Читать книгу The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10 - Louise Rennison - Страница 414

Vati back as Loonleader with a vengeance. He came barging into “my” (hahahahahaha) room at pre-dawn, waggling his new beard about. I was sleeping with cucumber slices on my eyes for beautosity purposes so at first I thought I had gone blind in the night. I nearly did go blind when he ripped open my curtains and said, “Gidday gidday, me little darlin’!” in a ludicrous Kiwi-a-gogo twang.

I wonder if he has finally snapped? He was very nearly bonkers before he went to Kiwi-a-gogo land and having his shoes blown off by a rogue bore can’t have helped.

But hey, El Beardo is, after all, my vati and that also makes him Vati of the girlfriend of a Sex God. So I said quite kindly, “Guten morgan, Vati, could you please go away now? Thank you.”

I think his beard may have grown into his ears however, because he ignored me and opened the window. He was leaning out, breathing in and out and flapping his arms around like a loon. His bottom is not tiny. If a very small pensioner was accidentally walking along behind him they may think there had been an eclipse of the sun.

“Aahh, smell that air, Georgie. Makes you feel good to be alive, doesn’t it?”

I pulled my duvet round me. “I won’t be alive for much longer if that freezing air gets into my lungs.”

He came and sat on the bed. Oh God, he wasn’t going to hug me, was he? Fortunately Mutti yelled up the stairs, “Bob, breakfast is ready!” and he lumbered off.

Breakfast is ready? Has everyone gone mad? When was the last time Mum made breakfast?

Anyway, ho hum pig’s bum, I could snuggle down in my comfy holiday bed and do dreamy-dreamy about snogging the Sex God in peace now.

Wrong.

Clank, clank. “Gergy! Gingey! It’s me!!”

Oh Blimey O’ReiIley’s trousers, it was Libby, mad toddler from Planet of the Loons. When my adorable little sister came in I couldn’t help noticing that although she was wearing her holiday sunglasses, she wasn’t wearing anything else. She was also carrying a pan. I said, “Libby, don’t bring the pan into …”

But she ignored me and clambered up into my bed, shoving me aside to make room. She has got hefty little arms for a child of four. She said, “Move up, bad boy, Mr Pan tired.”

Then she and Mr Pan snuggled up against me. I almost shot out of bed, her bottom was so cold … and sticky … urghh.

What is it with my room? You would think that at least on holiday I might be able to close my door and have a bit of privacy to do my holiday project (fantasy snogging), but oh no. There will probably be a coachload of German tourists in lederhosen looking round my room in a minute.

I’m going to go and find the local locksmith (Hamish McLocksmith) and get two huge bolts for my door, and you can only get in by appointment.

Which I will never make.