Away Laughing on a Fast Camel

by Louise Rennison

  God save us all.

  saturday april 16th

  Jas has gone off to the Forest of Fools with Hunky, so the rest of the ace gang went to Churchill Square for essential shopping items. It’s incredibly nippy noodles and parky, but that didn’t stop us casually sitting on a wall chatting and lad spotting. There were hordes of lads ladding about. There is an all nighter at the Buddha Lounge tonight, but unfortunately since my report card I am virtually under house arrest. It is a lot of fuss over nothing. Slim said on the “remarks” part of my report card, “Georgia is an intelligent girl whose academic career is blighted by her immature japes.”

  “Immature japes.” Lawks a mercy. I bet when Slim went to school they used to make their own fun with bits of old Weetabix packets. And a really great night out was going down the grocers and thinking about what you could make with dairy products. But tragically, life is not like that. We do not do “immature japes,” we do really sophisticated japes.

  1:15 p.m.

  Just as we were reapplying lippy after our nutritious lunch of choc ices, Dave the Laugh and Rollo came along. When they saw us, Dave said, “Be gentle with us.”

  What is he going on about? Ellen practically exploded with ditherosity. I, on the au contraire, was a visage of casualosity; I even remembered to smile with my tongue behind my back teeth. Dave winked at me. Shut up winking.

  Rollo was looking all sheepish. I think he still likes Jools, even though he finished with her. Jools is keen but she is playing hard to get. Ellen has obviously taken my hints from our boy bible on how to make any fool fall in love with you seriously. She was flicking her hair around so much I thought she might snap her neck. And also she was combining it with darting glances. Dave said, “Alright, Ellen?”

  And she said, flicky flick, “Yes, I’m alright, Dave, are…you…alright?” And she gave a very meaningful flick and darting glance. But no one got it.

  As I was being a bit reddish Dave’s so-called girlfriend turned up. She is not pretending to be reddish, she IS reddish. Good grief she is friendly. She said, “Oh hi, everyone, great to see you again.”

  Was it? Why? Before I knew it we were all pretending to be really jolly and friendly for no reason. It was very very tiring. After they had gone, Jools and Rollo were talking to each other “privately,” so Rosie and Ellen and me went to try out makeup in Boots. When Ellen went round the other side of the “Rich Chick” range I said to Rosie, “Rachel’s a bit like Jas, isn’t she, only more ginger. It’s all ‘ooohhh look, some cuckoo spit’ and ‘ooooh have a nice day’ and ‘ooooh your hair is nice’ and—”

  Rosie said, “Yes I think I have got the picture, Gee, and I think you are being very bitter and twisted and that is why I aime you so much.”

  I thought Ellen was busy trying on flavored eyeshadow (a bit of a mystery that one, unless there is such a thing as eye snogging, which quite frankly wouldn’t surprise me). Anyway, Ellen popped her head up really suddenly and said, “You are not very nice about Dave the Laugh, Georgia, I mean, I am, and I’m the one he…well, you know, I’m the dumpee. Not you. I mean, what has he ever done to you? You know that time when you were supposed to snog him at the Fish party, well…”

  I started blabbing about my mates being like part of me. Fortunately at that point Jools came running over like an excitable elephant in a frock.

  “He says he’d like to give it another go.”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon arguing about whether you should give a boy a second chance.

  Who knows, the whole thing is a bloody mystery.

  home

  I am under heavy manners this weekend even to the extent that I am being forced to stay in and baby-sit whilst the so-called grown-ups go out and make fools of themselves. The rest of the ace gang are going to the funfair. I tried saying to Vati that we had been set “Going to the funfair” as homework, but all he said was, “Georgia, let me put it this way…no.”

  Mutti said, “Anyway, you are baby-sitting for us. It’s Uncle Eddie’s birthday and we are going out.”

  They are going to some really sad karaoke bar. Uncle Eddie won first prize the last time singing “Like a Virgin,” so that should give you some idea about how crap it must be.

  Mutti was tarting herself up in the bathroom; she said, “Honestly, when he started singing ‘Like a Virgin’ it was like Madonna was there in his body.”

  Christ, what an image.

