Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09

by Stop in the Name of Pants!

  It is a new departure for us as it involves costumes and props. Of course we have used props before—the horns in the Viking and bison extravaganza. And also bubble gum up the nose for the snot dance. (Incidentally we have left out the snot dance from our program for the night as Jools said she thought that prospective snoggees might find it a bit offputting.)

  So as I say, we have used props before but we have never toyed with both costumes and props.

  at rosie’s

  evening

  In the Viking hornpipe extravaganza we will be wearing earmuffs and mittens, for the vair vair chilly Viking winter nights. And we will also be using small paddles.

  Jas is being annoyingly droopy.

  Especially as Rosie had traipsed all the way to the fairy dressing-up shop for kiddies in town, to get the muffs. And they had special tinsel and everything. Jas wouldn’t wear the earmuffs because she said it was “silly.”

  I said, “Jas, if we didn’t do stuff just because it was silly, where would we be?”

  She was still on her hufty stool and said, “What are you talking about now?”

  It is vair tiring explaining things to the vair dim, but it seems to be more or less my job in life.

  “Jas, do you think that German is a silly language?”

  She started fiddling with her fringe. (Incidentally another example of “silliness,” but I didn’t say.) She was obviously thinking the German thing over.

  I said, “Quickly, quickly, Jas.”

  “Well, it’s a foreign language spoken by foreign people and that can’t be silly.”

  “Jas, THEY SAY SPANGELFERKEL. THE WORD FOR “SNOGGING” IN GERMAN TYPE LANGUAGE IS FRONTAL KNUTSCHEN. WAKE UP, SMELL THE COFFEE!!!”

  In the end she got her muffs and mittens on.

  one hour later

  The official Viking hornpipe dance is perfected!!!

  (Just a note, costume wise, the earmuffs are worn over the Viking horns. It is imperative that the horns are not removed, otherwise it makes a laughingstock of the whole thing.)

  So:

  The music starts with a Viking salute. Both paddles are pointed at the horns.

  Then a cry of “Thor!!!” and a jump turn to the right.

  Paddle paddle paddle paddle to the right.

  Paddle paddle paddle paddle to the left.

  Cry of Thor! Jump turn to the left.

  Paddle paddle paddle paddle to the left and right.

  Jump to face the front (grim Viking expression).

  Quick paddle right, quick paddle left x4.

  Turn to partner.

  Cross paddles with partner x2.

  Face front and high hornpipe skipping eight times (gay Viking smiling).

  Then, and this is the complicated bit:

  Interweaving paddling! Paddle in and out of each other up and down the line, meanwhile gazing out to the left and to the right (concerned expression—this is the looking-for-land bit).

  Paddle back to original position. On-the-spot paddling till all are in line and then close eyes (for nighttime rowing effect).

  Two sets of right and left paddling and then:

  Open eyes wide.

  Shout, “Land AHOYYYYY!”

  Fall to knees and throw paddles in the air (behind, not in front, in case of crowd injury).

  friday august 12th

  in my bedroom

  Dear Masimo,

  Ciao. Last night we were practicing our new Viking hornpipe’s dance. At first, we had trouble with our paddles and Rosie nearly lost an eye, but by the high hornpipe skipping we had an…

  Hang on a minute. Maybe he doesn’t know what a Viking hornpipe is. Or paddles. Or skipping. Good grief, international romance is vair tiring.

  saturday august 13th

  OK, if I haven’t heard from the Luuurve God by the fifteenth I will take it as a sign from Baby Jesus that I should get on the blower.

  Mind you, I don’t know what I would say about when I am coming over. I found £1.50 down the back of the sofa. And that would make £6.50 toward my fare except that I accidentally bought some new lip gloss (raspberry and vanilla flavor) at Boots.

  monday august 15th

  10:30 a.m.

  Another postcard from the Luuurve God!!! Yes, yes and three times yes!

  Yesiityytessyyes. Oh, I am so happy. He posted it ages ago, so the post in Pizza-a-gogo land must be as bad as it is here.

  two minutes later

  I bet our postie has taken postie revenge for having to lug huge sacks of letters round. I bet that is what he does, I bet he doesn’t deliver people’s mail, he just pretends to, and he has a hut in his backgarden bursting with letters and postcards.

