Synopsis: Brilliantly funny, teenage angst author Louise Rennison's first book about the confessions of crazy but lovable Georgia Nicolson. Frontal Snogging Louise Rennison [PDF] [EPUB] Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging. () is a young adult novel by Louise Rennison. Nicolson 1 2 Louise Rennison [PDF] [EPUB] Louise Rennison (11 October – 29 February. ) was an English author and comedian.

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Louise Rennison Pdf

louise rennison pdf. Louise Rennison (11 October – 29 February ) was an English author and comedian who wrote the Confessions of Georgia. LOUISE RENNISON Georgia-isms, video clips in which Louise reveals her personal secrets, and more! Visit aracer.mobi for. Rennison - [Free] Angus Thongs And Full Frontal Snogging Confessions Of Georgia Nicolson 1. Louise Rennison [PDF] [EPUB] Angus, Thongs.

Hold on to your tights! Because I am holding on to mine, I can tell you. Which makes it difficult to go to the loo, but that is the price of fame. And fame is my game! Once more I am chugging back to Dother Hall. Or the theater of dreams, as Sidone Beaver, the principal, calls it. I am truly on the showbiz express of life. Well, the stopping train to Skipley, the Entertainment Capital of the North. Or home of the West Riding Otter, as some not-showbiz people call it.

And I do know what that is like, actually. I said coming on this school camping trip would be a fiasco of a sham and I was not wrong. I was right. I wonder what the others are doing? Anyway, the main thing is that I am now, officially, the girlfriend of a Luuurve God. And therefore I have put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand.

I will never again be found wandering lonely as a clud into the cakeshop of luuurve. Ditto Eccles cakes and Spotty Dick or. So speaking as the official girlfriend of a Luuurve God who has put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand and who will never be wandering around looking for extra cakes, can someone tell me this.

Also known as Dave the tart. And let us face facts. Now is not the time for a rambling trip to Ramble land. Now is the time to put my foot down with a firm hand and stop snogging my not boyfriend Dave the Laugh. Being made to go on stupid school camping trips with madmen Miss Wilson and Herr Kamyer. He has left me here, wandering around defenseless in the wilderness near Ramsgate, miles away from the nearest Topshop. Because that is more or less what happened.

That is le fact. Oh yes, I was snuggling down earlier tonight after an action-packed day of newt drawing when there was tap tap tapping on 4 the side of the tent. I thought it might have been an owl attack but it was Dave the Laugh and his Barmy Army Tom, Declan, Sven and Edward enticing us out into the forest with their promise of snacks and light entertainment.

He and I are just mates and I have a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend and that is that, end of story. Not, because then he comes to the countryside looking for me and waving his horn about.

You know, like old matey type mates do. But then I put my foot down a bloody badger hole or something and fell backward into the river. When he stopped I pushed him backward and 5 looked at him. I was giving him my worst look. And then telling me that you felt mixed up. I felt a bit weepy, actually.

I might as well be wet at both ends. My eyes filled with tears and I blinked them away and he just kept on looking at me. Maybe he had had enough of me and he really hated me. Then he just walked away and I was left alone. Alone to face the dark woods of my shamenosity and the tutting of Baby Jesus.

The trees looked scary and there was all sorts of snuffling going on. Maybe it was rogue pigs. Pigs who had had enough of the farm life, fed up with just bits of old potato peelings to eat, nowhere to poo in privacy. Maybe these ones wanted a change of menu and had made a bid for freedom by scaling the pigpen fence late at night. The Great Escape. When the prisoners dug a tunnel under the prison fence.

There was more snuffling. Yes, but now they were hungry. Runaways from the farm just waiting to pounce on some food. If they found me they would think of me like I thought of them.

As some chops. Some chops in a skirt. In sopping knickers in my case. Out here in the Wild Woods the trotter was on the other foot. I could climb up a tree.

Could they climb trees? Could I climb trees? Oh God, not death by pig!!! The scuffling got nearer and then a little black thing scampered out of the undergrowth. It was a vole. How much noise can one stupid little mousy thing make? A LOT, is the answer. I should make friends with it, really, because with my luck I will be kidnapped by voles and raised as one of their own.

