Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers: More Mad, Marvy Confessions of Georgia Nicolson

by Louise Rennison

  Oh nooo.

  9:15 p.m.

  Me and Jas are holed up in my room whilst the grown-ups are singing “Waterloo.” I said to her, “This is a good opportunity for you to nip downstairs and start ringing people in New York, New York called Scarlotti.”

  She didn’t even bother to stop straightening her fringe.

  9:28 p.m.

  Another ring of the doorbell.

  Sound out the bells of England: it was the ace gang. Yesssss!!! Even Jas forgot she was having a grumpathon.

  Jools, Rosie, Mabs and Ellen all gave the time-honored Klingon salute. Rosie said, “We’re not staying, because we are going to the Catfish for a bop, but we have come with a message of wisdomosity.”

  Oooohhh, how sweet.

  They said all together: “Have a good time ALL of the time.”

  And then Rosie said, “Bon voyage and also Bon Jovi. See you in the next life, don’t be late.”

  One farewell burst of disco inferno and they were gone.

  in the hall

  9:30 p.m.

  Jas went back to her fringe-straightening duties in my bedroom, but as the olds were singing along to “Dancing Queen” I quickly phoned international directory enquiries. The lady operator had not been facilitated into the mystery of helpfulnosity, because when I politely said, “Good evening, would you connect me to anyone in New York, New York, who has the surname Scarlotti?” she said, “Don’t be so bloody silly.” And put the phone down.

  This is what the British empire has come to.

  in bed

  11:05 p.m.

  Jas needn’t have gone to all the trouble of making a lesbian barrier of pillows, because Libby has come into the bed in the middle of us.

  Uncle Eddie has taken Maisie home on his motorbike and Grandvati is sleeping in Libby’s bedroom.

  11:10 p.m.

  Libby is in the middle of Jas and me. She is looking from one to the other of us. Smiling. With no front teeth.

  I don’t trust this smiling business.

  Libby was turning her head from side to side, looking at Jas and then looking at me.

  I must make her go to sleep. I said, “Night-night then, Bibsy; time for boboland. Shall I sing you a little nighttime song?”

  “No.”

  ten minutes later

  She won’t stop turning her head from side to side, saying, “Naaaiiice, naaiiice.”

  It’s very unnerving.

  Then she just suddenly fell asleep. Just kajonk. Asleep. No yawning, just unconscious. How strange is that? How do they do that, the toddly-type people, the instant-falling-asleep thing?

  Jas whispered to me, “I will never get to sleep. I’m just thinking and thinking about Tom.”

  Then she just went kajonk asleep. She is vair vair superficial.

  Oh God. Anyway, I am never going to get to sleep either, as I am so excited beyond the valley of the excited and into the…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

  let the nuddy-pants bison-disco-inferno dance commence!

  sunday may 22nd

  8:30 a.m.

  Cor, we are quite literally up at the crack of dawn.

  I had no sooner slumped into a dream about my lips turning into hamburgers and Masimo spreading some tomato sauce on them than Mum was shaking me awake.

  She was dressed in some new jeans, which I have never seen before and never want to see again.

  “Mum, do they like the prostitute look in Hamburger-a-gogo?”

  Mum said, “Don’t start.”

  But I am not wrong.

  9:00 a.m.

  Up and dressed in my traveling outfit. Finally decided on my pale blue ribbed T-shirt, cool jeans and pearl-buckle leather belt with my highest-heeled shoes. (The highest heels allowed by the fascist fashion kommandant, aka my dad.) I have some ballet slippers to put on later so that I don’t get deep vein whatsit, as Vati is too mean to spend an extra thousand pounds so that I can have a chair that turns into a little bed on the plane. As I said to Mum, “A thousand pounds is just TOO much to spend to ensure his daughter will walk again, but there you are.”

  I left Jas trying to decide which botty huggers to wear for comfortabilitynessnosity on the plane and went to say good-bye to the kittykats.

  We have managed to convince Libby that they are not flying with us because they are coming on the special cat plane, which has little cat baskets instead of seats. And, I must say, it was my bit about them having their own little video sets by their baskets showing films of dogs being chased by cats that did the trick.