  Anyway.

  The postcard has a picture of a bowl of pasta on the front and it says:

  Ciao, cara Georgia,

  Plees come for to see me, I am having the hunger for you.

  Masimoxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  Wow wowzee wow!

  That is it!! As soon as I can persuade Mum and Dad to give me spondies, I am off to see my Italian boyfriend.

  Hmmm, it sounds quite groovy to say that.

  Not, “My boyfriend that goes to Foxwood school and will probably work in a bank,” but, “My Italian boyfriend, who will be a world-famous popstar!”

  Yessssss!

  tuesday august 16th

  I tried special pleading with Mum today vis-à-vis money.

  She said, “Don’t be stupid, I haven’t got five hundred pounds and even if I did have, you would not be getting it to go and see some Italian bloke in Rome. Gorgey or not. You can have a tenner. Make it last.”

  I hate her.

  wednesday august 17th

  I have gone through nearly the whole scale on the having the hump scale. From No. 1 (ignorez vousing) to No. 6 (pretendy deafnosity) and Mum hasn’t even noticed.

  thursday august 18th

  2:30 p.m.

  Blimey, life is quite literally a boy-free zone. No sign of Dave the Laugh, no sign of Robbie. I haven’t even seen the Blunderboys around. Which is good.

  But weird. Even Tom has gone off to stay with some mates at uni for a few days.

  Sooooo boring.

  And hot.

  I would do light tanning in the garden but every time I get comfy Angus comes and starts digging near me. (Not with a spade, with his paws. If he did have a spade, it wouldn’t be quite so boring and annoying.)

  viking hornpipes a-gogo

  saturday august 20th

  sven’s viking extravaganza gig night

  in my bedroom

  6:30 p.m.

  I am meeting the rest of the gang at the clock tower. Jas is coming round here and we are walking up together so that she “doesn’t miss Hunky.” Good Lord.

  We have got our earmuffs and mittens and horns in little matching vanity cases that Rosie also got from the fairy shop. She says that Sven gets a lot of his stuff from there. Blimey.

  6:45 p.m.

  At the back of my “mind” I’m a bit worried that Robbie might turn up tonight. I know he hasn’t gone off to Kiwi-a-gogo because I feel sure I would have heard it on the Radio Jas news roundup. Even if I didn’t ask.

  6:50 p.m.

  Jas turned up at mine with her vanity case.

  The vanity cases are, it has to be said, a bit on the naff side. Very pink and glittery. Jas said, “They look just like ones that fairies would use.”

  I gave her my “Are you mad?” look, but she didn’t notice. She is too busy being a piggy bank hogger.

  However, I feel free to carry silly fairy vanity cases and to wear my horns ad hoc and willy-nilly because there is not going to be anyone at the gig that I need to impress, now that Masimo is my one and only one.

  7:00 p.m.

  Yippee and thrice times yippee!! I am allowed to stay at Jas’s. And I don’t mean my parents have allowed me to stay. Lately they don’t even notice if I am in o
r out, they are so busy with their own “lives.” I just said, “I am staying at Jas’s tonight,” and they went, “OK.”

  It was Jas I have had to persuade to let me stay. She has been in and out of her huffmobile for the last week but I have promised not to mess about with her owls or steal her piggy bank, so she says I can stay.

  Anyway, there is no point in going home. Dad is out all the time with Uncle Eddie and his other sad portly mates. Going to “gigs” or pratting around with their loonmobiles. Mum is out all the time as well because Libby is still round at Grandvati’s. So apart from the kittykats (who are also out all the time) I am practically an orphan, anyway.

  buddha lounge

  8:00 p.m.

  Quite cool vibe in the Buddha lounge and rammed already. A few people I know and loads of peeps from Notre Dame school.