On the plus side, it would mean I would never have to face the shame of my red bottomosity, just spend my years digging and licking my fur and being all aloney on my owney. I started walking along. Dave appeared out of the darkness in front of me.

I just ran over to him and burst into tears. I could see the moon through the trees. And my hiccups had almost gone. As we walked along he smiled at me and stroked my hair. Oooh, he was nice. I do feel bad about Emma, but that is not your fault. That is my fault. We can put away our horns and be matey type mates again.

Come on. Cheer up. I like you and I always have and I always will. As we walked along I could hear little squelching noises coming from the knicker department. You should change them when we get back.

Angus, Thongs And Full-frontal Snogging (PDF)

Then everything went horrible again; there were some hideous noises coming from the left of us. Dave took his arm away from my shoulder. I looked up at him, he looked down at me and bent over and kissed me on the mouth really gently.

That is, our school campsite. To change my nick nacks. I must say, it was a lot easier getting our tent down than up. Jas and her woodland mates and Herr Kamyer and Miss Wilson were folding and sorting and 11 putting things in little pockets and so on for about a million years.

The only reason we got on without some sort of Nazi investigation and body search was because Elvis Attwood was slumped at the wheel with his cap pulled down over his face. I knew that because she came to the back of the coach and shook my shoulder quite violently.

I peered at her. She was tremendously red faced. We had to take it out and pack it up so that we could get ours in! God, she is annoying, but luckily no one else heard her rambling on about the million boyfriends scenario. I wonder if the boys are home yet? Quite quite horrific. Like red things at a red party. Herr Kamyer tried to get off her lap, but the coach was being driven so violently by Mr. Attwood was forced to stop at the lights, Herr Kamyer got into his own seat and pretended to be inspecting his moth collection.

Miss Wilson got out her knitting but kept looking over at him. Green did her famous falling into the shower tent fiasco and MissWilson was exposed to the world having a shower. He has seen Miss Wilson in the nuddy-pants. Here we go again, once more into the bakery of love.

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I am going to have to nip this Dave the Laugh thing in the bud. I am without doubtosity top girlie at red herringnosity. Dropped off at the bottom of my road. He hates girls. When I politely asked to see it after a near-death experience at a roundabout he suggested I remove myself before his hand made contact with my arse. Which is unnecessary talk in a man who fought for his country in the Viking invasions. Nothing in the fridge, of course. Unless you like out-of-date bean sprouts. I think I am getting scurvy from lack of vitamin C, my hair feels tired.

Perhaps Italian Luuurve Gods like the patchy-hair look in a girlfriend. I wonder if he has left a message on the phone for me? How does she know about the snogging scale? My mum is obviously part crap mother and part seeing-ear dog.

I am frankly puzzled as to why she had bread knives and scissors in her bedroom. Also I cannot get the blue makeup off his eyes. Dear Gott in Himmel. And that was it. No message from the Luuurve God. Has he gone off me?

Maybe I did something wrong when we last saw each other. It will be good, Miss Georgia. And my bottom still hurts from my falling in the river fiasco. Probably not.

And what goes on in the woods stays in the woods. Maybe he means that in a matey type mate way. Anyway, it was an accidental No. It could happen to anyone. Yes, it might happen if for instance she happened to be in Rome. Probably nothing. They probably go to work in the nuddy-pants because they are wild and free Pizza-a-gogo types. Even Dave mentioned it. To remind him that I am more than just a nose on legs.

Perhaps he has a touch of the Mystic Meg about him and he knows about the Dave the Laugh incident. Just because she has got the hump with me. About the stupid tent business. Lying on my bed of pain. And I mean that quite literally because Angus is pretending my foot is a rabbit. In a sock. If I even move it slightly he leaps on it and starts biting it. Also I think I may have 21 actually broken something in my bottom. I wonder if it is swollen up?

Carefully easing my broken bottom off the bed and slapping at Angus, I went downstairs. Angus was still clinging to my sock rabbit foot even though his head was bonking against the stairs. As I got to the hall I heard the front door being kicked. Oh good, it was my delightful little sister. Let me in, poo sister. I could see his ginga ears. Oh bloody hell. Gordy was strug- 22 gling and yowling in her little fat arms and finally squirmed free and leapt off into the garden sneezing and shaking.

