As we frittered away the last of summer, Eleanor and I read the latest Georgia Nicolson book, Stop In the Name of Pants, by Louise Rennison. I found it no better or worse than any of the previous ones, although the neologisms are fewer on the ground (necessarily, if the language is to remain even nominally British English). These are the previous ones, in order:
Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging
On the Bright Side, I'm Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God
Knocked Out by my Nunga-Nungas
Dancing in my Nuddy-Pants
Away Laughing on a Fast Camel
Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers
Startled by His Furry Shorts
Love Is a Many Trousered Thing
If you're a cat lover, you'll be glad to know that despite the build-up, Angus does not die in this book, and in fact survives to literally bite the hand that feeds him. If you're a mother, you'll be amused at the following teenage girl perspective:
"I can't go, though.
I'd like to because I haven't seen another human being for days. But I can't bear to leave Angus when he is so poorly.
I said that to Mum earlier on, I said 'Oh, I wish I had some human company while I nurse Angus.'
She said 'I've been here all the time as well.'
I said 'As I said, I wish I had some human company.'
And she had stropped off to have a bath. That was about two hours ago and she is still in there...I don't know what she does in there for so long, it's vair selfish."
If you've ever known a teenage girl, you'll be amused by this book. So far we don't let the men in our house read them, but on her site, Rennison has some comments from men who also like reading about Georgia and the Ace Gang.
Book bloggers appreciation week is coming up. (Thanks to SFP at Pages Turned for spreading the word.)
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