By Louise Rennison
Angus: My mixed-breed cat, part household tabby, part Scottish wildcat. the dimensions of a small Labrador, in simple terms mad. loves to stalk Mr. and Mrs. subsequent Door's poodle. I used to pull him round on a lead, yet, as I defined to Mrs. round the corner, he ate it.Thongs: silly undies worn through outdated Swotty Knickers, Lindsay what is the aspect of them, besides? they simply pass up your bum, so far as i will tell.Full-Frontal Snogging: Kissing with the trappings, lip to lip, open mouth, tongues...everything (apart from dribble, which is rarely acceptable). As taught to me by means of a certified snogger.In this wildly humorous magazine of a yr within the lifetime of Georgia Nicolson, British writer Louise Rennison has completely captured the hovering joys and bottomless angust if being undefined. within the spirit of Bridget Jones' Diary, this clean, irreverent, and easily hilarious booklet will go away you guffawing out loud. As Georgia could say, it is "Fabbity fab fab!" Books for the teenager Age 2001 (NYPL), Books for formative years Editor's selection 2000 (Booklist), most sensible 10 early life First Novels 2000(Booklist), 2001 Michael L. Printz Honor publication, 2001 most sensible Books for teenagers (ALA), and 2001 speedy alternatives for Reluctant younger Readers (ALA)
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Additional resources for Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging: Confessions of Georgia Nicolson
M. Peter opened the door. He’s about seventeen and blond, sort of sleepy looking, not unattractive in a sort of Boyzone way. I notice he is chewing gum. I hope he takes it out, otherwise I might choke to death. There is muffled giggling from behind the hedge. Peter hears it but doesn’t seem fazed. ” I say, “Georgia” (damn, I meant to say a false name), and we go into his house. He has tight blue jeans on and there are those tinkly things that the Japanese have outside the doors. ) You know . .
Worst fears confirmed—I am Mrs. Ugly. Small, swollen eyes, hair plastered to my skull, HUGE red nose. I look like a tomato in a school uniform. Well, that is that then. m. The bell. Thank God, now I can go home and kill myself. m. In bed. Uncle Eddie says there is an unseen force at work of which we have no comprehension. Well, if there is, why is it picking on me? m. Still no time to do my yoga. Not that it matters anymore. I did manage to do the sausage beret and the lip gloss and the concealer.
There were one or two most unfortunate skin complaints. I feel lucky just getting the odd lurker—some people looked like they had mountain ranges of spots on their faces . . and some down their backs too. . Au secours!!!! Then I saw Peter Dyer. I waved at him and he came over. He had been talking to Katie Steadman and she seemed a bit miffed when he came over to me. ” and I said, “Hi . . er . . thanks for the other day. It was really . . er . . great. I learned a lot. ” He looked at me sideways and stood quite close.