  As a fabulous parting gift, Mum said, “Oh, by the way, I’ve made an appointment to see Dr. Gilhooley, put it in your diary.”

  I said, “Oh no. No, no no, there is nothing wrong with me that having normal parents wouldn’t fix. I will not show him my elbows again. They are fine, I am living with them.”

  Mutti said, “It’s not about your health. I just want to see him because he is so gorgeous.”

  She saw me looking sick and said, “No, not really, I want to fix up a work experience day for you there. I know how much you like biology.”

  “What???? What??? Just because I can do a fantastic impression of lockjaw germ does not mean I want to be a doctor’s receptionist.”

  “It will be interesting. It will give you a taste of real life.”

  “Mum, you’ve been in his surgery, you know it’s not a taste of real life, it’s a taste of pensioner hell. I am not sitting around all day in a place full of people like Mr. Next Door in incontinence trunks.”

  I may as well be invisible, because she just went out tutting.

  After Mutti and Vati had “roared” off in the clown car—or Robinmobile, as I call it—I went up to see what my little sister was up to. She is obsessed with Gordy and is trying to teach him to jump through her hula hoop. Good luck, mad toddler. It’s not that Gordy can’t leap; he can—in fact he leaps all the time for no apparent reason.

  But it is senseless leaping, not hoop leaping.

  8:00 p.m.

  Gordy is so alarmingly cross-eyed, it may be that he can’t even see the hoop. I wonder if you can get cat glasses?

  Angus is not in. He’s on the wall with Naomi snogging and wrestling. It’s a bit pervy snogging in front of your offspring. I should know; my olds are always fondling each other and it’s disgusting. There is some manky big black cat from up the road hanging about. I see him around Naomi sometimes, he is a rival for her love.

  Naomi is a dreadful minx; she seems to entice Manky, even in front of Angus. She is the furry-faced shame of womanhood.

  8:25 p.m.

  Oh quelle dommage, Gordy is wrestling with his own tail and the tail is winning, so Libby has turned her attention to me. Oh dear.

  “Gingey, let’s go play outside now.”

  “Darling, it’s nearly bedtime; I know…we could read Heidi.”

  That’s when the Heidi book hit me quite hard on the head. Libby had apparently gone off cheese and lederhosen. She was stamping her little foot.

  “Outside, naughty boy…OUTSIDE!”

  Oh hell’s biscuits.

  And she wouldn’t even get dressed. I had to put a blanket over her jimmyjams (at least she had the bottoms on, for once). She was leaping around, yelling “Hickory dickory dot, the cow leapt over the SPOOOOON!!”

  I opened the front door and she went leaping out into the dark night. Angus looked down at us from the wall and casually biffed me with his paw. Thanks for your help, furry pal. When we got to the gate I said to Libbs, “There, that was nice leaping, wasn’t it, let’s go back to snugly buggly bed and—”

  But she had undone the gate and was leaping away down the street in her blanket. I went after her and tried to pick her up. She nearly had my eye out.

  Ten minutes later we were still leaping “over the spoon.” My plan was to leap with her and sort of round her up and head her back to our house. But I’d just get her in the right direction and she would do some quick leaps and get round me again. By this stage we had got halfway down Baron’s Street, and when I looked up from another failed attempt to head Libby off I saw Dom from
The Stiff Dylans getting out of his van with his guitar. Probably turning up for a jamming session at the Phoenix. Libby was leaping in a circle, so I had a chance to smile at Dom.

  He said, “Hey hi, how are you, Georgia. And Libby.”

  Libby ignored him because she was busy leaping. But she still managed to tell him, “Gordon pooed in the bath.”

  Dom said, “I won’t even ask. Have you heard from Robbie?”

  I felt a bit tearful. “Yeah, he really likes it there.”

  Dom said, “Yeah. I heard. Pity. Ah well…erm, come to the gig on the eighth. We’ve reformed and got a cool new singer, so it looks like the record deal might go ahead.”

  I said, “You’ve got a new singer, yes, well, that’s cool…”

  I was thinking, “Yes, that is cool if you can replace a Sex God, which you can’t, even if he is a bit obsessed with vegetables.” But I didn’t say that.

  A silver scooter tore around the corner and stopped outside the Phoenix.