Libby was laughing. Hnk hnk. So very sad. She gave me a hug, which can be quite frightening seeing her enormous basoomas looming toward your head. It was like an orgy, one of the women got so carried away she stole his feather codpiece. It was like earporn.

She was so full of herself burbling on and on. Really great. Libby was still kissing my knees and giggling. She has forgotten that they are my knees; they are now just her new replacement friends for Josh. Have you managed to shake him off at last? In his leather trousers. Oh, I might be sick. Not content with the horrificnosity of the trousers, he kissed me on my hair.

Urgh, he has touched my hair. Now I will have to wash it. He was grinning like a loon and taking his jacket off. I will probably wear it when I go clubbing.

Any gigs coming up? He went chomping off into the front room. Mum was adjusting her over-the-shoulder boulder holder and looking at me. And snogs? And also merde. I had broken my rule about never speaking about snognosity questions with old mad people. How many days is it since he went? Quickly followed by Libby. And never does. On and on. I would never behave like this when 27 I was married.

Mind you, I will not be marrying a loon in tight trousers who thinks Rolf Harris is a really good artist. Who will I be marrying at this rate?

Why is no one phoning me? Not even the ace gang. The trouble with today is that everyone is so obsessed with themselves, they just have no time for me. Oh no, here they go again. They are so childish. Fight, fight!!

Or have his trousers cut off the circulation to his head? Vati hit No. Is she up there with you? Or was it Robin Hood? Have you tried the airing cupboard or the cat basket? Whilst Mum went hunting for Bibbsy, Dad unfortunately decided to check the phone messages. I could hear him tutting. He had the nervy spaz of all nervy spazzes. Shouting and carrying on. Why did Libby have a bread knife in her bedroom? Probably because you are too busy with your so-called mates throwing balls around to bother looking after your children!

If you took some notice of them, that would be a miracle. You care more about that ridiculous bloody threewheeled clown car. Dad really lost it. Then there was the sound of the clown car being driven off at high speed two miles an hour down the driveway. And silence again as it whirred away into the distance. Dear God, what a nightmare. This has taken my mind off the oven of luuurve situation. Libby had wedged herself into the outdoor metal bucket.

We pulled her and wiggled her about but we could not get it off. Across the Road if we could borrow some butter. She said I could lie better. Across the Road was wearing a short nightshirt and I kept not looking anywhere below his chin. He was all nosy about the late-night butter scenario, though. I was lying. And also the only kind of confectionary I knew were all the cakes I had got from the bakery of love.

For the deaf. And that is when Junior Blunderboy and full- 32 time twit came in. He had massive jeans on about fifty sizes too big for him. He had to sort of waddle about like a useless duck to keep them from falling down. And pull them up every five seconds. How spectacularly naff and sad he was.

I just looked at him as he waddled over to the kitchen counter. He reached up to get a can of Coca-Cola from a shelf and momentarily forgot about his elephant jeans and they just fell to his ankles. Leaving him standing there in his Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers. I know this because, believe it or not, your trousers have fallen off. Be cool, it is righteous. I will never ever tire of the sheer bonkerosity of boydom.

Bucket off Libby. Eventually we cut through the top of her panties and managed to make a bit of leeway and free the bum-oley. For some toddlers, being greased up and pulled by brute force out of a metal bucket might have been a traumatic experience.

But then not all toddlers are insane. Libby laughed and sang through the whole episode, amusing herself by gobbling stray bits of butter and smearing other bits on my head. Oh, how I joined in the merry times. In addition Gordy and Angus lolloped in to lick at the leftover butter on her botty. Soooo disgusting. Heggy heggy ho!!! Also, have I got a boyfriend or not? And I am still thinking about the Dave the Laugh accidental snogging in the forest incident.

Oww oww and double owww!! I think my botty has taken a turn for the worse. Oh marvelous, I will have to ask Jas if I can borrow some of her enormous winter pants.

