Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 03

by Knocked Out by My Nunga-Nungas

  Ellen went all pink and incredibly girlish. But then Jools said, “You have to kiss…Georgia….”

  Why did she say that? What did she know? Was my big red bottom showing under my skirt????

  Whilst everyone went “Snog, snog, snog!”, I went into the kitchen to get myself a drink.

  I was in a state of confusiosity. I wish I knew what I wanted. I wanted everything.

  I wanted the Sex God and Dave the Laugh, and also possibly Henri.

  Good Lord. I really was a nymphowhatsit.

  That is when Dave the Laugh came out.

  “Georgia.”

  “What?”

  “You owe me a snog.”

  Oh God’s pajamas!!! He was my best pal’s boyfriend. I was the girlfriend of a Sex God.

  I would just have to say “No, Dave, the game is over.”

  And that is when I accidentally snogged him. AGAIN!!!

  Oh, my lips had no discipline!! They were bad, bad lips!!! Then he stopped, mid–nip libbling, and said, “Georgia, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  That was what I was going to say!

  He said, “Look, I really, really like you. I always have, you know that. But I am not an idiot, and, you know, other girls like me. They are only human; you have seen my dancing….”

  That made me laugh even amidst the dramatosity.

  He went on, because I seemed to be paralyzed from the nose downwards. Well, from the neck up wards and the nose downwards: “You have to choose. You go for a Sex God or you go for me, who really likes you and who you could have a great time with.”

  Then he gave me a little soft kiss on the mouth and went back into the living room.

  midnight

  In my bed. With my egg child tucked up next to me.

  I am beyond the Valley of the Confused and treading lightly in the Universe of the Severely Deranged. Sacré bloody bleu. I am supposed to be thinking about makeup and my nunga-nungas. Not life-changing decisions. And egg babies. Why can’t I just be left alone, why do I have to care about everything? I’m only fourteen. I only just snogged someone a few months ago and now I am practically married and have an egg child.

  Jas hasn’t got red-bottomosity, so it’s all very well for her to be boring.

  But my bottom demands to be heard.

  1:00 a.m.

  Oh sacré bloody bleu. I can’t sleep.

  Sex God or the Laugh?

  Or both.

  1:15 a.m.

  Jelloid knickers or strange dancing?

  Ear snogging or nip libbling?

  It is a stark choice.

  1:20 a.m.

  I wonder what sort of snogging Henri does. Perhaps les français do other things that are not on the English snogging scale. Nose libbling, peut-être. That might be quite nice.

  1:30 a.m

  Nose libbling???!!!!

  What am I talking about???!!!!

  sunday november 21st at breakfast

  10:45 a.m.

  I think I’m going mad. I feel so bonkers that at this rate I might be driven to ask advice from my mutti. I went into the kitchen and I began to say “Mutti, I have a…” but then I was so astonished I forgot what I was going to say. For once in her life, Mum had actually made breakfast for me and Libbs. Boiled eggs and soldiers. Amazing. And she was practically fully dressed. It was almost like being in a real family. Possibly. I tapped the top of my egg and scooped a bit out, and Mum said, “Georgia, don’t let Libby take eggs in your bed. I found that one on your pillow.”

  I was eating my child.

  That is the kind of person I have become.

  A red-bottomed child eater.

  What could be worse than that?

  Then Vati came bursting through the door and said, “Christ on a bike…Naomi is pregnant!!!”

  in my room

  midday

  In my bed of pain.

  I can still see the little indent in the pillow where my egg child spent so many happy hours.

  Who is Naomi pregnant by?

  Have Angus’s missing addendums made a surprise reappearance? Or has he been cuckolded by the little minx? Perhaps Vati is right that all women are fickle. My own mutti said she liked being a double dater. She thrust her nungas at Dr. Clooney. And now Naomi has allowed her girlie parts to flow free and wild. She has displayed appalling red-bottomosity.

  But how can I point the fingers of shame? I am just the same.

