Knocked Out by My Nunga-Nungas: Further, Further Confessions of Georgia Nicolson

9:58 a.m.

  Dreamt of Robbie feeding me chocolate sandwiches. Which was really cool. But then he started nibbling my ears in a sort of peckish way, and he nibbled them both off. Then for some reason we were in the south of France at some big gig and it was really sunny and I got my shades out to put on and they just fell off because I had no ears to balance them on.

  I don’t know what this means. Probably it means I am feverish with love.

  Very nippy noodles again. Brrrr. Oh, it snowed during the night, that’s why. When I got out of bed and stood in the cold air my nipples did that sticking-out thing again. On the whole I seem to have very little control over my body.

  Still, so what!!!

  6:00 p.m.

  Spent the day in a love haze punctuated by rescuing bits of my underwear from Angus’s basket. He is in an awful mood. He climbed up the curtains like a Tyrolean mountaineer in a furry suit. If he was a human he would go down to the gym and work out his frustration by hitting something. Or jogging. I know how he feels.

  9:00 p.m.

  I tried to encourage Angus to go cat jogging. He didn’t get it though. When I set off jogging he trotted along quite nicely on his lead. For about a minute. Then he got bored. He ran round and round me like a mad loon until his lead was wrapped round my ankles and all I could do was fall over into a thorn bush.

  9:30 p.m.

  Phone rang. OhmyGod. I almost ripped it off the wall.

  It was Rosie checking arrangements for tomorrow. I could hardly hear her because there was such loud music in the background. She said, “Greetings, Earth creature…SVEN!!!!! You adorable Norwegian fool, turn the music down!!”

  I heard laughing and stamping and then the music went quieter. Rosie said, “Jas said you did ear snogging yesterday.”

  Oh, thank you, Radio Jas.

  saturday october 30th

  9:30 a.m.

  Phoned Jas for gang discussion. Where we should all meet today and so on. When she answered I came over a bit French. (Because I am in Le Luurve Heaven.) “Bonjour, Jas, it is moi, ta grande amie.”

  “Ah, bonjour.”

  “Ah, d’accord, I have just manged my breakfast; I manged the delicieusement toast and le coffee de Monsieur Nescafè.”

  “Magnifique.”

  “De rigeur.”

  We are meeting at gang headquarters (Luigi’s Cafe) at one o’clock and then going for a bit of heavy makeup trying-on in Boots, etc. I have only got a measly five pounds to spend. I hope Dad manages to persuade some poor fool to give him a job soon because I am running out of lip gloss.

  11:00 a.m.

  Bloody hell. You take your life in your hands going into the kitchen for a snack. Angus is in there and he is not pleased. I had to fend him off with a frying pan to get into the fridge.

  Still, lalalalalala.

  midday

  Still in a European mood, I dressed French casual (same as sports casual—black Capri pants, black rollneck top, ankle boots—but with a lot more eyeliner). In fact, the combination of French osity and my snogging extravaganza made me come over all forgiving and relaxed. I even waved to Mr. Next Door as I went down the road. Typically, he just tutted. But hey ho, tut on. Nothing can spoil my mood. Mr. Next Door was wearing an extra ordinary pair of trousers; they seem to start under his armpits and be made out of elephant. He said, “I hope you are keeping that wild animal under lock and key. It’s about time something was done with it.”

  Nobody can take a joke around here. Alright, Mr. Across the Road does have a point in that Angus did abscond with Naomi, but what does Old Elephant Trousers have to complain about?

  What they both fail to see are Angus’s very good qualities. He has many attractive cat qualities. For instance, he has EXCELLENT balance. Only last month he herded Snowy and Whitey, Mr. Next Door’s Prat Poodles, into the manure heap and then leapt down from the wall and had a ride round on Snowy’s back. Like Snowy was a little horsey.

  How many cats can do that?

  12:30 p.m.

  While I was waiting at the bus stop for a bus to town, two blokes in cars hooted their horns at me (ooer). I really have become a boy magnet.

