‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’
Hilariously funny Louise Rennison’s fabby sixth book of the confessions of crazy but lovable teenager Georgia Nicolson. Guaranteed to have the nation laughing their knickers off!“Come on, Jas, you do really want to know my plan, especially as it concerns you, my little hairy pally.”“I’m not hairy.”“Have it your own way, just don’t go near any circuses.”“Shut up. Go on then, tell me your plan.”“OK, this is it: when I go to Hamburger-a-gogo land… you come with me! Do you see? We will be like Thelma and Louise!”“We’re not called Thelma and Louise.”“I know that, I’m just saying we will be LIKE THEM!”“And we’re not American. And neither of us can drive.”“Oh dear God. Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.”Laugh your knickers off at Georgia’s tales from her trip to Hamburger-a-gogo land (the US) and her attempts to entice Masimo, the Italian stallion. Can Georgia become the composed sex-kitten she aspires to be…?
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Confessions of Georgia Nicolson6
ââ¦Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers.â
Louise Rennison
In memory and love for the boys, Oscar Kakoschka and Arthur Hewlings. God bless.
Luuurve to the fabbest family a girl could have: Mutti, Vati, Soshie, Johnboy, Eduardo, Hons, Bibbity, Kimbo, Jolly, Arrow, Millie and the three remaining chickens. Oh, and welcome to the new diggy dog, Billy. Big luuurve to the Kiwi-a-gogo and Isle of Wight branches of mayhem. And of course to the Ace mates: Salty Dog âof course you havenât broken it you fool otherwise you couldnât speakâ Pringle, Mizz Morgan, Elton, Jimjams, Guildford calling, Phil and Ruth in Froggland, Jeddbox, Big Fat Bobbins, Kim âyou can have that one mateâ and Sandy, Jools and the Mogul, Lozzer or Mrs Bridges as I know you, Ian the computer, Jenks, the Hewlings and the Willans (yes that means you, Candy), Baggy Aggiss and Jo, B and J, Mrs H and Dan, Alan âitâs not a permâ Davies, Jo Good(ish). And of course to Stewpot and Sue (please no more jokes about snot). Ay up to the Northern branch: The Cock, Ann-marie, Katy and Patrick; to the Ace Gang from Parklands: Rosie, Barbara, Christine C, Linda, Ali and everyone. To Chris the Organ. Love to the Captain and thank you for letting me use your togglestick thing. To the St Nicks crew for everything, and in particular to Dezza the vicar for joy and love and the APPALLING jokes about farting. (And also to young Phil and familyâ¦just love, nothing to do with farting.) Also a big kiss to the new cruise mates: Bungalow Steve, Dancing Steve, Simon the Rock God and Adéle, Ironing Tony and Marg. Big luuurve to Mirella, Dave and the very gorgey Mattea. Thank you to Karen Cunningham for the lovely frocks and to that Eve the Minx. Finally thank you to everyone at my work family at HarperCollins: the divine Gillie, fabby Sally Martin and groovy Sally Gritten; to Caroline and all in the publicity and design departments â what a beyond marvy job you have all done. Thank you to Emma at Midas. Bye bye Dom. And as always best love to the Empress. The end. P.S. Hahahaha you thought I had finally shut up, didnât you? But finally, thank you to all the fabby readers of my books and all of you who have sent me such lovely letters (and now and again inscribed thongsâ¦). I luuuurve you all. I do. I think this is everythingâ¦hopefully! Luuurve Lou xxxxxxx.
Table of Contents
Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.
Howdy, Hamburger-a-gogo land! Brace yourselves for a knicker invasion!!!
Let the nuddy-pants bison disco inferno dance commence!
Bum bum bum bum oley bum bum, and good afternoon officer
Dear Chumettes and Chums,
I hope you are all righty as two all righty things. I am, though ONCE AGAIN I am full of exhaustiosity. I have been as busy as a bee (two bees) finishing my latest oeuvre. Oh yes, AND I have been to Hamburger-a-gogo land to see for myself the nation that cannot be bothered to put the âiâ in the second half of wordsâ¦like aluminium, for instance, which those lazy cats spell aluminum. Where would we be if none of us could be bothered to finish off our words properly? Iâll tell you where we would be, we would be up shi cree without a paddâ¦thatâs where.
As you will see, I have reached new heights of sophisticosity in this latest of my oevvresâ¦boys, lipstick, snogging, snogging, red-bottomosity, jokes about sausages and pants â the list is endless.
I do this only because I love you.
Georgia
p.s. You donât know what oevvre means, do you?
p.p.s. You think it is french for eggs, donât you? Like oeuf.
p.p.p.s. You think I have been saying that I have just finished writing my new egg.
p.p.p.p.s. Look it up in the glossary, you lazy minxes, I am far too tired to explain. I have to go and have a lie down on my snogging emporium (bean bag)â¦zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Jas, your spaceship has arrived. Please get in.
Saturday May 7>th
Sun shining like a big yellow shiningâ¦erâ¦warmey planet on fire thing.
Yesssssssss!
10:05 a.m.
I am quite literally not wandering lonely as a clud, in fact I am treading lightly in the Universe of the Very Nearly Quite Happy.
10:10 a.m.
Something full of miraculosity has happened. My vati, world renowned fool and paid-up member of the Big Twit club, has for once in his entire life accidentally done something good. We are going to Hamburger-a-gogo land! Honestly.
And guess who is there already? Besides a lot of people in huge psychedelic shorts and that bloke who is half-chicken half-colonel. Iâll tell you who is there, the Luuurve God is there! Masimo, the Italian Stallion, has gone to visit his olds, leaving me â his new, lurker-free-nearly almost girlfriend â back here in Billy Shakespeare land. So he thinks! Imagine how thrilled he will be when I pop up and say âHowdy!â, or whatever it is they say over there.