  No, I am worse.

  Much, much worse.

  I am a red-bottomed child eater.

  Oh merde.

  The End

  4:00 p.m.

  However, on the bright side—God wouldn’t have made me have a red bottom in the first place unless he was trying to tell me something. He is, as we all know, impotent. (Or do I mean omnipotent? I don’t know, but anyway he is some kind of potent.) Perhaps he is saying, “Go forth, Georgia, and use your red bottom wisely.”

  Hmmmm. So maybe I could have the Sex God AND Dave the Laugh?

  And perhaps for diplomatic world relationship type stuff Henri as well?

  Cor, it’s all a go!!!

  Georgia’s Glossary

  articles • (as in “You two articles get in here now!”) A term of disdain used by so-called grown-ups. Because of their disdain of you they no longer see you as a human being but merely as a thing, an article.

  backup dancer • This is like a backup singer, only it is dancing. At the back. Do you get it?

  balaclava • This is from the Crimean War when our great-great-grannies spent all their time knitting hats to keep the English soldiers warm in the very, very cold Baltic. A balaclava covers everything apart from your eyes. It is like a big sock with a hole in it. Which just goes to show what really crap knitters our great-great-grannies were.

  bangers • Firecrackers. Fireworks that just explode with a big bang. That’s it. No pretty whooshing or stars or rocketing up into the sky. Bangers just bang. Boy fireworks. Boys are truly weird.

  Blimey O’Reilly • (as in “Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers”) This is an Irish expression of disbelief and shock. Maybe Blimey O’Reilly was a famous Irish bloke who had extravagantly big trousers. We may never know the truth. The fact is, whoever he is, what you need to know is that a) it’s Irish and b) it is Irish. I rest my case.

  blodge • Biology. Like geoggers—geography—or Froggie—French.

  Boots • A large drugstore chain selling mostly cosmetics.

  David Ginola • A spectacularly good-looking French football player who plays in England. He has very long hair that he conditions and swishes round. He also carries a handbag. In any other circumstances he would definitely be a homosexualist. However, we must remember he is French.

  DIY • Quite literally “Do It Yourself!” Rude when you think about it. Instead of getting someone competent to do things around the house (you know, like a trained electrician or a builder or a plumber), some vatis choose to DIY. Always with disastrous results. (For example, my bedroom ceiling has footprints in it because my vati decided he would go up on the roof and replace a few tiles. Hopeless.)

  duffing up • Duffing up is the female equivalent of beating up. It is not so violent and usually involves a lot of pushing with the occasional pinch.

  Durex • Oh do I really have to go into this? Honestly, everyone is OBSESSED with sex. A Durex is a…oh, you know. Yes, you do. It’s a thingy. A boy thingy. Now do you get it? Oh very well, you asked me…a Durex is a condom. See. I knew you wouldn’t like it if I told you.

  fringe • Goofy short bit of hair that comes down to your eyebrows. Someone told me that American-type people call them “bangs” but this is so ridiculously strange that it’s not worth thinking about. Some people can look very stylish with a fringe (i.e., me) while others look goofy (Jas). The Beatles started it apparently. One of them had a German girlfriend, and she cut their hair with a pudding bowl and the rest is history.

 
; ginger nob • Someone with red hair. Red hair in England is a sign of lunacy. This stems from Henry VIII, who had red hair and also cut people’s heads off. A lot. For a laugh.

  goosegog • Gooseberry. I know you are looking all quizzical now. OK. If there are two people and they want to snog and you keep hanging about saying “Do you fancy some chewing gum?” or “Have you seen my interesting new socks?” you are a gooseberry. Or for short a goosegog, i.e., someone who nobody wants around.

  goss • Gossip. Not to be confused with guss (gusset).

  gyp • Who knows what this means? It’s just something you say, like “Gadzooks!” Essentially gyp means “a pain.” Elvis Attwood says I give him gyp. He also says his old war wound gives him gyp as well.

  haggis • Something else that the Jock McThicks have made up to horrify the civilized world. It is a pudding made out of stuffed sheep’s stomach.

