Free Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 03 by Knocked Out by My Nunga-Nungas Page A

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    I said to Jas, “Do you think that Robbie knows about her false nunga-nungas?” but she was too busy waving at Tom with a soppy smile on her face.
    The club was packed. I wondered if I should go find Robbie and say hello. Maybe that wasn’t very cool. Better do a bit of makeup adjusting first. Because if the talent scout was there he might be looking for girls to form a band as well. I said that to Jas. “Maybe we could be discovered, as a new girl band.”
    â€œWe can’t sing or play any instruments, and we are not in a band.”
    She is so ludicrously picky.
    It was mayhem in the loos. You couldn’t get near the mirrors for love or money. The Bummers were in there, of course, larding on the foundation. Alison must use at least four pounds of it trying to conceal her huge lurkers. Or am I being a bit harsh?
    No…I am being accurate. And factual.
    I came out of the loos into the club. It was very dark; you needed to be half bat to find your wayround. And then, shining like a shining Sex God in trousers, I saw him. Tuning his guitar. He looked up and saw me and smiled. I went over and he grabbed me and dragged me into a room. (“Oh stop it, stop it!” I yelled…not.) It was The Stiff Dylans’ dressing room. I’d never been backstage before. I suppose I will have to get used to it.
    We did some excellent snogging (six and a half) but then he had to go and tune up with the rest of the band. He said, “See you on my break.”
    When I went back to the loos my lip gloss had completely gone!!! Absorbed in the snoggosity.
    9:00 p.m.
    Yeah! What a dance fest! I was so shattered after being thrown around by Sven that I had to go and have a little sit down in an alcove with Rosie and Jas.
    I could see Wet Lindsay and her wet mates dancing right in front of the stage. How desperate was that? In fact, it was all girls at the front, most of them dancing around in front of my Sex God. Smiling up at him and shaking their bums round. But he only had eyes for me. Well, he would have done, had he had a talking sniffer dog that couldhave come round and found me sitting in the dark behind a pillar, and gone back and told SG where I was. There was an older bloke in a suit standing by the side of the stage. I bet he was the talent scout.
    I said to Jas, “Come and dance in front of the talent scout with me.”
    She said, “No.”
    â€œJas.”
    â€œNo, and what is more…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s no then, is it, Mrs. Huge Knickers? Well, when I am happily being a backup dancer I will think of you packing potatoes.”
    She ignored me, but as I say, In vino veritas. I don’t know why because I am really crap at Latin (according to Slim, spokeswoman for the Latin people).
    Well, as usual, I would have to step boldly where no woman had stepped before. I went over and gave my all in front of the talent scout in a triumph of dance casualosity. He seemed quite impressed, but then he went off to the dressing rooms. Probably phoning his record company.
    Phew, it was hot and sweaty. I nipped off to theloos to make sure my glaciosity was still in place and I didn’t look like a red-faced loon. My waterproof eyeliner seemed to be holding its own. Rosie was readjusting her piggies next to me in the mirror so I asked her, “Does Sven ever make you jealous?”
    â€œNo, not really. He’s sort of quite grown-up in his own way.”
    As we came out of the loos we could see Sven almost immediately. He was in the middle of a big group balancing a drink on his head and doing Russian dancing. It’s a mystery to me how he manages to get down so low, his jeans are so tight.
    The Bummers were talking to some really lardy-looking blokes in leather jackets. They all had fags. You could hardly see their heads for smoke. Which was a plus. I did make out that one of the lardheads had a mustache. I shouted to Jools,