mum is still full of herself because all the men across “the pond” called her “ma'am.”

Still, it was nice of them to take me and Jas to Hamburger-a-gogo, even if I didn't manage to find the Luuurve God.

Of course, the plus side is that now we are back, I don't need to see anything of them. I will be out all night and all day with my boyfriend.

If I've got a boyfriend.

I don't even know if he is back yet.

Oh, hello.

Welcome back to the rack of love.

We arrived at our gate and unpacked all our luggage.

The van man and Uncle Eddie drove off in a squeal of tires. Uncle Eddie, still wearing his comedy arrow through the head, yelled, “Head 'em up, ride 'em out, RAWHIIIIIIDE. Yeeehaaa!”

I saw Mr. Next Door bob down underneath his window so that we couldn't see him.

I also noticed that the anti-cat fence has been taken down.

He will be thrilled with our Prat outfits. I may take them round later when he thinks we have gone to bed.

3:45 p.m.

Home!!! Our lovely house, surprisingly not a burnt-out wreck.

Happy days.

I even found myself hugging Grandad.

No sign of his girlfriend.

in the loo

Ermmm…wrong about there being no sign of Maisie.

I am not being ungrateful, but why would anyone normal knit a toilet seat cover?

in the kitchen

Or knit covers for the door handles?

No sign of the kittykats.

Mum and Dad and Libby have taken Grandvati home, so it is just me in the same bat place.

I am going to think about all my experiences and what I have learned on my great adventure about life, love and the universe.

I am simply going to enjoy my own mind.

In the peace and tranquility of my own room.

The simple joy of being alone with just my own deep inner thoughts.

in my bedroom

Please tell me it is not true that I now am the proud owner of knitted slippers.

4:00 p.m.

Rang Jas.

“Jas.”

“Howdy.”

“Howdy, how are you all doing?”

“Just fine, and how are you all?”

“Have you heard anything from anyone?”

“There were about ten messages from Tom. He's having a nice time and everything, but he really misses me, and oh, he mentioned—”

“Jas, pleased though I am for your news about wombats and so on, what I want to know is have you heard anything, you know, from the gang or anything?”

“Georgia, I have only been in the house for twenty minutes.”

4:30 p.m.

Phoned Rosie.

Rosie's mum answered the phone.

I said, “Is Rosie in?”

“I'm afraid not, dear, she has gone out to homework club.”

Sven's snogging emporium more like.

 

Tried Jools.

Out at homework club.

Ditto Ellen and Mabs.

Crikey. I hope they've not formed a lesbian coven.

 

Hummmph.

Back from a million years abroad and the ace gang can't even be bothered to say “welcome home.”

 

Back to Stalag 14 tomorrow.

I feel a bit sheer desperadoes because nothing has changed. No one has got in touch, so I don't know where Masimo is. Is he back? Perhaps he has decided to stay over in Hamburger-a-gogo.

Oh
merde
.

What am I going to do all night now?

Even the kittykats are all out, no sign of them anywhere. Once again I have dropped anchor in Poo Bay.

8:35 p.m.

Went round to Mr. and Mrs. Next Door. I am sure they saw me coming up their drive and pretended to be out. I heard a muffled bark from inside the house.

They are vair vair nervous people. Still, live and let die, I say, and I posted the Prat brothers' Elvis outfits through the postbox.

I am sure they will love them a lot.

Really, I am too good for this world.

Oscar, Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road's prepubescent sex maniac son, was on perv duty on the wall. He looked across at me as I passed and said, “Cracking tits.”

Oh lovely.

9:00 p.m.

You always hear people moaning on about jet lag, don't you? “Oooh, I had to go straight to bed, I
didn't feel right for three weeks.” Namby-pambies. It's just another form of trave…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

monday may 30th
7:30 a.m.

What happened? Did someone creep into my room with a mallet? I feel appalling. No one could expect me to go to school.

I'll just snuggle down and…hang on a minute, how will I find out about Masimo if I don't go out? I must be brave for my love.

Still no sign of the kittykats as I dashed out.

I know they have been around, though, because all the plants are just stumps.

8:30 a.m.

Met Jas. She looked like death warmed up. She said, “God, I'm tired. Are you?”

I said, “Not many, Benny. Still, we can have an afternoon nap during German.”

stalag 14

When me and Jas got to the school gates the ace gang were waiting for us!!!

We had a celebratory Klingon greeting and a
quick burst of disco inferno. I felt quite emotional and came over all American. I hugged Rosie, I was so pleased to see her. She shoved me off and said, “Get off me, you appalling tart. And I mean that in a loving way.”

Oh, it is so good to get back to normal.

english

So much to say, so little time.