  Jas is busy pretending that she doesn’t care whether Hunky turns up or not. She thinks he might be back from his mate’s tonight, but she says she has too much pridenosity to try and find out. I am not going to mention his name, either, or ask about Robbie, because it will be just an excuse for her to drone on and on about the “vole years” and what larks she and Tom had by the riverside shrimping and so on. Or whatever they do. Hand snog probably, but I won’t think about that now.

  in the tarts’ wardrobe

  Ellen was in a complete ditherama and tiz wondering whether Declan would turn up. She was shaking and dithering so much that she accidentally got lipstick in her eye. That is how much she was dithering.

  Mabs was almost as bad about Edward.

  I was tarting myself up in the mirror and said, “Oh, I am so vair vair glad that I am free to enjoy myself, unlike you lot—I shall dance I shall let my nungas run free and wild, my nostrils can flare and obliterate my face to their heart’s content. Because there is no one here tonight that I am bothered by. I am simply the girlfriend of a Luuurve God.”

  Mabs said, “Has he phoned since he last phoned?”

  I said, “In the language of luuurve that would be called ‘over-egging the pudding.’”

  She said, “He hasn’t phoned then.”

  I smoothed down my internal feathers because she was slightly annoying me. Calm calm, think luuurve, think warm Italian nights and soft lips meeting in the shadow of the leaning Tower of Pisa…or whatever it is they have in Rome. I said, “Actually I am going to take the pasta by the horns and I am going to phone him and tell him that I am coming over.”

  Jas came out of her Tom coma.

  “Have your parents actually agreed that you can go? To Italy? By yourself to stay with a boy? Who is older than you?”

  I tossed my hair in a tossing way like someone who has tossed their hair all over the world might do.

  “Sì.”

  All of the ace gang looked at me.

  Jas said, “That is a big fat lie, isn’t it?”

  I said, “Sì.”

  back on the dance floor

  Alright, I haven’t actually got the parents to agree a date for me to go. Or give me the money or anything, but they will be too busy with the custody battle about who doesn’t get the children or the cats when they split up, to bother about me popping over to Italy for a few days.

  That is what I feel.

  I will get on the old blower tomorrow to let Masimo know I am coming, and then I will start my buttering up the elderly insane plan.

  8:30 p.m.

  Sven walked on to take over the decks to that song “Burn, baby, burn, disco inferno.”

  He was wearing a fur cloak and bison horns and joy of joys the old lighting-up flares!! And he had his own vanity case!!! Yesssss!

  The lights went crazy and he stood over his decks as we all clapped and went mental.

  I said to Rosie, “You should be very very proud, you without a shadow of a doubt have the maddest boyfriend in town.”

  She said, “I know, I can’t wait to get off with him again.”

  8:35 p.m.

  This is really alarming watching Rosie and Sven. She is dancing in front of him sticking her bottom at him and so on and he is winking at her and licking his lips.

  I can’t watch this, it’s nordyporn.

  9:00 p.m.

  Funny, there being not many people we know here. No sign of Tom or Declan, or Edward or Rollo or, erm, who else—erm…oh, I know, Dave the Laugh. And his girlfriend.

  I of course don’t really mind for myself but the rest of the ace gang are driving me mad with all their:

  “Oh, I wonder why Rollo isn’t here yet?”

  “Oooh, I wonder where Edward is, do you think he’s with Tom and the rest and they have gone somewhere else?”

  And Ellen going on and on: “Erm, it’s, like, I wonder if, like, do you think that, er, Declan is, like, with Tom and the rest and they have gone somewhere else?”

  I am beginning to feel a bit full of tensionosity, so I decided I had to take diversionary action before I started babbling wubbish like Ellen. I said, “Let’s do our dance routines now, get this party started.”

  I went and told Rosie, and Sven said over the microphone, “In one minute we haf the dancing girls in their horns!!!”

  Rosie disentangled herself from him (which took about a million years of licking. Honestly.).

  We dashed off to the tarts’ wardrobe and got dressed in our mittens and horns. I felt so vair vair free. It must be what being a Blunderboy feels like, no matter what you do or how you are dressed, you are just not aware of being a prat.

  I said, “Right, let us bond now, group hug!!!”

  We did the group hug and one quick burst of “Hoooorn!!!”

