Free Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 08 by Love Is a Many Trousered Thing

so-called boyfriends took you out for a coffee and didn’t snog you, and the other one hasn’t even got on the blower. That is not what Iwould call a multi-boyfriend problemo .”
    I kicked her shin.
    â€œI hate you, Jas.”
    â€œWell I am only telling you the truth, that is what friends are for.”
    â€œIs it? Well I don’t tell you how stupid your fringe looks, do I?”
    â€œYes.”
    She is so unreasonable and mad. And so full of herself just because she has a boring old boyfriend. However, for once I don’t mind because I feel that I have learned quite a lot today. I may become a beekeeper/model/backing singer.
    Did you know that baby bees are fed bee bread? That is le fact.
    Also, when they sting you they lose their bottoms.
    on the way to english
    Miss Wilson is beside herself at the prospect of going camping. As we left blodge she said, “Girls, it’s going to be such fun.”
    I said to the gang, “I tell you this for free, I am not doing anything to do with mime or clowning, and that is final.”
    english
    Blimey O’Reilly, how many plays did Billy Shakespeare write? He can’t have got out much. Apparently most of the rude words we know are from him and his mates, so I don’t know why we get told off for using them. And also, violence and binge-drinking is not exactly a new invention. Billy and his fellow twits in tights were not exactly kind to each other. For a laugh they used to put people in stocks and so on. In fact that was their entertainment, that and baiting bears. For instance, here is a real conversation between Elizabethan mates, Tight-us Tight-us and Mind-us My cod-us Piece.
    Mind-us My Cod-us Piece: “Prithee Tight-us Tight-us, what do you fancy doing tonight-us?”
    T. T.: “Sirre what-us about drinking a pint or two of gin and annoying-us the bears?”
    M.C.P.: “Nah…Let-us just bugger off down to the stocks and throw tomatoes at the weirdo.”
    french
    I am going to have to kill Rosie because unfortunately she has got prepreweekend bonkerosity. Or a touch of the Svens, as some might say. She has just sent me a French joke.
    Her notelet said: “Bonjour, mon petit pain .
    What do you call a French man in sandals?
    Au revoir.
    Rozeeeeeeeeeeee”
    I wrote back, “I don’t care.”
    But she gave me her raised eyebrows and nodding head thing until I had to mouth to her, “Oh go on then.”
    And she wrote back, “Philippe Philoppe.”
    on the way home
4:15 p.m.
    The Blunderboys are trailing along behind us doing what they think is gay repartee. Saying things, like, “Hey love, lie down, will you? I need somewhere to park my bike.”
    What are they talking about? I’ll tell you this, they will be the last to know.
    After about ten minutes of this I turned round to them and said, “Er, why don’t you go away. A LOT?”
    And amazingly that baffled them. I think it was having a clear instruction that they couldn’t cope with. Apparently boys and dogs have stuff in common. That is what the Hornmeister told me once.
    At that moment, as if he had been earwigging in my brain, the Hornmeister appeared over the horizon with two of his mates. When he saw us he did this mad running toward us with his arms outstretched. Sort of skipping like from The Sound of Music .
    â€œHello ladeeeeeeez, the vati is back! Sound out the pants of England!!! Let the Cosmic and General Horn be heard! Hooooorrnnnnnn!!! Who are my bitches???”
    Ellen said, “Er, we are…er are we your, erm, bitches?”
    We looked at her.
    I said in a dignified at all times way, “Oh hello Dave, you’re not going to do your rapping thing and then fall over a wall again, are you?”
    He looked at me and licked his lips. Honestly.
    â€œGeorgia, I know that is just your little way of saying, ‘Hey big boy, hold me back because you give me the Horn big time.’”
    I just