  It amused Libby so much, I thought she was going to have a fit.

  9:15 a.m.

  Gordon should be under strict house arrest but he has done a dash for freedom and is on the wall with his “father.” I notice that the anti-cat fence is partially eaten.

  Angus playfully biffed me around the head when I went over to them.

  Gordy rolled over onto his back and looked at me upside down. I tickled his little tummy, sooooo cute. Then he locked all his paws round my hand and stuck his claws into me. Owwwww. I tried to get him off but he is very strong for a little kittykat. He wouldn’t even let go when I lifted him off the wall and he just hung there on the end of my hand. I shook him off at last and he spun round in the air and landed on all of his little paws. Excellent tail work on the landing.

  Angus was looking sleepily down at his offspring.

  Probably thinking “I have taught that boy everything he knows.”

  As I got eye level with the big furry loony he looked straight at me. He has the most yellow mad eyes you have ever seen, but in his own way I think he loves me. That is what I think. It was like he was looking deep down into my soul, thinking “Yes, we are different creatures, but we have a bond deep down inside. You are a baldy fool who cannot even catch her own snacks, but we both have hearts and appendixes. And neither of us have trouser-snake addendas.”

  A touching telepathic speech from him because usually he is not very talkative.

  I said, “Bye-bye, Angus. I love you and I will be back.”

  He put his paw out and just patted at my nose really gently.

  I think he understands every word I say and this is his way of saying “S’later.”

  9:25 a.m.

  As we drove out of our driveway in Dad’s friend’s white van, Grandad yelled out to us, “Have a lovely time, and Georgia, try and get on with people!”

  That’s nice, isn’t it?

  I said to everyone, “That’s a bit rich coming from a convicted convict, isn’t it?” But no one heard me above the singing. Even Libby was joining in with “Get off of my blue suede shoes.” Or in her case, “Get offer my blue snail shoes.”

  9:30 a.m.

  On our way to the airport of Luuurve dreams. I am sooooo excited.

  I said to Jas, “I am going to call all the people who have the same surname as Masimo as soon as we get to whatsitsname.”

  Jas said, “Memphis.”

  “Yes, that.”

  in the departure lounge

  11:00 a.m.

  I said to Jas, “Hamburger-a-gogo land, here we come! Brace yourselves for a knicker invasion!”

  12:00 p.m.

  Mutti was sooo nervy about taking off. She is still holding my hand and she has only just let go of the bloke across the aisle’s hand. He looks a bit apprehensive, and not entirely sane. Mutti, me, Jas, Libbsy, Scuba Diving Barbie and Sandra are all sitting next to each other, and Uncle Eddie and Vati have seats in front of us. The man across the aisle offered to change seats with Dad so he could sit across from Mum, but Dad said, “You wouldn’t be safe next to my friend. We call him ‘The Prince of Darkness’ at home. He needs very careful managing.” Then Uncle Eddie looked back at the man, and he had two plastic spoons stuck up his nose. Why?

  The Prince of Darkness and his porky pal, my vati, have already embarrassed themselves by ordering ridiculous cocktails with umbrellas in them. And flirting with the air hostesses; it is vair vair sad. If they start singing an
d putting on their Elvis quiffs I will go mad. I suppose Dad imagines his leather trousers make him look like a groover. I said to Mum, “Was Vati meaning to look like a transvestite?”

  But she was fiddling about with her seat belt.

  She said, “Do you think I could get an extra one? This doesn’t look very sturdy, does it?”

  “I wouldn’t bother about your belt, Mum. This airplane must weigh about a million tons, and that little belt is not going to save you when we nosedive two miles into the Atlantic.”

  She said, “Shut up,” which I don’t think is very caring.

  However, live and let live. And also let the spirit of holidaynosity and LuuurveGoddosity run rife through the aisles of life, is what I say.

  Jas, who is wearing her “traveling outift,” i.e., some enormous joggers and pigtails, said, “Do you remember the captain on the boat when we went on the school trip to Froggyland?”

  “Jas, how could I ever forget Captain Mad? We were lucky to crash into France, otherwise we would be still there going round and—”

  Then the plane’s captain came on the tannoy.

