Coming in July!
Love Is a Many
Trousered Thing

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A merry month of June, to all my Hamburger type chummettes!!!

I expect you are all lolling about soaking up the big yellow smiley plate in the sky (the sun) like dozey bumblebees in bikinis. Getting brown as two brown things on brown tablets. I would like to tell you that me and the Ace gang are all bronzed, etc., that is what I would like to tell you, but sadly as usual in Billy Shakespeare land we are living in Pond City. It rained so badly that Jas’s roof leaked and some of her favorite panties were destroyed by water. Which is a shame (not). Unfortunately her stuffed owl collection was not involved.

On the bright side, I have forced my mutti and vati into buying me a new skirt. If it was left to them I would be wandering around in the dungarees they bought me as a toddler. Which would be a shame as they wouldn’t even come up above my knees and I would be in the nuddypants above the waist, which is not easy.

I, as you know, am not one to blow my own trumpet, and indeed can rarely find my trumpet, but I have to say that I am quite literally a boy magnet in my new skirt. When I went on a boy entrancing mission to the shops five cars with boys in them honked their horns (oo er) at me.

Now where was I before I got onto the Hooooorn. Oh yes, fabbity-fab summer! Which means NO Stalag 14. No sadists (i.e. teachers) banging on about rubbish like where the North Atlantic drift, or where the wheat belt is. (Where are the wheat trousers, that is what I would like to know.) Summer hols are bliss, no Slim jelloiding about, no Hawkeye hating us for no other reason than that we are lively (and set fire to Elvis Attwood’s wheelbarrow by mistake).

Nothing to do but lay in the sun, moisturize and snog.

Speaking of snogging, last month you all vair vair kindly voted on who you thought would be my best choice, snogwise. It’s bloody hard when you have multiple possible snoggees (or possnogs) like me, all with their special talents...lip nibbling technique, groovy Pizza-a-gogo accent, dreamy eyes, etc. So I was glad you rallied round (i.e. managed to get up for a minute or two) to help me decide.

And finally the results are in!
And they are...

16.8% Robbie
(the original Sex God, but with a penchant for wombats)

3.4% Masimo
(the new Luuurve God, but may also be too keen on his handbag)

82.9% Dave
(the Laugh, not officially a Sex or Luuurve God, but damn good at lip nibbling)

1.9% None of the above
(and I should wait till I'm a world-famous backing dancer to settle down)

Now although, as you know, I love you all, you are all going to have to wait and see who I pick. I may have to do yet more extensive research (snogging) before I let you know.

But patience is a whatsit, you know, oh what is the word? Blimey, I can’t hang around trying to think about a word. I’ve got things to do. Eyebrows to pluck, smoothy smooth leg work to do, boy entrancing duties!!!

So pip pip for now,
deep luuurve,

P.S. Only one more month until you can read my latest diary, Love Is a Many Trousered Thing.
P.P.S. You’re going to luuuurve it. I really outdid myself this time, even if I do say so myself!
P.P.P.S. Which I do.


The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson
by Louise Rennison