Miss Wilson kept interrupting our chat with her so-called love of Shakespeare. For goodness' sake. Hers is not the love that dares not speak its name, hers is the love that bangs on and on about Billy. It's all “What ho, my lord” and “Oh look, here comes MacBeth talking total bollocks.” On the plus side, she reminded us that the Foxwoods lads are coming to help us backstage (oo-er) when we rehearse
MacUseless
.

behind the five's court
break time at last

Rosie said, “So, what happened? Did you find Masimo?”

I said, “Well, in the end I thought, you know, it was a bit like uncool to get in touch, so I—”

Jas said, “So she phoned up all these complete strangers and made an idiot of herself instead.”

Oh, thank you, Mrs. What a Great Pal NOT.

Actually the gang were really nice about it. Jools said, “Well, he doesn't know you tried to find him, so he can go on thinking you are full of glaciosity.”

And Ellen, for once, said something quite sensible. “And you are quite brown.”

Good point, actually.

They wanted to hear everything about our trip, so we treated them to a quick chorus from Delilah's song, “You Are a Drunk and an Unfit Mother,” and then told them all about Hamburger-a-gogo. You know—all about the different culture, and the chance to communicate with foreign people in their own language….

Rosie said, “Let me get this right. You went to a place that was actually called Gaylords? And you rode a bucking bronco bar stool?”

“Yes.”

“With horns?”

“Yes.”

“Please say you took photos.”

Jas said, “Better than that. We brought you all special replica horns to wear. Look.”

She got the gift horns out of her rukky and the ace gang tried them on.

They were thrilled, going “Oh, wow!!!” and “Fabarooney!!!”

They looked
magnifique
.

Jools said, “We should form a band called the Bisons.”

11:15 a.m.

The American disco inferno bison dance is born.

It is: foot stomp, foot stomp, arse wiggle.

Horns to the right, horns to the left, clap!

Foot stomp, foot stomp, arse wiggle.

Horns to the right, horns to the left and clap!

Ellen said, “It's like good and everything, but bisons don't clap, do they?”

Good grief. If it was up to people like Ellen,
The Simpsons
might never exist. She'd be saying “No one has blue hair two feet high” and other gibberish.

I said, “That is where you are vair vair wrong, Ellen. Out on the range, when a traveling circus pulls in, the bison and the rest of the prairie folk go
to see it, and the biggest clappers are always the bison.”

Ellen looked even more confused than normal. I said, “Ellen, of course they don't clap, but neither do they do disco dancing. It's poetic whatsit, you steaming ninny.”

As we loped into Stalag 14 past the prison warders Wet Lindsay and Hawkeye and their guard dog, Astonishingly Dim Monica, Mabs said, “So you don't know where Masimo is?”

I said, “No, I don't know whether he is back or what is happening.”

Wet Lindsay glared at me as we went in. I think she may have lost weight whilst I have been away. It's not a good look unless you like looking like a vair vair thin twit.

4:00 p.m.

Bloody
sacré bleu
. We've had our bison horns confiscated! How are we supposed to form a band now?

I was grumbling to Jas as we slouched off home.

“Honestly, how petty is this place? I KNEW Wet Lindsay would try something. She's got it in for me.”

Jas said, “We should have taken them off after German.”

“Where is the law that says ‘Bison horns shall not be worn in the school corridors'? Tell me that. Where is that law written down?”

“You said that to Wet Lindsay.”

“I know I did, Jas. I was there.”

“She said, ‘Don't be ridiculous, there is no law written down that says don't poo in the corridors, but we know not to do it.'”

“I know she did, and I think it is disgusting that we have to put up with that sort of language, poo talk, from supposed Head Girls.”

“You said that to her as well.”

“JAS, I KNOW I said that to her. I was there!!!”

“That's when she gave us all bad conduct marks.”

“Yes, well, that is typico.”

home

I HATE Stalag 14. They treat us like bloody children. I wanted to practice my bison dance.

6:00 p.m.

Mabs phoned. “Gee, I bumped into Dom and he
asked if we're going to the Stiff Dylans gig next weekend.”

“Wowzee wow, did you ask him about Masimo?”

“Er, no, I thought that would be uncool.”

“Good thinking, Batwoman.”

It is good thinking, but annoying, too, as I don't know anything about the Luuurrve God.

On the brighter side, there is a Stiff Dylans gig, so if nothing else it means that Masimo will be back by then.

wednesday june 1st
8:15 a.m.

Something really really freaky-deaky and weird happened. The doorbell rang and everyone had already gone out so I answered it and it was the postman. He said to me, “I have a registered parcel for Miss Georgia Nicolson. Is she in?”

I said, “Oh, come on, you know I am in, you are talking to me.”

He is a surly old bugger. He shouldn't really have a job with the public, unless it is the public that lives in a prison. He said in his surly, officious way, “Well, you say that, miss, but have you any way of identifying yourself?”