Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 03 Read Free

maths Oberführer (and part-time lesbian). It is not, as she stupidly suggests, that I am too busy writing notes to my mates or polishing my nails to concentrate. It is just that some numbers give me the mental droop.
    Eight, for instance.
    It’s the same in German. As I pointed out to Herr Kamyer, there are too many letters in German words. The German types say goosegott in the morning: how normal is that? In fact, how can youtake a language like that seriously? Well, you can’t, which is why I only got sixty percent on my last German exam.
    11:50 a.m.
    I’m just going to lie in bed conserving my strength for a snogging extravaganza when I get home.
    midday
    Mutti came into my room with a tray of sandwiches. I said, “ Goosegott in Himmel , Mutti, have you gone mad? Food? For me? No, no, I’ll just have my usual bit of old sausage.”
    She still kept smiling. It was a bit eerie actually. She was all dreamy. Wafting around in a see-through nightie. Good Lord.
    â€œAre you having a nice time, Gee? It’s gorgeous here, isn’t it?”
    I looked at her ironically.
    She raved on, “It’s fun though, isn’t it?”
    â€œMum, it’s the best fun I’ve had since…er…since Libby dropped my makeup into the loo.”
    She tutted, but not even in her usual violent tutting way. Just like, nice tutting.
    Even though I started reading my Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff for Teens book she still kept raving on. About how great it was to be a “family” again. I wish she would cover herself up a bit more. Other people’s mothers wear nice elegant old-peoples’ wear, and she just lets her basoomas and so on poke out willy-nilly. And they certainly do poke out willy-nilly. They are GIGANTIC.
    She said, “We thought we might go to the pencil-making factory this afternoon.”
    I didn’t even bother saying anything to that.
    â€œIt will be a laugh.”
    â€œNo, it won’t, when did we last have a laugh as a family? Apart from when Grandad’s false teeth went down that woman’s bra?”
    1:00 p.m.
    The lovebirds went off to the pencil factory. They only got Libby to go with them because she thinks they are going to go see the pencil people. And I do mean pencil people. Not people who make pencils. Pencil people. People who are pencils. She’ll go ballistic when she finds out it’s just some Scottish blokes making pencils.
    Oh, I am SO bored. Hours and hours of wasted snogging opportunities.
    1:20 p.m.
    I’d go out but there is nothing to look at. It just goes trees, trees, water, hill, trees, trees, Jock McTavish, Jock McTavish. What is the point of that?
    On the plus side, I am going out with a SEX GOD!
    1:36 p.m.
    Oh Gott in Himmel! What is the point of going out with a Sex God if no one knows?
    4:00 p.m.
    I wonder if I should phone him.
    4:05 p.m.
    Not to speak to him as such. Just to remind him that I am his girlfriend.
    4:10 p.m.
    No one here knows that I am the secret girlfriend of a Sex God.
    5:00 p.m.
    No one at home knows I am the secret girlfriend of a Sex God.
    5:15 p.m.
    I am like a mirage. In a frock.
    7:00 p.m.
    Forced to go and sit in the pub with the elderly loons to “celebrate.” Libby is being baby-sat by Jock McThick’s parents. I hope they have fastened her nighttime nappy securely; otherwise their cottage will not be a poo-free zone. The pub was full of Ye Olde Scottish People (i.e., loads of loonies like my grandad, only wearing kilts). Yippeee. This is the life (not). I asked Vati for a Tía María on the rocks with just a hint of crème de menthe, but he pretended not to hear me. Typico. On the way home M and D were linked up, singing “Donald, Where’s Your Trousers?” whilst I skulked along behind them. It was incredibly dark, no streetlamps or anything. As we tramped along the “grown-ups” were laughing and crashing about (and in Dad’s case farting)