  Then along came Mark Big Gob who I unfortunately made the mistake of going out with in my youth. Well, ten months ago, anyway. He was messing about with his rough mates waiting for the bus. No sign of his midget girlfriend. Perhaps he had mislaid her. His mouth is sooo big; how could I have snogged him? And he had rested his hand on my basooma. Still, let bygones be bygones. My basoomas are out of his hands now. I am, after all, the girlfriend of a Sex God and Mark is the boyfriend of some toddler. I smiled kindly at him, and that is when he said to me, “You want to be careful not to move too quickly, Georgia. You’ll have someone’s eye out with those.”

  And he meant my nunga-nungas! And all his mates laughed.

  I stood there in a dignity-at-all-times sort of way until the bus came. I sat as far away from the BG and his rough mates as I could.

  12:45 p.m.

  It was a relief to get off the bus. As I got off I had to go past Mark and his mates. I made sure my nungas were not making a guest appearance by hunching my shoulders over.

  12:50 p.m.

  I’ve just seen a reflection of myself in a shop window looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame in Capri pants.

  1:00 p.m.

  In the cafe I met up with Rosie, Ellen, Mabs, Jools and Jas. Yessssssssss! The ace gang together again!! The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town!!! We had loads of really important things to talk about: makeup, snogging and, of course, berets. This term is not going so well on the beret front. Even the lunchpack beret has lost its charm.

  Rosie said, “I walked by Miss Stamp with two oranges and a banana stuck under my beret and she just raised her eyes. Something must be done.”

  I had a flash of total whatsit…wisdomosity. “Mes huge amies, I have given this seconds of thought, and I know what the answer is.”

  They were all agog as two gogs. Jools said, “What?”

  I brought out my gloves and beret from my rucky. “Voilà.”

  They looked at me. Honestly, it was like talking to the terminally deaf.

  I said again, “Voilà…glove animal!!”

  Rosie said, “What in the name of Slim’s gigantic knickers are you talking about?”

  Good grief. It is very tiring being the girlfriend of a Sex God and a genius at the same time. “Glove animal!!! A way of dressing sensibly and snugly using both beret and gloves. You pin a glove over each ear so that it hangs down like big dog ears and then you pop the beret over the top.” I clipped my gloves over my ears and popped the beret over the top (risking my hair’s bounceability factor).

  “Voilà, glove animal!!!”

  Magnifique, I think everyone will agree.

  8:00 p.m.

  Home again To my lovely delicious supper of…er…

  Mutti and Vati and Loonsister out AGAIN. Still. In Love Heaven you are never really alone.

  Angus is tied up to the kitchen table leg. I gave him a hug to cheer him up, and he lashed out at me. Also I notice that he has a pair of Vati’s Y-fronts in his basket. Good grief. He has gone beyond sheer desperadoes. He is really sad without Naomi. I know how he feels. Every minute without the Sex God seems about sixty seconds long.

  11:30 p.m.

  Halloween tomorrow.

  It’s impossible to sleep in my bed with Libby’s pumpkin lantern in here. I suppose I should be pleased she hasn’t insisted on having her witch’s broom and…

  “Libby, no, not the broom and…”

  “Move over, bad boy.”

  sunday october 31st

  halloween

  I immediately annoyed Dad this morning by pretending that he was wearing a scary Halloween costume. In fact, his leisure slacks and Marks and Spencer’s cardigan ARE very scary, but he didn’t get it.

  Libby is in toddler heaven because some of her little mates from kindy are coming across this afty for apple bobbing a
nd lanterns and stuff.

  11:00 a.m.

  In a rare moment of sanity Vati has been over to see Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road and pleaded for Angus’s manhood. He was all pleased with himself when he came back.

  “I thought I’d take a look at that garden fence, Connie, see if we can keep Angus in a bit more. Then he might not have to have his biscuits nibbled.”

  Biscuits nibbled? What planet does he live on?

  He started rooting around in the toolbox. I wish he would get a job and then he wouldn’t be interested in DIY anymore. Mum said, “Bob, I beg you, please get someone competent to do the fence. You’re only just back on your feet again.”

  Vati got all dadish. “Connie, I can fix a fence, you know.”

  We laughed. I helped Mum out. “Dad, there was the unfortunate leg-through-the-ceiling incident when you last went into the loft.”

  “There was a weakness in the roof.”

  “Yes, Dad, that was you.”

