Louise Rennison - ‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’

Georgia’s Glossary Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

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About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Dear Chumettes and Chums,

I hope you are all righty as two all righty things. I am, though ONCE AGAIN I am full of exhaustiosity. I have been as busy as a bee (two bees) finishing my latest oeuvre. Oh yes, AND I have been to Hamburger-a-gogo land to see for myself the nation that cannot be bothered to put the “i” in the second half of words…like aluminium, for instance, which those lazy cats spell aluminum. Where would we be if none of us could be bothered to finish off our words properly? I’ll tell you where we would be, we would be up shi cree without a padd…that’s where.

As you will see, I have reached new heights of sophisticosity in this latest of my oevvres…boys, lipstick, snogging, snogging, red-bottomosity, jokes about sausages and pants – the list is endless.

I do this only because I love you.

Georgia

p.s. You don’t know what oevvre means, do you?

p.p.s. You think it is french for eggs, don’t you? Like oeuf.

p.p.p.s. You think I have been saying that I have just finished writing my new egg.

p.p.p.p.s. Look it up in the glossary, you lazy minxes, I am far too tired to explain. I have to go and have a lie down on my snogging emporium (bean bag)…zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Sun shining like a big yellow shining…er…warmey planet on fire thing.

Yesssssssss!

I am quite literally not wandering lonely as a clud, in fact I am treading lightly in the Universe of the Very Nearly Quite Happy.

Something full of miraculosity has happened. My vati, world renowned fool and paid-up member of the Big Twit club, has for once in his entire life accidentally done something good. We are going to Hamburger-a-gogo land! Honestly.

And guess who is there already? Besides a lot of people in huge psychedelic shorts and that bloke who is half-chicken half-colonel. I’ll tell you who is there, the Luuurve God is there! Masimo, the Italian Stallion, has gone to visit his olds, leaving me – his new, lurker-free-nearly almost girlfriend – back here in Billy Shakespeare land. So he thinks! Imagine how thrilled he will be when I pop up and say “Howdy!”, or whatever it is they say over there.

Let the overseas Snog Fest begin!

The only fly in the ointmosity of life is that Vati is making us go to some crap clown-car convention.

And Uncle Eddie, the baldest man on the planet, is coming with us.

Still, with a bit of luck they will both be arrested for indecent exposure when they don their leather motoring trousers.

Filled with the joie de vivre that is so much a part of my attractive but modest personality, I phoned my bestest pally.

“Jas, it is mich, your sehr guttest pally. I am calling you mit wunderbar news!”

“Oh God. Look, it’s only a week till Tom leaves and we were just sorting out my—”

“Jas, I cannot waste time discussing your knicker collection; that is between you and Tom…quite literally…hahahahaha. Do you get it? Do you get it? Knickers…between you and Hunky…do you…?”

But as I should have known from long and tiring experience, it is useless to waste my wit on Jazzy. So I cut to my nub and gist.

“I am going to Hamburger-a-gogo land to meet Masimo the Luuurve God of the universe and beyond. And back.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am.”

“How?”

I explained to Jas about the trip and the “Howdy!” business and everything, but as usual she displayed cold waterosity.

“Where is Masimo going to be in Hamburger-a-gogo land?”

“Ahaha!!!”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Well, not yet, but—”

“He could be anywhere.”

“I know, but how big can America be?”

“It’s huge.”

I laughed. Nothing was going to spoil my peachy mood, let alone swotty nit-picking from Mrs Big Pantaloonies.