Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 Read Online Free PDF Page B

and I have the ridiculously sad task of helping the “cast” of Peter Pan into their costumes and sorting out the props. We are in charge of the “dressing room,” or P.E. changing room, as thenormal might call it. We have to hang everything up in order and on different pegs, whilst Miss Stamp dashes about “supervising.”
    Wet Lindsay has got the leading part of Peter in Peter Pan , which I think is unfortunate casting, because she has to wear a green tunic and tights. She has got astonishingly sticklike legs. Also, for no good reason (other than I stole her boyfriend), she has taken against me. She wouldn’t have me as her little helper, so Rosie has to help her into her tights and so on. (Erlack.) Tragic Kate is Wendy in the show and I have to help her into her duff wig with plaits.
    Hours of boredom stretch ahead. Will I never be free of this hellhole?
    5:10 p.m.
    The SG will be talking to people in Hamburger-a-gogo land now.
    6:00 p.m.
    I said to Rosie, “Do you and Sven talk a lot?”
    Rosie thought a bit. “Sven talks a lot.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œI haven’t got the faintest idea. He’s not, as youknow, English. Reindeer, possibly.”
    â€œDon’t you mind that all you do is snog?”
    â€œNo.”
    8:00 p.m.
    Home again, in the sanctity of my luurve boudoir.
    Mon Dieu , how boring was the rehearsal? It was almost as boring as Dad’s stories about Kiwi-a-gogo land. Still, home at last and my bedroom is a Libby-free zone!
    I haven’t listened to my dolphin CD for a bit. I think I will put it on and meditate on my inner me.
    8:10 p.m.
    I don’t know who it is that thinks dolphins are soothing. It’s just squeak squeaky squeak.
    8:15 p.m.
    I do feel a bit sorry for them, though, because they get all those depressed people insisting on swimming with them. It might cheer up the depressed people, but I bet it depresses the arse off the dolphins. They just want to go out with their mates for a laugh and no sooner do they start playing Chase the Cod or whatever, than allthese miserable types come and hang around stroking their snouts and crying.
    Or am I being a bit harsh?
    8:35 p.m.
    Everyone out as usual, round at Uncle Eddie’s. God it’s boring being by yourself. I may be forced to do my blodge homework.
    9:00 p.m.
    Rang Jas.
    â€œJas.”
    â€œQuoi?”
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œBlodge homework.”
    â€œ Moi aussi. Are you drawing a hydra?”
    â€œOui.”
    â€œHave you drawn its wafting tentacles yet?”
    â€œNon.”
    â€œI have. Also I have drawn in some cheesy whatsits being wafted in by its tentacles.”
    â€œHydras don’t eat cheesy whatsits. They are pond life.”
    â€œThat’s a bit rude, Jas.”
    â€œIt isn’t—it’s a biological fact.”
    â€œOK, Jas, but have you considered this? Perhaps hydras don’t eat cheesy whatsits because no one has had the GOOD MANNERS to go down to the pond and offer them round! Don’t hydras deserve to be treated like human beings?”
    9:15 p.m.
    Oh, I am so bored!!
    In my Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff for Teens it says: “Do something interesting and useful for others.”
    9:30 p.m.
    I can get forty-eight little plaits in my hair.
    9:35 p.m.
    It makes me look like a complete prat, though.
    9:40 p.m.
    Phone rang!!
    â€œGeorgia.”
    Yes and three times yes!!! It was Robbie.
    The record company has done a deal with a big American company and they want The Stiff Dylans to go over there on tour. Wow.
    Rang Jas and told her.
    â€œWhat do you think I should wear to go on tour? You can never go wrong in black, can you?”
    â€œYour dad will never in a million trillion years let you go to America on tour with a band.”
    â€œYou will see, my little pal.”
    10:00 p.m.
    I will miss my ace gang when I go off with the Sex God to America.
    Mutti, Vati and Libbs all came home.