Louise Rennison - ‘Knocked out by my nunga-nungas.’

I pretended I had a headache.

Vati said to me as I lay in my pretend bed of pain, “You’ve probably given yourself eyestrain looking in that bloody mirror all the time.”

I said, “If I develop a brain tumour you will be the first person I will come to because of your great kindness and sympathosity.”

On the edge of sheer desperadoes. Decided to go for a walk.

Arrow tried to round me up as I came out of the gate. So to make him happy I let him herd me into a hedge for a bit. Then I set off down the lane. Ho hum. Birds singing, ferrets ferreting, probably. Jock McThicks McThicking around. Good grief. Then I came across a phone box.

Uh-oh. Temptation.

The phone box was saying to me, “Come in and use me, you know you want to.”

I have been practising maturiosity by not phoning the Sex God. It seems like a lifetime since he last snogged me. My lips have definitely got snog withdrawal. I found myself trying out kissing techniques on scuba-diving Barbie last night. Which is truly sad. I wonder if Rosie is right? Her theory is that if you snog a lot your lips sort of swell up and get bigger. It makes you wonder what in the name of Slim’s pantaloons Mark the Big Gob has been doing.

I must pass by the phone box with complete determinosity.

Brring brring.

Please don’t let it be Robbie’s mum or dad. Please don’t let me have to be normal.

Oh thank goodness, SG answered the phone. Jellyknickers all round.

He said, “Hello,” in a Sex Goddy sort of a way.

Wow!!

Then he said, “Hello,” again.

Wow.

Then I realised that normally when you phone someone you are supposed to say something. And that something is NOT “I love you, I love you!” or “gyunghf”. So I took the bullet by the horns and said, “Hi, Robbie … it’s me. Georgia.”

(Very good, I had even said the right name!!!)

He sounded like he was really pleased to hear from me. “Gee! How are you, gorgeous!”

Gorgeous, he, me called, gorgeous. Me, I.

Georgia to brain, Georgia to brain! Shut up shut up shut up!!!!!

He said again, “Gee, are you there? Are you having a good time?”

“Fantastic, if you like being bored beyond the Valley of Boredom and into the Universe of the Very Dull.”

He laughed. (Hurrah!!!)

Oh, it was so dreamy to talk to him. I told him about everything. Well, apart from being molested by my cousin. He says some talent scouts are coming to see the next Stiff Dylans gig!!

Then he said, “Look Gee, I’m really sorry but I have to go. I could talk to you all day but I have to go off to a rehearsal and I’m late now.”

Ho hum. Well I suppose this is the price I must pay for being the GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD POPSTAR!!! YESSS!!

He said, in his groovy voice full of gorgeosity, “See you later. I’d like to snog you to within an inch of your life. I’ll phone you when you get back.”

OOOhhhhhh.

After he had put the phone down I stroked my T-shirt with the receiver, pretending it was him. But then I saw that one of the Jock McTavishes was waiting outside the telephone box, looking at me, so I had to pretend I was cleaning the receiver.

Phew. To make Jock go away I have said I will go to Alldays later. Jock seemed to believe me because he said, “Awa’ the noo hoots akimbo,” or something. After he had done wheelies(!) and gone off on his bike I popped back into the telephone box to phone Jas.

“Jas, it’s me!!!! God it’s good to speak to you! What’s been happening???”

“Er … well … I got this fab new foundation; it’s got gold bits in it that make you …”

“Jas, no, no, no, be quiet, I have to tell you something.”

I told her about talking to the Sex God. “It was SO dreamy. He is going to be a HUGE popstar and then I will be richey rich rich. But still your best pal, Jas.”

She said, “Tom is thinking about doing Environmental Studies.”

I nearly said “Who cares?” but you have to be careful with Jas because she can turn nasty if she thinks you are not interested in her. I tried to think of something to say.

“Oh … er … yeah … the environment … er, that’s great, erm, there’s a lot of … er … environment here – in fact, that is all there is.”

Then I told her about the James fandango.

She said, “Erlack-a-pongoes. Did you encourage him? Maybe you gave out the wrong signals.”

“Jas, I was not in the nuddy-pants.”

“Well I’m just saying, he must have thought he could rest his hand on your basooma. Why is that? He has never rested his hand on my basoomas, for instance.”

“What are you rambling on about?”

“I’m just saying, this is not the first time this has happened to you, is it? There was Mark the Big Gob—”

“Yeah but—”

“You say it just happened. That just out of the blue he put his hand on your basooma. No one else was there so we will never really know for sure.”

“I didn’t … it was—”

“Perhaps James has heard about your reputation. Perhaps he thinks it’s all right to fondle your basoomas.”

I hate Jas. I slammed the phone down. I will never be talking to her again. I don’t forget things. Once my mind is made up that is it. The friendship is finito. She has made a mockery of a sham of my nunga-nungas. I would rather eat one of Libby’s night-time nappies than talk to Jas again.

She is an ex-best mate. Dead to me. Deaddy dead dead. For ever.

Phoned Jas. “Jas, are you suggesting I am an easy fondleree?”

“I don’t know. I might be.”

“What do you mean, you might be?”

“Well, I might be … but I don’t know what a fondleree is.”

It is like talking to the very very backward. I explained to her as patiently as I could, “Well, it’s like dumping. If you dump someone you are the dumper. And they are the dumpee.”

“What has that got to do with fondling?”

“Jas, concentrate. The verb is ‘to fondle’: I fondle, you fondle, he, she, it fondles, etc. But I am the recipient of the fondle so that makes me the fondleree.”

She wasn’t really concentrating, though, she was in a dreamworld of her own. She was probably looking at herself in the mirror in their hall … imagining she is Claudia Schiffer … Just because some absolute prat told her she looked a bit like Claudia. Yeah … Claudia with a stupid fringe.

Walked back to Cottage Crap.

Brilliant. Miles away from civilisation and my so-called mate says I am an easy fondleree … Still, she is mad as a badger, everyone knows that. I went into the kitchen for a glass of soda and James came in behind me. He said, “I’ll get a glass for you, Georgia.” Then he sort of pressed himself into me and pretended he was reaching up for a cup from the cupboard.

Good grief. He’s Stalker Cousin.

You would think that Mutti and Vati would notice but all they do is enjoy themselves and giggle.

Sitting around in the tartan lounge in Cottage Crap. Sitting as far away as possible from James just in case he looms around me. Mutti and Vati and Grandad and Uncle Eddie are actually playing Snap. James is pretending to be reading his stupid boy comic but I bet he is secretly looking at my nunga-nungas. My breasts are making me a mockery of a sham. They are like two sticky-out beacons attracting all the sadsacks in the universe.