Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging: Confessions of Georgia Nicolson (Confessions of Georgia Nicolson, Book 1)

By Louise Rennison
Binding:Paperback
Publisher:HarperTeen, (4/1/2001)
Language:English



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Angus:
My mixed-breed cat, half domestic tabby, half Scottish wildcat. The size of a small Labrador, only mad.

Thongs:
Stupid underwear. What's the point of them, anyway? They just go up your bum, as far as I can tell.

Full-Frontal Snogging:
Kissing with all the trimmings, lip to lip, open mouth, tongues ... everything.

Her dad's got the mentality of a Teletubby (only not so developed). Her cat, Angus, is trying to eat the poodle next door. And her best friend thinks she looks like an alien -- just because she accidentally shaved off her eyebrows. Ergghhhlack. Still, add a little boy-stalking, teacher-baiting, and full-frontal snogging with a Sex God, and Georgia's year just might turn out to be the most fabbitty fab fab ever!

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"Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging: Confessions of Georgia Nicolson (Confessions of Georgia Nicolson, Book 1)"
By Louise Rennison

Average Rating:

This book has not been rated


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Amazon.com Review

She has a precocious 3-year-old sister who tends to leave wet nappies at the foot of her bed, an insane cat who is prone to leg-shredding "Call of the Wild" episodes, and embarrassing parents who make her want to escape to Stonehenge and dance with the Druids. No wonder 14-year-old Georgia Nicolson laments, "Honestly, what is the point?" A Bridget Jones for the younger set, Georgia records the momentous events of her life--and they are all momentous--in her diary, which serves as a truly hilarious account of what it means to be a modern girl on the cusp of womanhood. No matter that her particular story takes place in England, the account of her experiences rings true across the ocean (and besides, "Georgia's Glossary" swiftly eradicates any language barriers).

The author, Louise Rennison, is a British comedy writer and it shows. Whether Georgia is dealing with wearing a bra ("OK, it's a bit on the loose side and does ride up round my neck if I run for the bus"), pondering kissing and how to know which way to turn your head ("You don't want to be bobbing around like pigeons for hours"), or managing the results of an overzealous eyebrow-plucking episode ("Obviously, now I have to stay in forever"), she always cracks us up. Georgia struggles with the myriad issues facing teen girls--boys, of course being at the forefront--but she does it with such humor and honesty it almost seems like a good time. This refreshingly funny book is ripe for a sequel, which readers will await in droves. (Ages 11 and older). --Brangien Davis --This text refers to theHardcover edition.

From Publishers Weekly

British writer Rennison's subject matter may be the stuff of Bridget Jones's Diary, but the wit and bite of her delivery shares more in common with Monty Python. In a spectacular YA debut (Rennison is a comedy writer and columnist), the author creates a winning protagonist in the persona of 14-year-old Georgia Nicolson, whose wry observations and self-deprecating humor covers everything from prudish parents and bed-wetting three-year-old siblings to errant cat behavior and kissing (aka snogging) lessons. Teens will discover that nothing is sacred here (e.g., "Talking of breasts, I'm worried that I may end up like the rest of the women in my family, with just the one bust, like a sort of shelf affair"). Rennison exquisitely captures the fine art of the adolescent ability to turn chaos into stand-up comedy. For instance, when Georgia's father finds a new job in New Zealand, the teen says she's already formed her opinion of the country based on the TV show Neighbours; when her mother says, "Well, that's set in Australia," Georgia thinks, "What is this, a family crisis or a geography test?" Written as diary entries, the novel flouts the conceit, as when Georgia reports on a tennis match that she's playing concurrently ("I fall to my knees like McEnroe and the crowd is going mad"). The author bio indicates that Rennison is working on two more Georgia books; readers can only hope this heroine will keep them laughing all the way through high school. Ages 12-up. (May) 
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Library Binding edition.

From School Library Journal

Grade 7-9-This is the hilarious Bridget Jones-like diary of 14-year-old Georgia, who has a rather wild cat named Angus, a three-year-old sister who pees in her bed, and a best friend who is in love with the vegetable seller's son. Georgia discusses kissing (snogging) lessons, which she needs because she has just met the "Sex God" of her dreams; what to wear to parties and school; and how to spy on your crush's girlfriend (this is where thongs come into play). In typical teen manner, Georgia lives in her own world; she thinks she is ugly, is convinced that her parents are weird, positively abhors schoolwork, and has a deep desire to be beautiful and older. Yet she still has time to enjoy the mad antics of her cat and indulge her odd but sweet sister. It will take a sophisticated reader to enjoy the wit and wisdom of this charming British import, but those who relish humor will be satisfied. Fresh, lively, and engaging.
Angela J. Reynolds, Washington County Cooperative Library Services, Aloha, OR 
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Booklist