  Irn-bru • Pronounced “iron broo.”

  A disgusting drink made from sugar and old socks. Probably. People in Och Aye land think it is yummy scrumbos.

  Jammy Dodger • Biscuit with jam in it. Very nutritious (ish).

  Jock McThick • Is a generic term for anyone from Scot land that you can’t be bothered to find out the name of. Can also be called Jock McTavish. Ditto French people (Jacques Lefrog) or German (Hans Lederhosen).

  Kiwi-a-gogo land • New Zealand. “A-gogo land” can be used to liven up the otherwise really boring names of other countries. America, for instance, is Hamburger-a-gogo land. Mexico is Mariachi-a-gogo land and France is Frogs’-legs-a-gogo land. This is from that very famous joke told every Christmas by the elderly mad (Grandad). Oh, very well, I’ll tell you it.

  A man goes into a French restaurant and says to the French waiter, “Have you got frogs’ legs?”

  The waiter says, “Oui, monsieur.”

  And the man says, “Well, hop off and get me a sandwich then.”

  This should give you some idea of what our Christmases are like.

  la mouche • Or possibly le mouche. This, as everyone who is très bon at le français (i.e., moi) knows, means “the fly.”

  loo • Lavatory. In America they say “rest room,” which is funny, as I never feel like having a rest when I go to the lavatory.

  lurgy • Is when you feel icky-poo. Please tell me that you know what icky-poo means. Oh good Lord. It means “poorly.” Lurgy is like a bug. An illness bug. Ergo, tummy lurgy = stomach bug.

  milky pops • A hot milk drink usually drunk by children to calm them down at night. You’d have to give it intravenously to Libby to calm her down. Or alternatively make the hot drink, put it in Libby’s cup and then hit her over the head with it.

  Miss Selfridge • A store where teenage girls go and buy clothes.

  naff • Unbearably and embarrassingly out of fashion and nerdy. Naff things are: Parents dancing to “modern” music, blue eyeshadow, blokes who wear socks with sandals, pigtails. You know what I mean.

  nervy spaz • Nervous spasm. Nearly the same as a nervy b. (nervous breakdown) or an F.T. (funny turn), only more spectacular on the physical side.

  nippy noodles • Instead of saying “Good heavens, it’s quite cold this morning,” you say “Cor—nippy noodles!!” English is an exciting and growing language. It is. Believe me. Just leave it at that. Accept it.

  nuddy-pants • Quite literally nude-colored pants, and you know what nude-colored pants are? They are no pants. So if you are in your nuddy-pants you are in your no pants, i.e., you are naked.

  Number 10 • Number 10 Downing Street in London, where the Prime Minister lolls around.

  nunga-nungas • Basoomas. Girl’s breasty business. Ellen’s brother calls them nunga-nungas because he says that if you get hold of a girl’s breast and pull it out and then let it go—it goes nunga-nunga-nunga. As I have said many, many times with great wisdomosity, there is something really wrong with boys.

  Och Aye land • Scotland. Land of the Braves. Or is that Indiana? I don’t know, and I know I should because we are, after all, all human beings under our skins. But I still don’t care.

  Pantalitzer • A terrifying Czech-made doll that sadistic parents (my vati) buy for their children, presumably to teach them early on about the horror of life. Essentially the Pantalitzer doll has a weird plastic face with a horrible fixed smile. The rest of Pantalitzer is a sort of cloth bag with hard plastic hands on each side like steel forks.