  Dom said, “This is him actually, Masimo.”

  So, at last, this was the so-called Italian-American pseudo Sex God. Huh. How interested was I out of ten? Minus twelve. Unfortunately Libby was interested in the noise of the scooter, and also because it had mirrors and stuff on it. She went leaping over to the scooter.

  I yelled, “Libby, come back here now!”

  One word from me and she does as she likes. I could hear her saying to the new singer, who was bending over taking off his helmet, “Heggo, I am a moo cow.”

  Oh bloody Blimey O’Reilly.

  I went and got hold of her round the arms, pinning them down so that she couldn’t hit me, and lifted her up. But with an alarming change of mood she started kissing me really wildy all over my hair and face. She was ruffling my hair up and messing up my lip gloss. Very very annoying and wet.

  “I LOBE you, my Ginger.”

  I hadn’t actually looked at the pretend Sex God as I was busy trying to wrestle with Libby, but then he spoke with an accent that was quite Italian.

  “Hello, Ginger. And ciao, little moo cow.”

  I looked at him. Ohmygiddygodstrousers. He was absolutely gorgeous. Really really gorgey. Really gorgey. And I do mean gorgey. That’s why I said it. He had very black wavy hair and a tan—a tan in England in April. And he had eyes and teeth and a mouth. He had a back, front, sides, arms, everything. His mouth wasn’t as big as Mark Big Gob’s (whose was?) but it was on the generous side. And he had really long eyelashes and AMBER eyes. In fact he had eyes like someone I knew, and then I realized he had eyes like Angus. How freaky deaky!! They were the same color as Angus’s! But they didn’t have that casual madnosity that Angus’s had. In fact they were smiley and soft and dreamy.

  Then I realized that about two hundred years had passed since he had said hello.

  I forced Libby’s mouth off the back of my neck (in a loving and caring way). I thought, “Act natural and normal, do not under any circumstances have an uncontrollable laughing attack.” I took a deep breath. “Ah yes well, er ciao to you too. I’m not really ginger, it’s just a trick of the light. Hahahahahahaha.”

  Oh brilliant, I was having an uncontrollable laughing attack.

  Dom must have realized that my brain had dropped out because he said, “Masimo, this is Georgia. Georgia, this is Masimo, our new lead singer. Georgia was, erm, friendly with Robbie.”

  Masimo. Masimo. Whohoa Masimo. I must get a grip. Masimo was locking up his scooter. He looked up and looked me straight in the eye. I managed not to fall over. He said, “Well, Georgia, it was really nice to meet you, I hope we meet again. Ciao.”

  Then they walked off to go into the Phoenix.

  I said, “Yes, ciao,” and Libby shouted, “Night-night, botty boy!”

  I turned round and carried her off as fast as I could.

  “Libby, why did you say that naughty thing, don’t say it again!”

  Libby was singing, “Have you seen the botty boy, the botty boy, the botty boy…”

  Where does she get all this stuff from?

  God, she weighs a lot these days. I was exhausted when we finally got home. I tucked her up in her bed—she didn’t want to come into my bed because she is cross with me for yelling at her. She wouldn’t even give me a good-night kiss, although she did manage a quick whack round my ear with scuba-diving Barbie.

  in bed

  Good grief.

  The Dreamboat has landed again.

  midnight

  Now I really have got the Cosmic Horn. The only fly in the armpit is that he hasn’t shown the slightest interest in me.

  12:35 a.m.

  Although he did say I hope we meet again.

  But does it mean that he hopes we meet again, or, you know, like he hopes we meet again but not really?

  Oh happy days, I am on the rack of love again.

  monday april 18th

  stalag 14

  Had to try to apply makeup on the move because I woke up so late. So there was a mascara-brush-in-the-eye incident. Jas was all fresh faced by her gate. And ludicrously cheerful. And loud.

  “Hi, Georgia, look, I’ve got my Wilderness badge. I’ve put it next to my Ramblers’ badge. Do you see? Great, isn’t it?”

  “Jas, something really—”

  “Well, when we got there we had to construct a shelter out of branches and Tom—”

  “Jas, I don’t want to hear about your twig house. I want to tell you about Mr. Gorgeous.”