  And we were ready for our big moment.

  out in the club

  We are gathered at the side of the little stage that Sven is on. I like to think we look attractively Nordic. With just a hint of pillaging and extreme violence about us.

  For our grand finale (the Viking disco hornpipe extravaganza) we have put our paddles, earmuffs, and mittens in a little pile by a speaker.

  All the crowd were looking at us.

  Sven put on a traditional Viking song (“Jingle Bells”) and we adjusted our horns and off we jolly well went.

  Stamp stamp to the left.

  Left leg kick, kick.

  Arm up.

  Stab stab to the left (that is the pillaging bit).

  Stamp, stamp to the right.

  Right leg kick, kick.

  Arm up.

  Stab stab to the right.

  Quick twirl around with both hands raised to Thor (whatever).

  Raise your (pretend) drinking horn to the left.

  Drinking horn to the right.

  Horn to the sky.

  All over body shake.

  Huddly duddly.

  And fall to knees with a triumphant shout of:

  HORRRRNNNNN!!!!

  It was a triumph, darling, a triumph.

  Even Ellen managed not to stab anyone in the eye.

  The crowd went berkerama!!! Leaping and yelling.

  They were yelling, “More, more!!!”

  Sven said over the mike, “Okay, you groovster peeps, this time is your turn!! Let’s go do the Viking bison disco inferno dance,” and he put “Jingle Bells” back on and we started again.

  Everyone joined in with us. The whole room did stab stab to the right, and even the huddly duddly and fall to the knees bit. It was marvy seeing everyone down on their knees yelling, “HORRRRNNN.” And people say that teenagers of today do nothing for people.

  I’m a star, I’m a star!!!

  I shouted to Jas above the noise, “I want Smarties in our dressing room, I want a limo for my mittens—I want EVERYTHING!!!”

  And then it was time for the pièce de whatsit, the Viking disco hornpipe extravaganza. We put on our earmuffs and mittens and picked up our paddles. Then we got into position with our backs to the crowd and when they had quieted down we waited for our musical
cue. As the dub version of EastEnders sounded out from the decks we raised our paddles proudly. The music was going:

  “Na na na-na naaaa na-na na-na na na nana nananananana duff duff duff nanananaaaaa-nana—”

  We turned round to face our audience and as we did so, the doors flew open and Mark Big Gob and the Blunderboys walked in ready to rumble, or probably more likely, ready to rhumba in their case. Oh, brilliant.

  Still, what did we care, we would get our bodyguards and gurkas to toss them aside like paper towels from the paper towel dispenser in the loos. They could go down the piddly diddly hole of life!!!

  We did the dance with gusto and also vim. And everyone applauded and went crazeeee again at the end. They were yelling, “Land ahoy, land ahoyyyy!!!!”

  God, I was hot. I said to Rosie, “I can’t do it again without some drink. Send one of our runners for drinks.”

  Rosie said, “Righty ho.”

  She came back a second later and said, “Who are our runners?”

  And Jas said, “We haven’t got any, she has just gone temporarily insane.”

  But she said it in a smiley way.

  one minute later

  We did the dance again and everyone went mad AGAIN!!! This was the life. Even though Ellen had caught me a glancing blow with her paddle.

  Then the Blunderboys started shouting wubbish in their dim way.

  We just ignored them and were coming down from the stage when Mark Big Gob yelled out, “Oy, you, the big tart in the middle, give us a flash of your nungas.”

  He was shouting at Rosie.

  Sven took off the record he was playing and stood up.

  There was silence.

  He took off his fur cape and adjusted his horns.

  Oh dear God.

  Sven slowly stepped down. His flares lit up and he walked toward the group of Blunderboys. Everyone else was backing off. People were saying, “Calm down, calm down, leave it out, lads.”

  Well, apart from Rosie. She was behind Sven, saying, “Go on, big boy, tear their little heads off.”

  two minutes later

  Now Sven is big, but there were about eight of the Blunderers facing up to him. I was a bit frightened, actually.

  But then it was just like a Western because the doors opened again and in came Tom and Declan and Edward and Dom and Rollo and a load of their mates and last but not least Dave the Laugh.