Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging (Confessions of Georgia Nicolson Series #1)by Louise Rennison
There are six things very wrong with my life:
1. 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.
2. It is on my nose
3. I have a three-year-old sister who may have peed somewhere in my room.
4. In fourteen days the summer hols will be over and then it will be back to Stalag 14 and
There are six things very wrong with my life:
1. 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.
2. It is on my nose
3. I have a three-year-old sister who may have peed somewhere in my room.
4. 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.
5. I am very ugly and need to go into an ugly home.
6. I went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive.
In this wildly funny journal of a year in the life of Georgia Nicolson, British author Louise Rennison has perfectly captured the soaring joys and bottomless angst of being a teenager. In the spirit of Bridget Jones's Diary, this fresh, irreverent, and simply hilarious book will leave you laughing out loud. As Georgia would say, it's "Fabbity fab fab!"
About the Author:
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.
Read an Excerpt
sunday august 23rd
Dad had Uncle Eddie round, so naturally they had to come and see what I was up to. If Uncle Eddie (who is bald as a coot) 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 if I 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
I don't see why I can't have a lock on my bedroom door. 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, or a house full of . . . 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.
There are six things very wrong with my life:
(1) 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.
(2) It is on my nose.
(3) I have a three-year-old sister who may have peed somewhere in my room.
(4) In fourteen days the summer hols will be over and then it will be back to Stalag 14 and Oberführer Frau Simpson and her bunch of sadistic "teachers."
(5) I am very ugly and need to go into an ugly home.
(6) I went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive.
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 details of it . . . this is the Recall bit. Then you Experience the emotions and acknowledge them and then you JUST LET IT GO.
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 prewar sidecar and with a bit of luck all of my friends will see me with some mad, bald bloke and that will be the end of my life. Thank you."
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 fancy-dress shop was really good-looking."
"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 were 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 crêpe 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. As I recall, it was she who suggested I use crazy color to dye my hair and head and face and neck red . . . like a sort of pimento. It was, I have to say, quite funny at the time. Well, when we were in my room. The difficulty came when I tried to get out of my room. I had to go down the stairs sideways.
When I did get to the door, I had to go back and change my tights because my cat, Angus, had one of his "Call of the Wild" episodes.
He really is completely bonkers. We got him when we went on holiday to Loch Lomond. On the last day I found him wandering around the garden of the guest house we were staying in. Tarry-a-Wee-While, it was called. That should give you some idea of what the holiday was like.
I should have guessed all was not entirely well in the cat department when I picked him up and he began savaging my cardigan. But he was such a lovely-looking kitten, all tabby and long-haired, with huge yellow eyes. Even as a kitten he looked like a small dog. I begged and pleaded to take him home.
"He'll die here; he has no mummy or daddy," I said plaintively.
My dad said, "He's probably eaten them." Honestly, he can be callous. I worked on Mum, and in the end I brought him home. The Scottish landlady did say she thought he was probably mixed breed, half domestic tabby and half Scottish wildcat. I remember thinking, Oh, that will be exotic. I didn't realize that he would grow to the size of a small Labrador, only mad. I used to drag him around on a lead but, as I explained to Mrs. Next Door, he ate it.
Anyway, sometimes he hears the call of the Scottish Highlands. So, as I was passing by as a stuffed olive, he leaped out from his concealed hiding place behind the curtains (or his lair, as I suppose he imagined it in his cat brain) and attacked my tights or "prey." I couldn't break his hold by banging his head because he was darting from side to side. In the end I managed to reach the outdoor broom by the door and beat him off with it.
Then I couldn't get in Dad's Volvo. Dad said, "Why don't you take off the olive bit and we'll stick it in the boot."
Honestly, what is the point? I said, "Dad, if you think I am sitting next to you in a green T-shirt and tights, you're mad."
He got all shirty like parents do as soon as you point out how stupid and useless they are. "Well, you'll have to walk, then. I'll drive along really slowly with Jas and you walk alongside."
I couldn't believe it. "If I have to walk, why don't Jas and I both walk there and forget about the car?"
He got that tight-lipped look that dads get when they think they are being reasonable. "Because I want to be sure of where you are going. I don't want you out wandering the streets at night."
Unbelievable! I said, "What would I be doing walking the streets at night as a stuffed olive-gate-crashing cocktail parties?"
Jas smirked, but Dad got all outraged parenty. "Don't you speak to me like that, otherwise you won't go out at all."
What is the point?
When we did eventually get to the party (me walking next to Dad's Volvo driving at five miles an hour), I had a horrible time. Everyone laughed at first but then more or less ignored me. In a mood of defiant stuffed oliveness I did have a dance by myself, but things kept crashing to the floor around me. The host asked me if I would sit down. I had a go at that but it was useless. In the end I was at the gate for about an hour before Dad arrived, and I did stick the olive bit in the boot. We didn't speak on the way home.