  “Don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

  I am not wrong, though. The electrician who came to look at the fridge that blew up after Dad had “fixed it” accused Dad of being a madman. But grown-ups will never be told anything until it is too late. That is the sadnosity of grown-ups.

  As Vati went into the cupboard under the stairs Mum looked at me, but what was I supposed to do? It’s her husband; she should stop him. He came out of the cupboard with a hammer and a saw. I said, “Well, probably catch up with you later in Casualty then, Dad.”

  He swore in a very unpleasant way.

  2:00 p.m.

  Dad built a hilarious fence. It was sort of leany and falling-downy at the same time. It was supposed to keep Angus away from Naomi, but when Dad was hammering in the final nail he said, “Yes, well, that should keep him safely in,” and the whole fence fell over. And Angus just walked straight over the fence into Next Door’s garden.

  3:00 p.m.

  Vati is having to pretend to be normal because Libby’s kindy mates have arrived. Libby’s an awfully rough hostess. When Millie and Oscar were bobbing for apples she “helped” them by banging them on the heads with her pumpkin lantern. Oscar couldn’t walk straight for ages and Millie wanted to go home. Well, actually, all of the children wanted to go home.

  5:30 p.m.

  Angus is having a huge laugh. He keeps appearing on the top of fences and so on. He ate Snowy’s play Bonio. Mr. Next Door said he will have to get a dog psychiatrist in.

  Vati’s been raving on and on. Outside I could see Mr. and Mrs. Next Door and Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road all muttering together and poking about with sticks. They are probably forming a lynch mob. For heaven’s sake.

  Vati said, “As soon as we find him, that is it—he has his trombone polished once and for all.”

  As Dad was grumping around, moaning on and on and banging things about in the kitchen, I said to Mum, “Will you tell Vati that I don’t want to discuss things of a personal nature with him, but if he takes Angus to the vet and has his, you know, trouser snake addendums tampered with, he is no longer my vati. I will be vatiless.”

  Mutti just went tutting off into a world of her own.

  Angus is a king amongst cats. He walks tall with his trouser snake addendums proudly dangling. Naomi is yowling all the time. Why don’t they just let them be together?

  november

  away laughing on a fast camel

  monday november 1st

  at “breakfast”

  7:50 a.m.

  Back to school.

  Sacré bleu, merde and double poo.

  Angus is on his lead, yowling, tied to the kitchen table. It’s like having a police car in the kitchen. He was brought back under armed guard this morning. The lynch mob only managed to get him because he tried to get in through Mr. Across the Road’s catflap. To see his beloved sex kitten. No one seems to appreciate the romance of the situation. Angus had even taken Naomi a midnight snack of half-chewed haddock fillet. How romantic is that?

  Vati has got a job interview this morning. With my luck he’ll turn up serving hot dogs in a van outside school. With, as a coup d’état, Uncle Eddie as his assistant. Anyway, it means that Angus lives to polish his trombone another day.

  Vati gave me a kiss on the head as he left!! Erlack!! I’ve asked him to respect my personal space. Well, I said, “Please don’t touch me as I don’t want to be sick down my school uniform.”

  I made for the door before anyone else could kiss me—I had seen the state of Libby’s mouth after her cornflakes and Jammy Dodger. As I went through the door Angus made a desperate bid for freedom. He was fastened to the kitchen table leg, but that didn’t stop him. He dragged the table along with him. It really made me laugh, because one minute Mum was eating her cornies on the table and the next minute the table and cornies were gone.

  8:15 a.m.

  Slouch slouch.

  I saw Jas outside her gate. She was turning her skirt over at the top to make it short for the walk to school. We unroll as we approach Stalag 14 because of the ferret on guard there (Hawkeye). She lurks around the school gates like a lurking lurker. Hawkeye’s life ambition is to give us bad conduct marks for breaking useless school rules. That’s how fabulous her life is.

  Anyway, I crept up behind Jas and yelled, “Bon jour, sex bombe!!!” and she nearly had a nervy spaz. Which was very funny.

  I wasn’t looking forward to facing le music. This was my first day back since I had been un-justly banned from school because Elvis Attwood had carelessly tripped over his wheelbarrow and injured himself. OK, he was chasing me at the time but…

  When we reached the school gates I was so overcome with ennui and general pooiness that I forgot to do anything with my beret. Even Jas noticed. She said, “Gee, you’ve got your beret on properly.”