She will have got them out of her winter store by now. She starts ironing her school pants about a month before we are forced back to Stalag Which reminds me, we only have about a month of holiday left. Libby had already scarpered off to get ready for the nursery, so I thought I would just have a little dolly daydream about snogging the Luuurve God.

If I made a mental picture of us snogging I might attract him to me through the psychic ethery stuff. Ah, the postie. Mr Postie coming up the drive with a cheery whistle and a handful of exciting letters for the family. Utterly utterly charming. I looked out of the window. Angus was sitting on the dustbin showing off to Naomi, his mad Burmese girlfriend and slag, by taunting the postie. Hissing and doing pretend biffing.

Sticking his claws in and out. Angus loves a stick. The larger the better. He lay down and started purring so loudly, I could hear it. Almost as much as he loves cars. He thinks cars are like giant stupid mice on wheels.

That he can chase after. He brought a stick home the other day that was 37 so big, it took him half an hour to figure out how to get it through the gate.

He did it, though, because he is top cat. It was an amazing double act. They were very impressed with themselves.

Although slightly covered in feathers. They even arranged the bird so that it was sort of looking toward the door and propped up so that Mum could get the full benefit when she came in. She did get the full benefit and went ballistic jumping on a chair and screaming, etc. Angus and Gordy and the dead pigeon all looked at her. That is the kind of mothering I have to put up with. Angus had disappeared as well.

Oh, I know what he is doing! Happy days. I wish I was a cat. At least I would get fed now and again. Although as mine is so swollen now, it would be probably easier to reach. I thought that Father had left us and would never be back. That is what he promised. Nothing to spend on your eyeliner or nit cream or whatever else it is that you plaster yourself with.

Has he finally snapped?

Oh brilliant, my brain has gone into hysterical clown mode. Hang on a minute. Libby got her bottom stuck in it. What does it say? It is smee. I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my fimaly. I am hot. I am playing fun.

Georgia nicolson 09 Stop in the name of pants by bruna passos - Issuu

Are you playing fun? I miss I you me. I call on the telefono on Tuesday for you. She is so full of suspicionos- 41 ity. And annoyingnosity. How dare she suggest in front of everyone that I had been up to hanky-panky and rudey-dudeys with Dave the Laugh? She knows very well that I am going out with a Luuurve God.

Who is a hot and b playing fun. I must consult with my gang. But not her. I am ignorez-vousing her with a firm hand and it serves her right. Phoned Jas. Her mum answered.

Jas said you sang and played games till all hours. Next thing you know, someone will say they went to a party dressed as a stuff ed olive. Or accidentally snogged three boyfriends at once.

Jas came on the phone. Toddler bodily harm. She is staying with Grandfarty and he is looking after her. She is the first person in our family to get a restraining order besides Grandad.

Hump with me, I need you, my dearest little pally wally. But that is how vair vair much I care about you all, my little pallies. I am a fool to myself, I know. I ask only one thing in return and that is this. Just stand up proudly, get your horns and paddles out oo-er , and dance!!! Loads and loads of deep luuurve, P. Or that they shouted Hooooorrrn! So I have included that at the back. My so-called friend Jas who has the hump pretty much all of the time would be at No.

I really luurve you and do not mind that you are lazy minxes. That is your special charm. Pip pip. In my tent of shame. On the lovely soft ground. And I do know what that is like, actually. I said coming on this school camping trip would be a fiasco of a sham and I was not wrong. I was right. I wonder what the others are doing?

Anyway, the main thing is that I am now, officially, the girlfriend of a Luuurve God. And therefore I have put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand. I will never again be found wandering lonely as a clud into the cakeshop of luuurve.

Ditto Eccles cakes and Spotty Dick or. So speaking as the official girlfriend of a Luuurve God who has put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand and who will never be wandering around looking for extra cakes, can someone tell me this.

Also known as Dave the tart. And let us face facts. Now is not the time for a rambling trip to Ramble land. Now is the time to put my foot down with a firm hand and stop snogging my not boyfriend Dave the Laugh.

Being made to go on stupid school camping trips with madmen Miss Wilson and Herr Kamyer. He has left me here, wandering around defenseless in the wilderness near Ramsgate, miles away from the nearest Topshop. Because that is more or less what happened.