  “Gud evening, ladies and gents, we’re awae on our trip to Memphis, and hoots a clear nacht the noo.”

  Dear God. He was from Och Aye land.

  I clutched Mum and said, “We’re all doomed. Doomed, I tell you.”

  Which I thought was quite funny. Mum didn’t.

  two hours later

  Rollers in for bounceability hairwise. We checked first that there were no fit boys on the flight. Not, as I said to Jas, that I am remotely interested. I said, “I am eschewing the General Horn and red bottomosity with a firm hand, but you never know.”

  Dad turned round when he smelled the nail polish (I decided to change Pouting Pink for Go Baby) and saw us in our rollers. After he had stopped laughing he and Uncle Eddie amused themselves by pretending we were space creatures. Dad kept showing us things and saying, “Spoon, do not be afraid. This is a SPOON.”

  Then they’d go back to talking rubbish and a few minutes later Dad would turn round with a fork to show us.

  Vair vair amusing.

  How we laughed.

  Not.

  Libby is in Libbyland making Scuba Diving Barbie and Sandra do “snoggling.” If Sandra wasn’t in fact our Lord in a dress it would be lezzie snogging. I blame my parents because of their lack of moral code. Mum has relaxed enough to start her usual flirting with anything in trousers. She almost wet herself when the bloke across the aisle (Randy) asked her if she had been a child bride. (I told you he was mad.)

  When she nipped off to apply yet more makeup, I leaned over her seat to talk to Randy.

  “Er, howdy. Do you know anyone called Masimo Scarlotti in Manhattan?”

  Randy looked as if he was a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. He was vair vair nervous for no reason. Eventually he said, “Well, er, Manhattan is a big place and…”

  I smiled. “I don’t think an eighth of an inch mapwise is that big, really.”

  He just looked at me.

  I said to Jas quietly, “I don’t think that Randy has all the buttons on his cardigan, if you know what I mean.”

  But I gave him the benefit of the doubtosity. I smiled at him and he took a big glug of his vodka.

  Still on this sodding plane somewhere in the Atlantic.

  The captain keeps telling us to put our watches back an hour; it’s more like having a clock driving than a person.

  fifteen thousand hours or something. or is that our height?

  I said to Jas, “Have we crossed the international date line yet? Are we going backward or forward through time? It could be 1066 for all we know.”

  Jas is reading her ludicrous fungi book so she didn’t even bother to answer.

  half an hour later (or perhaps half an hour sooner, who knows?)

  The captain came and walked down the aisle saying hello to people. He was not what I would call a confidence-inducing sight, although at least he wasn’t wearing a kilt. He looked close to eighty-five; also, he bumped into an air hostess so maybe he has failing eyesight. Or at the least very bad spatial awareness.

  As the captain passed by us, Mum said, “Is everything alright, Captain?”

  And he winked. Honestly. A million miles up in the air with no visible means of support and you have a winker in charge. He said, “Aye, madam, it’s gud weather for flying.”

  Libby looked at him and smiled her tongue-through-the-teeth smile.

  “Heggo, mister man, give me and my fwends naaaiice sweeties.”

  Mum said, “Libby, naughty girl, the captain is too busy to—”

  But the captain had clearly never had any experience of the bonkers toddly folk, because he said, “Come on, then, little lassie, let’s see what we can find for ye.”

  two minutes later

  Libby lobes the captain. She is sitting on his knee at the back of the plane, singing him her poo song. He is joining in.

  Mum was looking back and smiling and saying to me, “Aaaahh, that’s sweet, isn’t it?”

  There was a bit of a pause and then she yelled, “Oh, my God, who is driving the plane???!!!”

  touchdown

  Miraculously we have landed safely. After making such a fuss about everything, Mum fell asleep. In fact all of the grown-ups were unconscious when we landed in Memphis. Jas was checking her watch as we took our rollers out. She said, “Isn’t it weird that it is more or less the same time as when we took off, and that we landed yesterday as far as Hunky is concerned?”

  Good grief, I needn’t have bothered about day to evening wear.

  However I have got maximous voluminosity and bounceability on the hair front. I may write a book on international beauty tips.

  howdy, hamburger-a-gogo land, brace yourselves for a knicker invasion

  memphis airport

  Let the Luuurve trail commence!!!

