Читать книгу The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10 - Louise Rennison - Страница 17

Tuesday May 4th

8:10 a.m.

Felt a bit sort of down in the dumps when I woke up. I’d had a dream that my dad had grown a Rolf Harris beard but it wasn’t a beard really, it was Angus clinging to his chin.

Assembly. Maths. Physics... there is not one part of today that is worth being alive for.

4:30 p.m.

Home, exhausted from laughing. My ribs hurt. Slim has made me be on cloakroom duty for the next term but I don’t care, it was worth it.

Well... here is what happened. It was during double physics and it was just one of those afternoons when you can’t stop laughing and you feel a bit hysterical. For most of the lesson I had been yelling, “Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!” and clicking my heels together every time Herr Kamyer asked if we understood what he had been explaining. We were doing the molecular structure of atoms and how they vibrate.

Herr Kamyer was illustrating his point with the aid of some billiard balls on a tea towel on his desk. It was giving me the giggles anyway, and then I put my hand up because I had thought of a good joke. I put my hand up with the finger pointing forward, like in “Who ate all the pies?” and when Herr Kamyer said, “Yes?” I said, “Herr Kamyer, what part does the tea towel play in the molecular structure?”

That is when Herr Kamyer made his fateful mistake – he said, “Ach, no, I merely use the tea towel to keep my balls still.” It was pandemonium. I could not stop laughing. You know when you really, really should stop laughing because you will get into dreadful trouble if you don’t? But you still can’t stop? Well, I had that. I had to be practically carried to Slim’s office. Outside her office I did my best to get a grip and I thought I had just about stopped and was under control when I knocked on the door and she said, “Come.”

In my head I was thinking, Please, please don’t ask me anything about it. Just let it go. Please talk about something else, just don’t ask me about it. Please please.

Slim was all trembly and jelloid. “Can you tell me, Georgia, what is quite so amusing about Herr Kamyer’s experiment on the vibration of atoms?”

I tried. God knows, I tried. “Well, Miss Simpson, it’s just that he used a tea towel... he used a tea towel...”

“Yes?”

“He used a tea towel to... keep his balls still.” And then I was off again.

Midnight

Bloody funny, though.

Thursday May 27th

Tennis tournament

2:30 p.m.

Through to the semifinals. Beautiful sunny day. I think I will be a Wimbledon champion after all. White suits me. All the gang are cheering me on and this is very freaky deaky and karmic and weird but... if I win my semi against Kirsty Walsh (upper fifth) I will play Lindsay in the final. How weird is that? Pretty weird, that’s what. Lindsay is such a boring player, I’m sure I could beat her. She plays by the book... baseline follow through to the net, but she hasn’t met Mighty Lob (me) yet.

OK, if I beat her that must mean I am meant to have Robbie. Lindsay has white frilly knickers on under her tennis skirt. (Not the thong, thank goodness, otherwise Miss Stamp might have had an outburst of lesbian lust and put me off my game.) I think my shorts are much more stylish. They look like I’ve just remembered I’m playing in a tennis final and I’ve just grabbed something and thrown it on in an attractive way.

3:30 p.m.

I won the first set and now I’m serving for the second and the match.

I feel pretty good. I’m a bit hot but I feel confident about my serve. Rosie and Ellen and Jools and Jas and all of my year are going mental. Chanting my name and “Easy, easy.” Hawkeye keeps telling them to be quiet. (She is the umpire, worse luck.)

But even she can’t make me lose. Hahahaha. I am ruler of the universe. Robbie is mine for the plucking.

First serve – an ACE!!! Yes! Yes! Yesssss!! Hawkeye says, “Fifteen-love.”

Second serve – a brief rally and then a cunning, slicing cross-court forehand from me. Hawkeye says, “Thirty-love.”

Third service. Whizzzz. Oh yes, another ace!! Kirsty was nowhere. What a Slack Alice. C’mon if you think you’re hard enough!!!!

Hawkeye says, “Forty-love.”

The whole court is hushed as I serve for the match. I take my place behind the baseline. Jas is playing nervously with her fringe. I looked at her. She stops.

I throw the ball up and bring my racquet down, putting a bit of top spin on it. Kirsty doesn’t even try to get it. ACE!!!!

Hawkeye announces through tight lips, “Game, set and match to Georgia Nicolson.” Yesss!!!!! Victory!!!!!!

I fall to my knees like McEnroe and the crowd is going mad. Full of euphoria I fling my racquet high up into the air.

It curves and falls down and hits Hawkeye right on the head. She is knocked off her umpire chair, unconscious.

In bed

8:00 p.m.

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. Hawkeye was only unconscious for about a minute but I was made to forfeit the match. Kirsty played Lindsay. I couldn’t bear to watch – more to the point, I wasn’t allowed to watch – I had to go and tidy all the gym mats.

Lindsay won the cup.

I don’t know what this means karmically. I don’t think I believe in God any more.

11:00 p.m.

The only way I will believe in God is if something really bloody great happens to me soon.