  “That is because for the time being the party is over, Jas. You may also notice that I am not wearing lip gloss.”

  “Crikey.”

  As I slinked through the gate to Nazi headquarters Hawkeye was there like an eagle in heat. She hates me. I don’t know why. I am vicitimized by her. That is the sadness of my life.

  As I went by her she said, “Walk properly!”

  What does that mean, Walk properly? As an amusing example of my hilariosity, I did a bit of a limp. Hawkeye shouted after me, “Georgia, don’t earn yourself a reprimand before you even get your coat off!! As soon as assembly is over report to Miss Simpson’s office.”

  She is such a stiff! I said to Jas, “I bet she irons her knickers.”

  Jas started to say “What is so wrong with that…?” but I had gone into the lavatory.

  I sat down on the loo. Same old bat time, same old bat place. Good grief. In my despairosity I said out loud to myself, “What in the name of pantyhose is the point?” A voice from the next loo said, “Gee, is that you?”

  It was Ellen. I grunted. But she was all chatty. Just because she has Dave the Laugh as a boyfriend. A dumpee of mine. She said through the wall, “Do you know what Dave says when he is leaving? Instead of saying good-bye?”

  I wasn’t remotely interested in what my castoffs said instead of good-bye. They are quite literally yesterday’s news. Also, Ellen is in my bad books. I was giving her my cold shoulder. However, she was so interested in her new so-called boy friend, Dave the so-called Laugh, that she hadn’t noticed my shoulder. I thought if I flushed the loo she might get the hint, but she didn’t.

  “He says, ‘Well, I’m off then. I’m away laughing on a fast camel.’” And she absolutely pissed herself laughing.

  What is the matter with her? Away laughing on a fast camel?

  assembly

  9:00 a.m.

  Fab news! Slim told us that some complete nut-case (Miss Wilson) is going to give us a special talk next week. About “reproduction.”

  Lord save us.

  Slim also said Miss Wilson would be answering any questions we might have about “growing up and so on.” Hahahahahahahaha. Hell could freeze over before I wo
uld ask Miss Wilson about my girlie parts.

  After Slim had bored us to death for half an hour everyone else went off to English and I lolloped off slowly to her office for a spot of mental torture. I wasn’t the only one waiting for a duffing; Jackie and Alison, the Bummer Twins, were sitting round in her anteroom. They looked at me when I sat down. Jackie said, “Oohhhh, what have you been up to, Big Nose?” She must die. She must die.

  Then we heard the sound of a distant elephant (Slim), and Jackie stubbed out her fag and popped in a mint.

  Slim said, “Come through, Georgia.” Then she sat down at her desk and started writing. I just stood there. How many times had I been in this room for no good reason? Millions. Slim looked up and said, “Well,” and I said, “Yes, milady?”

  She glared at me. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about my English homework assignment, Miss Simpson.”

  She trembled in her jelloid way. It was amazing the way each chin could shake at a different rhythm. She said, “Well, it makes a change for you to think of anything serious or useful, Georgia.”

  Oh, that is so UNFAIR. What about all the hours I had spent thinking up the glove animal?

  Slim was raving on, “I hope for a great improvement in your attitude to school and work after your suspension. I hope it has given you pause for thought. But first of all, you will go to Mr. Attwood and apologize to him for causing his injuries.”

  Oh great. Now I had to go and speak to the most bonkers man in the history of bonkerdom.

  When I left her torture chamber Jackie Bummer said, “Did the nasty teacher tell you off and make you scared?” But when Slim shouted, “You two articles in here now!!!” they leapt up like two salmons.

  Jas told me later that the Bummer Twins had arrived this morning, had a fag and then stuck a first-year to a bench with superglue.

  9:35 a.m.

  I walked really, really slowly along to Elvis’s hut. At least if I took ages to find Elvis I might miss most of English. Sadly, that is when I saw his flat hat bobbling around. Not on its own, unfortunately; he was underneath it. Pushing his wheelbarrow along. I walked up quietly behind him and said really enthusiastically, “MR. ATTWOOD. HELLO!!!”