  I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but I am not reassured that Eastern Europeans really know how to have a laugh.

  pantibus • Latin for pants. Possibly. Who cares? It is a dead language. Who is going to complain if it isn’t Latin for pants—Romulus and Remus?

  pensioner • In England we give very old people some money so that they can buy thick spectacles and snug incontinent pants and biscuits. This is called their pension money.

  piggies • Pigtails. Or “bunches,” I think you call them. Like two little side ponytails in your hair. Only we think they look like pigtails. English people are obsessed with pigs; that is our strange beauty.

  pingy pongoes • A very bad smell. Usually to do with farting.

  porkies • Amusing (ish) Cockney rhyming slang. Pork pies = lies. Which is of course shortened to porkies. Oh, that isn’t shorter, is it? Well, you can’t have everything.

  prat • A prat is a gormless oik. You make a prat of yourself by mistakenly putting both legs down one knicker leg or by playing air guitar at pop concerts.

  pushbike • A pedal cycle, bicycle. Nothing will make me go on a bicycle again since my skirt got caught in the spokes of the back wheel and my panties were exposed.

  rate • To fancy someone. Like I fancy (or rate) the Sex God. And I certainly do fancy the SG as anyone with the brains of an earwig (i.e., not Jas) would know by now. Phew—even writing about him in the glossary has made me go all jelloid. And stupidoid.

  R.E. • Religious education.

  Sellotape • Sellotape is a clear sticky tape. Usually used for sticking bits of paper to other bits of paper but can be used for sticking hair down to make it flat. (Once I used it for sticking Jas’s mouth shut when she had hiccups. I thought it might cure them. It didn’t, but it was quite funny, anyway.)

  snogging • Kissing.

  soldiers • Toast cut into narrow strips and then dipped into your boiled egg. It’s an Olde-English-nursery-rhyme thing. Before you ask, no, toast dipped in egg does not look like a soldier. Obviously. Soldiers are not generally an inch high and covered in butter. As I have told you, we English are a mystery even to ourselves.

  sporrans • Ah, I’m glad you asked me about this because it lets me illustrate my huge knowledgosity about Och Aye land. Sporrans are bits of old sheep that Scotsmen wear over their kilts, at the front, like little furry aprons. Please don’t ask me why. I feel a nervy spaz coming on.

  swot • A person who has no life and as a substitute has to read books and learn things for school. Also anyone who does their homework on time.

  tart • A girl who is a bit on the common side. This is a tricky one, actually, because if I wear a very short skirt I am cool and sexy. However, if Jackie Bummer wears a short skirt it is a) a crime against humanity and b) tarty.

  tosser • A special kind of prat. The other way of putting this is “wanker” or “monkey spanker.”

  weedy • Like a weed. You know like weeds in a garden. Those useless spindly annoying things that get in the way of flowers. A weedy person is like that, useless, spindly and annoying (although obviously not green).

  whelk boy • A whelk is a horrible shellfish thing that only the truly mad eat. Slimy and mucuslike. Whelk boy is a boy who kisses like a whelk, i.e., a slimy mucus kisser. Erlack a pongoes.

  About the Author

  LOUISE RENNISON is the internationally best-selling author of the angst-filled confessions of Georgia Nicolson, which include ANGUS, THONGS AND FULL-FRONTAL SNOGGING, a Michael L. Printz Hon
or Book; ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I’M NOW THE GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD; and DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS. She has also written for many British comedy stars. She lives in Brighton, the San Francisco of England (apart from the sun, Americans, the Golden Gate Bridge, and earthquakes).

  Visit Georgia at www.georgianicolson.com

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  confessions of GEORGIA NICOLSON

  ANGUS, THONGS AND FULL-FRONTAL SNOGGING

  ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I’M NOW THE GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD

  KNOCKED OUT BY MY NUNGA-NUNGAS

  DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS

  AWAY LAUGHING ON A FAST CAMEL

  THEN HE ATE MY BOY ENTRANCERS

  STARTLED BY HIS FURRY SHORTS

  Credits

  Cover art and design © 2002 by Alison Donalty

  Cover © 2003 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  Copyright

  KNOCKED OUT BY MY NUNGA-NUNGAS. Copyright © 2001 by Louise Rennison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub © Edition MAY 2008 ISBN: 9780061975370

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