  Me and Jas did a tribute disco inferno dance when we got off the plane.

  twenty minutes later, waiting for our luggage

  I haven’t seen anyone who hasn’t got a mustache yet.

  And frankly that is not attractive in a woman.

  customs

  I was singing “Head ’em up, round ’em up, head ’em out, rawhide. Head ’em up, round ’em up, head ’em out, rawhide rawhiiiiiiiiide” in an amusing and entertaining way as we got our stuff and trundled along to customs, but it was, I have to say, not going down very well. In fact it was like being in Hawkeye City.

  The customs man asked me if I was bringing in any livestock. I thought he was having a laugh, so I said, “Only, as you see, my father and his mate.”

  He wasn’t having a laugh.

  Not at all.

  in our rental car

  A willing but dim Hamburger-a-gogo chap (with a mustache) showed us to a massive black limo–type scenario. It was called a “mustang” or “arsekicker” or something. Anyway, it was big as a big thing. Dad and Uncle Eddie were ecstatic, kicking the tires and so on—it is vair vair sad.

  The w-but-d chap said, “This is your vee-hick-el, sir. Now, you all drive safely, you hear?”

  What was he going on about?

  What is a vee-hick-el?

  Jas said, “Does he mean a vehicle?”

  I said, “Get loose, Jassy Spazzy. Who cares as long as the vee-hick-el is a Luuurve vee-hick-el. Prepare to enter the vee-hick-el. Adjust your knickers, we are on our way!!”

  After a million years of Dad fiddling with keys, we got into one of the eighty-five million seats inside and snuggled down whilst Vati and Uncle Eddie twiddled with their knobs.

  I hugged Jazzy. And amazingly she hugged me back.

  I said, “Jas, I am sooo excited, aren’t you?”

  She said, “Ooh look, there is a little TV on the back of the seat!”

  As the Thunderbird-a-gogo or whatever it was took off at one mile an hour, driven by Dad, I said to Jas, “I can almost smell Masimo.”

  She said, “Oo-er.”<
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  And then we both fell about laughing. I think I have got hysterical jet lag. Dad and Uncle Eddie were singing “I Left My Heart in San Franciso” and have already started yelling “howdy” out of the window at anyone we pass.

  It’s only a matter of time before they are taken to jail. So things are looking up.

  6:30 p.m. timewise

  I think someone forgot to mention something to me. It’s HUGE here! The buildings, the signs, the shorts. Everything is HUGE here. And bloody hot.

  I’d ask Dad to turn on the air-conditioning if I didn’t know what a waste of time that was. He’s already opened the sun roof ten times when he was trying to change gears.

  And more to the point, there ISN’T a gear stick, this is an automatic car.

  6:45 p.m.

  Fifty million years of swaying about in the back of a vee-hick-el driven by someone who doesn’t know what side of the road is the right one (and that’s when we are in England). It was only when we passed the same group of people for the fifth time and they started waving and cheering that Dad let Uncle Eddie drive.

  hotel

  7:15 p.m.

  This is more like it. A huge driveway lined with hibiscus and palm trees and a fountain and then a hotel with about fifty-six floors. Tip-top hotel life. As soon as we screeched to a halt a millimeter away from the fountain, some chap in a uniform opened the car doors. He seemed vair vair cheerful, like someone had told him a really good joke. Perhaps he had heard about the clown-car convention. Or seen Uncle Eddie trying to park. He smiled and clapped his hands and said, “Well, how are you all doing? Come on in, come on in!!! Welcome to Memphis, folks. The home of Elvis—but this is not Heartbreak Hotel, no siree, this is your hotel!” Good Lord. I said to Uncle Eddie really quietly, “Put your foot down and drive like the wind.”

  But Mr. Smiley Mad Pants had already taken all our bags inside. Still grinning. Like he was really pleased to see us. The receptionist (Candi) practically split her mouth in half, she was smiling and saying “alrighty” so much.

  Whilst Dad and Uncle Eddie sorted out the rooms, Mum said, “Aren’t they all just, you know…”

  I said, “Bonkers?”