Louise Rennison - ‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’

Run away, run away!!!

Pant, pant, pant.

And double pants.

How in the name of God’s novelty undercrackers and matching toga have I ended up running along the streets at midnight?

I’ll tell you how. You wait ages for a Sex God to come along and then two come along at the same time. Where is the sense in that? If it is all part of Big G’s divine plan, all I can say is this, “Keep it simple, Big G, just give me one Sex God to eat at a time. And then if I am not full up I’ll have another one. Thank you. Regards to Baby Jesus.”

That is all I am saying. Inwardly, obviously, as I am nearly dead with trying to run in my high-heeled boots. I may have to lie down in a ditch in a minute.

I had to stop and sit in the hedge by the park. I’m so out of breath. Hurrah, I am sitting in the dark like a panting vole in a skirt.

Pant, pant. So this is a brief résumé of Vole Girl’s evening:

Scene 1

A top night at the Stiff Dylans gig, including an excellent Viking disco inferno dance *in honour of Rosie and Sven’s forthcoming (well, in eighteen years time) wedding and Sven arriving in furry shorts.

*Note to the dim – and I mean this in a loving way – the Viking disco inferno dance goes stamp, stamp to the left, left leg kick, kick, arm up, stab, stab to the left… and HOOOOOOORN!

As the pièce de whatsit, Masimo, lead singer and Luuurve God that I have been dreaming of and longing for, asked me to go outside, and said, “So, Signorína Georgia, I am free man for you. If you still want for us to go out?”

Keep in mind that he said it in his gorgey porgey Pizza-a-gogo land accent. Looking at me like I was a Sex Kitty.

Scene 2

Just as I was experiencing Swoon City and melty pantaloonies a car pulled up and Robbie the original Sex God got out.

The one who had left me and gone to Kiwi-a-gogo land. To snog marsupials and so on for the rest of his life.

Not.

Scene 3

After a moment of silence I said in a quick-thinking and casual way, “Oh, hello, Robbie, do excuse me, I have a train to catch and time and tide wait for no man.” And walked quickly off before breaking into a slight trot. Then a light gallop. Then I ended up in the hedge and that is where all this started.

In conclusion I would say that after queuing up at the cake shop of luuurve for ages I have accidentally bought two cakes.

And I am sitting in a bush.

Oh, yet more marvellous, marvellous news, the Blunder Boys are lurking around in the park. Probably setting fire to themselves and practising being crap. Which they needn’t bother doing as they are top at it anyway.

They’ll sense I’m here in a minute and come looming out at me. The Blunder Boys have got radar for girls within half a mile.

Mark Big Gob (who lives in my street and who I accidentally snogged once, and who has the largest lips known to humanity) larged out of the gloom and saw me panting in the hedge. He was looking at my nungas, which were heaving up and down. Stop heaving and retreat into your over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, you stupid nungas!

Mark said, “I see you are all pleased to see me, girls.”

How repellant is he? I ignored him and got up with a dignity-at-all-times sort of attitude. As I was brushing past him, he said, “Steady darlin’, you nearly knocked me over.”

The rest of the trainee idiots had sidled up by then and they sniggered and choked on their fags. Still, on the bright side cigarettes stunt your growth, so with a bit of luck most of them will remain about three foot eight.

Mark Big Gob said, “I see you’ve got the Horn. Is it for me?”

Is he mad? Is he implying that I have got the Horn for him? I would rather plunge my head into a bucket of whelks than let him anywhere near me. I can’t believe that his hand once rested on my basooma. And that his enormous gob had squelched around my face. Erlack. If anything, he gave me the Anti-Horn.

Sadly, it was then I realised that in fact he was right, I did have the horn. Horns actually. I was still carrying my Viking bison horns that I had worn to rehearse Rosie’s wedding dance.

Still, what is so very unusual about that?

Quite a lot, actually, when you think about it.

Which I won’t.

Oh double merde and ordure and poo.

Got to my street. My tootsies are killing me. The light is still on in the front room. Oh noooo. That means the terminally insane (Mutti and Vati) are still up. I must avoid them at all costs. I can’t speak to them. Not now. Not any time if I have my way.

I snuck really really quietly through the front door and stashed my horns in a secret place where they will never be found (the ironing basket).

Aaahh. Safely in. Now quietly, quietly up the stairs to my room. Quietly, quietly like a little mousie. Mousie girl opening little doorsies. Shhhhh. Shhhh. Nearly safe. Quietly into the room like a quiet thing on quiet tablets. No sign of the Furry Freak brothers, a.k.a. my cats Angus and his cross-eyed son Gordon, thank the Lord.

As I opened my bedroom door Gordy’s face appeared upside down an inch away from my fringe. I looked into his mad cross-eyes. Why does he do that – lurk on top of the door like a bat? He did a little croaky noise and licked my face with his horrid rough tongue. I managed not to cry out or be sick.

There is a half-eaten mouse on my pillow.

Oh God, that means that Gordy licked my face after he had crunched up the mousey head. I am almost bound to get the Black Death. Nothing nicer than a few pustulating boils when you have boyfriend trouble.

Crept downstairs to get rid of the mousey. I had it on a piece of cardboard. When I say mousey what I mean is two ears and a bit of tail. Too crunchy for Gordy’s delicate little murderer’s gob, I suppose.

As I was going back upstairs Mutti called out from the front room, “Is that you, Gee?”

I said, “No,” and went up to get into my snuggly bed of pain.

Can’t be bothered getting undressed as I’m so full of confusiosity.

I’d better make an effort though and at least take my boots off. My feet are probably all swollen from my mad running and I don’t want to have them surgically removed again.

The boots, I mean, not my feet.

Anyway, the nub and gist is that I have accidentally acquired two Luuurve Gods.

I may never sleep again.

I won’t have time to sleep if I’ve got two boyfriends, tee hee…

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Woke up from a dream where Dr Clooney was looking at my head and saying, “I have never seen anything like it! Her head is one enormous boil!” and for a minute forgot that I have two boyfriends.

I checked in the mirror and there has been no pustulating boil extravaganza, so I seem to have escaped catching the Black Death from Gordy’s little mousey snack, thank the Lord. Although my head has exploded, hairwise. I may have to iron it.

Crept downstairs and made some toast and tea. I must keep my strength up.

There is snoring coming from every room. Mum made Dad sleep in the spare room because of his snoring and she is louder than him! I must be kind, though: she probably has difficulty breathing because of the weight of her enormous nungas. If mine grow as big as hers I will definitely donate them to some charity.