Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 06 by Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers Page A

of porridge, foureggs and forty pounds of fried potatoes plus toast doesn’t suggest health to me, it suggests death.
    The smiling person (Dolly) who brought us the brekkie tray said, “Now you all have a nice day, you hear?”
    And I didn’t even say, “No, YOU all have a nice day.”
    I have never been smiled at by a waitress in my life until I got here.
    Creepy.
    I said to Jas, “What is it these people want?”
    11:30 a.m.
    We all climbed into the loonmobile to go and explore Memphis.
    Uncle Eddie and Vati are wearing baseball hats backward with their false Elvis quiffs sticking out of the front. There is no need for it. I said to Dad, “Dad, we are representing Her Maj the Queen and quite frankly you two are doing a really crap job.”
    Uncle Eddie, once again at the “controls,” accelerated away so suddenly that we were forced back in our seats, like that G-force thing. Only in our case it was the Uncle Baldy force.
    As we careered along there were signs all oversaying, “Elvis the King dared to rock!” and so on.
    Every time they saw one, Dad and Uncle Eddie would start singing another Elvis song and moving their shoulders about and saying “Uh-huh.”
    I must find a phone box and set off to Manhattan as soon as I can.
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    Out of the loonmobile and amazingly still alive.
    Memphis is blindingly hot and sort of groovy in a really loony groovy way. Everywhere you go there are Elvis songs blasting out of cafés and bars and shops and people dressed up as him. I never thought the day would come when I would say this, but Dad and Uncle Eddie were almost sane-looking in comparison to some. Is it normal for old ladies who are 800 pounds to dress in rhinestone jumpsuits and false black sidies? “No,” I think, is the answer you are searching for.
    The grown-ups were all keen on going to look at Robinmobile headquarters on the outskirts of town. I said to Mum, “Please, please don’t make me and Jas go. Please, we’re only young, we have our whole lives ahead of us. Please, please.”
    Eventually they agreed that we could have a look round town and they would go “check thescene,” as Dad pathetically put it, wiggling his dark glasses. Dear God.
    As they went off he said, “Be back here, outside Elvis’s Rock Emporium, in two hours or say good-bye to ever going out by yourselves again.”
    Cheers.
    But at least we were free!!!
    As they went off and got back into the car we waved and looked full of maturiosity. Then, when Uncle Eddie had careered round the corner in the Thunderbird thing, we did thumbsie upsies and a swift disco inferno.
    I yelled, “Yes and three times yes!!! Good-bye, porky ones! We are off on the Luuurve train! Or Luuurve Greyhound!!!”
    Jas said, “I am not getting on a bus to Manhattan with you. And that is final.”
    I put my arm around her.
    â€œCome on, my bestest little pally, one for all and all for one and all for me.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJas—”
    â€œNo.”
    I resisted the temptation to kick her stupid legs and decided to use my famous charmosity.
    â€œJas, let us just go and find a phone box. I can phone Masimo and say ‘ Ciao, Masimo, your dreamboat has landed’ and you could phone Hunky and ask him how many boring…er, I mean how many fascinating bits of wombat poo he has found in Kiwi-a-gogo and so on.”
    Jas perked up then.
    â€œOh, yeah, I could, unless you think it’s sort of, well, you know, keen…but I am keen, aren’t I? And I have got his phone number—well, at least I’ve got the number of the farm he is staying on.”
    Good Lord. She is sooo, you know, pathetico.
    And I say that with deep loveosity.
    We had to wait to cross the road with the other Memphis-type people. One enormously friendly person, who clearly had eaten all the pies, said there was a phone box in the “drugstore.” Can you