That is le fact. Oh yes, I was snuggling down earlier tonight after an action-packed day of newt drawing when there was tap tap tapping on 4 the side of the tent. I thought it might have been an owl attack but it was Dave the Laugh and his Barmy Army Tom, Declan, Sven and Edward enticing us out into the forest with their promise of snacks and light entertainment.

He and I are just mates and I have a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend and that is that, end of story. Not, because then he comes to the countryside looking for me and waving his horn about.

You know, like old matey type mates do. But then I put my foot down a bloody badger hole or something and fell backward into the river. When he stopped I pushed him backward and 5 looked at him. I was giving him my worst look. And then telling me that you felt mixed up. I felt a bit weepy, actually. I might as well be wet at both ends. My eyes filled with tears and I blinked them away and he just kept on looking at me.

Maybe he had had enough of me and he really hated me. Then he just walked away and I was left alone. Alone to face the dark woods of my shamenosity and the tutting of Baby Jesus. The trees looked scary and there was all sorts of snuffling going on. Maybe it was rogue pigs. Pigs who had had enough of the farm life, fed up with just bits of old potato peelings to eat, nowhere to poo in privacy.

Maybe these ones wanted a change of menu and had made a bid for freedom by scaling the pigpen fence late at night. The Great Escape. When the prisoners dug a tunnel under the prison fence. There was more snuffling. Yes, but now they were hungry. Runaways from the farm just waiting to pounce on some food.

If they found me they would think of me like I thought of them. As some chops. Some chops in a skirt. In sopping knickers in my case.

Out here in the Wild Woods the trotter was on the other foot. I could climb up a tree.

Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging (Confessions of Georgia Nicolson #1) by Louise Rennison

Could they climb trees? Could I climb trees? Oh God, not death by pig!!!

The scuffling got nearer and then a little black thing scampered out of the undergrowth. It was a vole. How much noise can one stupid little mousy thing make? A LOT, is the answer. I should make friends with it, really, because with my luck I will be kidnapped by voles and raised as one of their own. On the plus side, it would mean I would never have to face the shame of my red bottomosity, just spend my years digging and licking my fur and being all aloney on my owney.

I started walking along. Dave appeared out of the darkness in front of me. I just ran over to him and burst into tears. I could see the moon through the trees. And my hiccups had almost gone.

As we walked along he smiled at me and stroked my hair. Oooh, he was nice. I do feel bad about Emma, but that is not your fault. That is my fault. We can put away our horns and be matey type mates again. Come on. Cheer up. I like you and I always have and I always will. As we walked along I could hear little squelching noises coming from the knicker department. You should change them when we get back.

Then everything went horrible again; there were some hideous noises coming from the left of us. Dave took his arm away from my shoulder. I looked up at him, he looked down at me and bent over and kissed me on the mouth really gently. That is, our school campsite. To change my nick nacks. I must say, it was a lot easier getting our tent down than up.

Jas and her woodland mates and Herr Kamyer and Miss Wilson were folding and sorting and 11 putting things in little pockets and so on for about a million years. The only reason we got on without some sort of Nazi investigation and body search was because Elvis Attwood was slumped at the wheel with his cap pulled down over his face.

I knew that because she came to the back of the coach and shook my shoulder quite violently. I peered at her. She was tremendously red faced. We had to take it out and pack it up so that we could get ours in!

God, she is annoying, but luckily no one else heard her rambling on about the million boyfriends scenario. I wonder if the boys are home yet? Quite quite horrific. Like red things at a red party. Herr Kamyer tried to get off her lap, but the coach was being driven so violently by Mr. Attwood was forced to stop at the lights, Herr Kamyer got into his own seat and pretended to be inspecting his moth collection. Miss Wilson got out her knitting but kept looking over at him.

Green did her famous falling into the shower tent fiasco and MissWilson was exposed to the world having a shower. He has seen Miss Wilson in the nuddy-pants. Here we go again, once more into the bakery of love. I am going to have to nip this Dave the Laugh thing in the bud. I am without doubtosity top girlie at red herringnosity.

