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Hello my little chummettes!

Dear little chumettes,
As our lederhosen friends say, “Now ist zer time to say guten Tag.” I don’t know why they say it, but they do. And frankly, I love them for it. Alright, Germany may not be Billy Shakespeare land but any country that says spangelferkel instead of sausage is top with me, comedywise . . . although not holidaywise.

Where was I? Oh yes, saying good-bye. As you know, I have been working like a bee (two bees) to once more give you my all (oo-er) creativitositywise. And here it is, my final oeuvre. (Now you are being silly, you know I don’t mean “here is my final egg,” so stop messing about.) And you will be pleased to know, I think I have pulled it off (oo-er). Stop it.

So this is my final (boohoo) diary. It is, of course, packed with the usual combination of sophisticosity and snot dancing. But be warned, there are some exciting additions—Melanie’s nunga-nungas make a big and unexpected appearance, as well as other twits in tights, etc.

Some of you will laugh, some of you will cry, some of you may have a little accident in the piddlydiddly department. I don’t know. But I care.
I do.
And even though I am away laughing on a fast camel, you will always feel my luuurve.
Are you feeling it yet?
I am.

P.S. I mean it about luuurving you all, little chums.
P.P.S. I am giving you telepathic hugs.
P.P.P.S. But not in a telepathically lezzie way.
P.P.P.P.S. And remember my advice to see you through the Georgia-less days ahead . . .
Snog on, snog on,
With hope in your heart,
And you’ll never snog alone,
You’ll never snog . . . alone.


The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson
by Louise Rennison