Читать книгу The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10 - Louise Rennison - Страница 31

I put sunglasses on to hide my tiny mincers. They are new ones that Mum bought me in a pathetic attempt to interest me in going to Kiwi-a-gogo land. They looked quite cool, actually. I looked a bit like one of those French actresses who smoke Gauloise and cry a lot in between snogging Gerard Depardieu. I tried a husky French accent in the mirror.

“And zen when I was, how you say? Une teen-ager, mes parents, mes treès, treès horriblement parents, take me to Nouvelle Zelande. Ahh merde!”

At which point I heard Mum coming up the stairs and had to leap into bed. She popped her head round the door and said, “Georgie…are you asleep?”

I didn’t say anything. That would teach her.

As she left she said, “I wouldn’t sleep in the sunglasses if I were you, they might get embedded in your head.”

What kind of parenting was that? Mum’s medical knowledge was about as good as Dad’s DIY. And we had all seen his idea of a shed. Before it fell down on Uncle Eddie.

Eventually I was drifting off into a tragic snooze when I heard shouting coming from next door’s garden. Mr and Mrs Next Door were out there, banging and shouting and throwing things about. Is this really the time for noisy gardening? They have no consideration for those who might want to sleep because they have tragedy in their life. I felt like opening the window and shouting, “Garden more quietly, you loons!”

But then I couldn’t be bothered getting out of my snuggly bed of pain.