Dropped off at the bottom of my road. He hates girls. When I politely asked to see it after a near-death experience at a roundabout he suggested I remove myself before his hand made contact with my arse. Which is unnecessary talk in a man who fought for his country in the Viking invasions. Nothing in the fridge, of course.

Unless you like out-of-date bean sprouts. I think I am getting scurvy from lack of vitamin C, my hair feels tired. Perhaps Italian Luuurve Gods like the patchy-hair look in a girlfriend.

I wonder if he has left a message on the phone for me? How does she know about the snogging scale? My mum is obviously part crap mother and part seeing-ear dog.

I am frankly puzzled as to why she had bread knives and scissors in her bedroom. Also I cannot get the blue makeup off his eyes. Dear Gott in Himmel. And that was it. No message from the Luuurve God. Has he gone off me? Maybe I did something wrong when we last saw each other. It will be good, Miss Georgia. And my bottom still hurts from my falling in the river fiasco. Probably not. And what goes on in the woods stays in the woods.

Maybe he means that in a matey type mate way. Anyway, it was an accidental No. It could happen to anyone. Yes, it might happen if for instance she happened to be in Rome.

Probably nothing. They probably go to work in the nuddy-pants because they are wild and free Pizza-a-gogo types. Even Dave mentioned it. To remind him that I am more than just a nose on legs. Perhaps he has a touch of the Mystic Meg about him and he knows about the Dave the Laugh incident.

Just because she has got the hump with me. About the stupid tent business. Lying on my bed of pain. And I mean that quite literally because Angus is pretending my foot is a rabbit. In a sock. If I even move it slightly he leaps on it and starts biting it. Also I think I may have 21 actually broken something in my bottom. I wonder if it is swollen up?

Carefully easing my broken bottom off the bed and slapping at Angus, I went downstairs. Angus was still clinging to my sock rabbit foot even though his head was bonking against the stairs. As I got to the hall I heard the front door being kicked. Oh good, it was my delightful little sister. Let me in, poo sister. I could see his ginga ears. Oh bloody hell.

Gordy was strug- 22 gling and yowling in her little fat arms and finally squirmed free and leapt off into the garden sneezing and shaking. Libby was laughing. Hnk hnk. So very sad. She gave me a hug, which can be quite frightening seeing her enormous basoomas looming toward your head. It was like an orgy, one of the women got so carried away she stole his feather codpiece.

It was like earporn. She was so full of herself burbling on and on. Really great. Libby was still kissing my knees and giggling. She has forgotten that they are my knees; they are now just her new replacement friends for Josh. Have you managed to shake him off at last? In his leather trousers. Oh, I might be sick. Not content with the horrificnosity of the trousers, he kissed me on my hair.

Urgh, he has touched my hair. Now I will have to wash it. He was grinning like a loon and taking his jacket off. I will probably wear it when I go clubbing. Any gigs coming up? He went chomping off into the front room. Mum was adjusting her over-the-shoulder boulder holder and looking at me. And snogs? And also merde. I had broken my rule about never speaking about snognosity questions with old mad people. How many days is it since he went? Quickly followed by Libby.

And never does. On and on. I would never behave like this when 27 I was married. Mind you, I will not be marrying a loon in tight trousers who thinks Rolf Harris is a really good artist. Who will I be marrying at this rate?

Why is no one phoning me? Not even the ace gang. The trouble with today is that everyone is so obsessed with themselves, they just have no time for me.

Oh no, here they go again. They are so childish. Fight, fight!! Or have his trousers cut off the circulation to his head? Vati hit No. Is she up there with you? Or was it Robin Hood? Have you tried the airing cupboard or the cat basket?

Whilst Mum went hunting for Bibbsy, Dad unfortunately decided to check the phone messages. I could hear him tutting. He had the nervy spaz of all nervy spazzes. Shouting and carrying on. Why did Libby have a bread knife in her bedroom? Probably because you are too busy with your so-called mates throwing balls around to bother looking after your children!

If you took some notice of them, that would be a miracle. You care more about that ridiculous bloody threewheeled clown car. Dad really lost it. Then there was the sound of the clown car being driven off at high speed two miles an hour down the driveway.