American readers wondering what on earth "full-frontal snogging" is will find the answer in the helpful (and hilarious) glossary appended to this antic diary of a year in the life of an English girl named Georgia Nicolson. Snogging is, simply, "kissing with all the trimmings," and it's much on 14-year-old Georgia's mind these days. For even though she's still reeling from her devastatingly bad decision to go to a party dressed as a stuffed olive, she has fallen in love with an older man (he's 17), a Sex God named Robbie. The trouble is, S. G. is dating a girl named Lindsay who--brace yourself--wears a thong. Honestly, how wet (idiotic) can you get! In the meantime, life on the homefront is spinning out of control. Dad has gone to New Zealand in search of a better job, and pet cat Angus, who can usually be spotted stalking the neighbor's poodle, has gone missing. Although performer and comedy writer Rennison clearly owes a large debt to Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Diary (1998), her Georgia is a wonderful character whose misadventures are not only hysterically funny but universally recognizable. This "fabbity, fab, fab" novel will leave readers cheering, "Long live the teen!" and anxiously awaiting the promised sequel. Michael Cart
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Review

"A spectacular debut." -- --Publishers Weekly



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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Sunday August 23 rd

my bedroom 
raining 
10.00 am

Dad had Uncle Eddie round so naturally they had to come and nose around and see what I was up to. If Uncle Eddie (who is bald as a coot -- two coots, in fact) says to me one more time, "Should bald heads be buttered?" I may kill myself. He doesn't seem to realize that I no longer wear romper-suits. I feel like yelling at him, "I am fourteen years old, Uncle Eddie! I am bursting with womanhood, I wear a bra! OK, it's a bit on the loose side and does ride up round my neck I if run for the bus "but the womanly potential is there, you bald coot!"

Talking of breasts, I'm worried that I may end up like the rest of the women in my family, with just the one bust, like a sort of shelf affair. Mum can balance things on hers when her hands are full--at parties, and so on, she can have a sandwich and drink and save a snack for later by putting it on her shelf. It's very unattractive. I would like a proper amount of breastiness but not go too far with it, like Melanie Andrews, for instance. I got the most awful shock in the showers after hockey last term. Her bra looks like two shopping bags. I suspect she is a bit unbalanced hormonally. She certainly is when she tries to run for the ball. I thought she'd run right through the fence with the momentum of her bosoomers' as Jas so amusingly calls them.


still in my room
still raining
still Sunday

11.30 am
I don't see why I can't have a lock on my bedroom door. I have no privacy; it's like Noel's House Party' in my room. Every time I suggest anything around this place people start shaking their heads and tutting. It's like living in a house full of chickens dressed in frocks and trousers. Or a house full of those nodding dogs, anyway I can't have a lock on my door is the short and short of it.

"Why not?" I asked Mum reasonably (catching her in one of the rare minutes when she's not at Italian evening class or at another party).

"Because you might have an accident and we couldn't get in," she said.

"An accident like what?" I persisted.

"Well you might faint," she said.

Then Dad joined in, "You might set fire to your bed and be overcome with fumes."

What is the matter with people? I know why they don't want me to have a lock on my door, it's because it would be a first sign of my path to adulthood and they can't bear the idea of that because it would mean they might have to get on with their own lives and leave me alone.

still Sunday

11.35 am
There are six things very wrong with my life:

I have one of those under-the-skin spots that will never come to a head but lurk in a red way for the next two years.It is on my nose.I have a three-year-old sister who may have peed somewhere in my room.In fourteen days the summer hols will be over and then it will be back to Stalag 14 and Oberfuhrer Frau Simpson and her bunch of sadistic teachers.I am very ugly and need to go into an ugly home.I went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive.

11.40 am
OK, that's it. I'm turning over a new leaf. I found an article in Mum's Cosmo about how to be happy if you are very unhappy (which I am). The article is called 'Emotional confidence'. What you have to do is Recall 'Experience' and HEAL. So you think of a painful incident and you remember all the ghastly detail of it … this is the Recall bit, then you experience the emotions and acknowledge them and then you JUST LET GO.

2.00 pm
Uncle Eddie has gone, thank the Lord. He actually asked me if I'd like to ride in the sidecar on his motorbike. Are all adults from Planet Xenon? What should I have said? "Yes, certainly, Uncle Eddie, I would like to go in your per-war sidecar and with a bit of luck all my friends will see me with some mad, bald bloke and that will be the end of my life. Thank you."

4.00 pm
Jas came round. She said it took her ages to get out of her catsuit after the fancy dress party. I wasn't very interested but I asked her why out of politeness.

She said, "Well, the boy behind the counter in the hire shop was really good-looking."

"Yes, so?"

"Well, so I lied about my size--I got a size ten catsuit instead of twelve."

She showed me the marks around her neck and waist; they are quite deep. I said, "Your head looks a bit swollen up."

"No, that's just Sunday."

I told her about the Cosmo article and so we spent a few hours recalling the fancy dress party (i.e. the painful incident) and experiencing the emotions in order to heal them.

I blame Jas entirely. It may have been my idea to go as a stuffed olive but she didn't stop me like a pal should do. In fact, she encouraged me. We made the stuffed olive costume out of chicken wire and green crepe paper--that was for the 'olive' bit. It had little shoulder straps to keep it up and I wore a green T-shirt and green tights underneath. It was the 'stuffed' bit that Jas helped with mostly.

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Louise Rennison lives in Brighton, the San Francisco of England (apart from the sun, Americans, the Golden Gate Bridge, and earthquakes). Since the success of her one-woman autobiographical show, Stevie Wonder Felt My Face, she has written for many British comedy stars; currently she is a roving reporter and columnist and is working on two more books about Georgia. She has two goldfish, Finn and Bjork, who are her biggest fans.


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