  Jas said, “You know the ace gang rule.”

  “What ace gang rule?”

  “She who starts first must be heard.”

  “Yes, but that was ages ago we made that rule…and anyway, you are just going to rave on about twigs whereas I want to tell you about this gorgey…”

  But Jas had her hands over her ears and was humming. Oh my giddy aunt’s brassiere.

  I mouthed at her, “OK, you start.”

  She gave me a scary smile. “Are you sure you are interested?”

  I felt like yelling “Of COURSE I’m not interested, you complete twit!!” But I smiled back and said, “Of course I am, go on, tell me about making a nourishing stew out of bits of old turnip and badger poo.”

  She looked all stroppy.

  “You’re not really interested.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re not, otherwise you would ask an intelligent question.”

  Oh dear God.

  “Oh OK, er, did Tom’s Swiss Army knife come in handy?”

  “Ah well, it’s funny you should say that because…”

  8:50 a.m.

  Three million years later she finished her ludicrously boring ravings on, by which time we had arrived at Stalag 14. Hawkeye—not world renowned for her deep love of me—was eyeing me like a mad beagle.

  “Georgia Nicolson, you are covered in makeup, you look like a creature of the night. Go and take it off immediately, and also take a bad conduct mark.”

  I was grumbling to Jas as we slouched off. “Creature of the night, what is she going on about?”

  As I came out of the loo to scamper off to Assembly with that lovely red scrubbed look so beloved by the very sad, I bumped into Wet Lindsay.

  “Georgia Nicolson, you are three minutes late for Assembly. Take a bad conduct mark.”

  I said, “I tell you what, Lindsay, why don’t you just boil me in oil and call it a day?”

  But I said it after she had trolloped off on her extremely knobbly legs.

  english

  We are doing the life of the Bard of Avon, otherwise known as Billy Shakespeare or the Swan of Avon, as Rosie calls him, because she deliberately misheard “bard” as “bird.” Miss Wilson was raving on about his doublet and how he invented language.

  Oh I am sooo bored, and distracted by my new pash, Masimo. I can’t stop thinking about him. He is by far the dreamiest boy in the universe and probably beyond.

  I sent a note to Rosie and said to pass it on to all of the gang. I wrote it in Shakespearean-type
language, because I can’t help being artistic. And also I have a thirst for knowledge(ish).

  I wrote, Odds bodkin I am boredeth. I feeleth a let us goeth down ye olde discotheque coming on.

  Rosie wrote back, Forsooth and lack a day let us grooveth!!

  So when Miss Wilson turned her back to write something dull on the blackboard, we had a quick burst of manic “Let’s go down the disco” dancing to relieve our girlish tension.

  Vair vair amusant.

  break

  Miss Wilson will be very pleased with Billy’s enduring effect on the culture of England. When Rosie sat on the knicker toasters in the blodge labs, she leapt up and said, “Lawks a mercy, I burneth my bum-oley.”

  Which made me laugh a LOT. I think I may be hysterical with love.

  I don’t know whether to tell the ace gang about Masimo. They might think wrongly that I am a superficial sort of person who leaps from Sex God to Sex God.

  I decided to keep my love news extravangza for the lugholes of my one and only bestest pal, Jas.

  school gates

  4:00 p.m.

  I couldn’t wait to tell her, but I had to because she was droning on and on to the rest of the gang at the gates about her slug-eating weekend. On and on. I may have dropped off for a minute, because she had to say, “Come on then, Georgia, don’t you want to get away from this place?”

  As we ambled along, I started telling Jas about Masimo.

  “He is beyond gorgey, Jas, really really bon and also formidable in the extreme. He’s got these eyes, you know, really fab, like Angus’s eyes only, you know, great. Also he has got snog factor twenty-five and a half.”

  “I thought the snogging scale only went up to ten.”

  “Jas, pay attention. I said snog factor—that means like sex appeal.”

  “Why haven’t I been told about the snog factor thing?”

  “Look Jas, I just made it up and—”

  “Well, why have a rule if you are just going to break it and make up your own stuff? It would be like if we were in the wilderness camp and it said make your own fire and someone used matches.”