And silence again as it whirred away into the distance. Dear God, what a nightmare. This has taken my mind off the oven of luuurve situation. Libby had wedged herself into the outdoor metal bucket. We pulled her and wiggled her about but we could not get it off. Across the Road if we could borrow some butter. She said I could lie better. Across the Road was wearing a short nightshirt and I kept not looking anywhere below his chin.

He was all nosy about the late-night butter scenario, though. I was lying. And also the only kind of confectionary I knew were all the cakes I had got from the bakery of love. For the deaf. And that is when Junior Blunderboy and full- 32 time twit came in. He had massive jeans on about fifty sizes too big for him. He had to sort of waddle about like a useless duck to keep them from falling down.

And pull them up every five seconds. How spectacularly naff and sad he was. I just looked at him as he waddled over to the kitchen counter. He reached up to get a can of Coca-Cola from a shelf and momentarily forgot about his elephant jeans and they just fell to his ankles.

Leaving him standing there in his Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers. I know this because, believe it or not, your trousers have fallen off.

Be cool, it is righteous. I will never ever tire of the sheer bonkerosity of boydom. Bucket off Libby. Eventually we cut through the top of her panties and managed to make a bit of leeway and free the bum-oley. For some toddlers, being greased up and pulled by brute force out of a metal bucket might have been a traumatic experience. But then not all toddlers are insane. Libby laughed and sang through the whole episode, amusing herself by gobbling stray bits of butter and smearing other bits on my head.

Oh, how I joined in the merry times. In addition Gordy and Angus lolloped in to lick at the leftover butter on her botty. Soooo disgusting.

Heggy heggy ho!!! Also, have I got a boyfriend or not? And I am still thinking about the Dave the Laugh accidental snogging in the forest incident. Oww oww and double owww!! I think my botty has taken a turn for the worse. Oh marvelous, I will have to ask Jas if I can borrow some of her enormous winter pants. She will have got them out of her winter store by now. She starts ironing her school pants about a month before we are forced back to Stalag Which reminds me, we only have about a month of holiday left.

Libby had already scarpered off to get ready for the nursery, so I thought I would just have a little dolly daydream about snogging the Luuurve God.

If I made a mental picture of us snogging I might attract him to me through the psychic ethery stuff. Ah, the postie. Mr Postie coming up the drive with a cheery whistle and a handful of exciting letters for the family. Utterly utterly charming. I looked out of the window. Angus was sitting on the dustbin showing off to Naomi, his mad Burmese girlfriend and slag, by taunting the postie. Hissing and doing pretend biffing. Sticking his claws in and out.

Angus loves a stick. The larger the better. He lay down and started purring so loudly, I could hear it. Almost as much as he loves cars. He thinks cars are like giant stupid mice on wheels. That he can chase after.

He brought a stick home the other day that was 37 so big, it took him half an hour to figure out how to get it through the gate. He did it, though, because he is top cat. It was an amazing double act. They were very impressed with themselves. Although slightly covered in feathers. They even arranged the bird so that it was sort of looking toward the door and propped up so that Mum could get the full benefit when she came in.

She did get the full benefit and went ballistic jumping on a chair and screaming, etc. Angus and Gordy and the dead pigeon all looked at her. That is the kind of mothering I have to put up with. Angus had disappeared as well. Oh, I know what he is doing!

Angus, Thongs And Full-frontal Snogging (PDF)

Happy days. I wish I was a cat. At least I would get fed now and again. Although as mine is so swollen now, it would be probably easier to reach. I thought that Father had left us and would never be back.

That is what he promised. Nothing to spend on your eyeliner or nit cream or whatever else it is that you plaster yourself with.

Has he finally snapped? Oh brilliant, my brain has gone into hysterical clown mode. Hang on a minute. Libby got her bottom stuck in it. What does it say? It is smee. I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my fimaly. I am hot. I am playing fun. Are you playing fun? I miss I you me. I call on the telefono on Tuesday for you. She is so full of suspicionos- 41 ity. And annoyingnosity. How dare she suggest in front of everyone that I had been up to hanky-panky and rudey-dudeys with Dave the Laugh?

She knows very well that I am going out with a Luuurve God. Who is a hot and b playing fun.

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