Jas, on the other hand, had a great time. She said she was surrounded by Tarzans and Robin Hoods and James Bonds. (Boys have very vivid imaginations-not.)
I was feeling a bit moody as we did the "recall" bit. I said bitterly, "Well, I could have been surrounded by boys if I hadn't been dressed as an olive."
Jas said, "Georgia, you thought it was funny and I thought it was funny, but you have to remember that boys don't think girls are for funniness."
She looked annoyingly "wise" and "mature." What the hell did she know about boys? God, she had an annoying fringe. Shut up, fringey.
I said, "Oh yeah, so that's what they want, is it? Boys? They want simpering girly-wirlys in catsuits?"
Through my bedroom window I could see next door's poodle leaping up and down at our fence, yapping. It would be trying to scare off our cat, Angus . . . fat chance.
Jas was going on and on wisely, "Yes they do, I think they do like girls who are a bit soft and not so, well . . . you know."
She was zipping up her rucksack. I looked at her. "Not so what?" I asked.
She said, "I have to go. We have an early supper."
As she left my room I knew I should shut up. But you know when you should shut up because you really should just shut up . . . but you keep on and on anyway? Well, I had that.
"Go on . . . not so what?" I insisted.
She mumbled something as she went down the stairs.
I yelled at her as she went through the door, "Not so like me you mean, don't you?!!!"
I can already feel myself getting fed up with boys and I haven't had anything to do with them yet.
Oh God, please, please don't make me have to be a lesbian like Hairy Kate or Miss Stamp.
What do lesbians do, anyway?
monday august 24th
Absolutely no phone calls from anyone. I may as well be dead. I'm going to have an early night.
Libby came in and squiggled into bed with me, saying, "Hahahahaha!" for so long I had to get up. She's so nice, although a bit smelly. At least she likes me and doesn't mind if I have a sense of humor.
Ellen and Julia rang from a phone box. They took turns to speak in French accents. We're going for a mystery walk tomorrow. Or La Marche avec Mystery.
Have put on a face mask made from egg yolk just in case we see any les garçons gorgeous on our walk.
tuesday august 25th
Woke up and thought my face was paralyzed. It was quite scary-my skin was all tight and stiff and I couldn't open my eyes properly. Then I remembered the egg yolk mask. I must have fallen asleep reading. I don't think I'll go to bed early again-it makes my eyes go all puffy. I look like there is a touch of the Asian in my family. Sadly not the case. The nearest we have to any exotic influence is Auntie Kath, who can sing in Chinese, but only after a couple of pints of wine.
Arranged to rendezvous with Ellen and Julia at Whiteley's so we can start our La Marche avec Mystery. We agreed we would dress "sports casual," so I'm wearing ski trousers, ankle boots and a black top with a roll neck, with a PVC jacket. I'm going for the young Brigitte Bardot look which is a shame as a) I am nothing like her and b) I haven't got blond hair, which is, as we all know, her trademark. I would have blond hair if I was allowed, but it honestly is like playschool at my house. My dad has got the mentality of a Teletubby only not so developed. I said to Mum, "I'm going to dye my hair blond. What product would you recommend?" She pretended not to hear me and went on dressing Libby. But Dad went ballistic.
"You're fourteen years old. You've only had that hair for fourteen years and you want to change it already! How bored are you going to be with it by the time you are thirty? What color will you be up to by then?"
Honestly, he makes little real sense these days. I said to Mum, "Oh, I thought I could hear a voice squeaking and making peculiar noises, but I was mistaken. TTFN."
As I ran for the door I heard him shouting, "I suppose you think being sarcastic and applying eyeliner in a straight line will get you some O-levels!!!"
O-levels, I ask you. He's a living reminder of the Stone Age.
La Marche avec Mystery. We walked up and down the High Street, only speaking French. I asked passersby for directions, "Où est la gare, s'il vous plaît?" and "Au secours, j'oublie ma tête, aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît."
Then . . . this really dishy bloke came along. Julia and Ellen wouldn't go up to him, but I did. I don't know why, but I developed a limp as well as being French. He had really nice eyes . . . he must have been about nineteen. Anyway I hob-bled up to him and said, "Excusez-moi. Je suis française. Je ne parle pas l'anglais. Parlez-vous français?"
Fortunately he looked puzzled-it was quite dreamy. I pouted my mouth a bit. Cindy Crawford said that if you put your tongue behind your back teeth when you smile, it makes your smile really sexy. Impossible to talk, of course, unless you like sounding like a loony.
Anyway, dreamboat said, "Are you lost? I don't speak French."
I looked puzzled (and pouty). "Au secours, monsieur," I breathed.
He took my arm. "Look, don't be frightened. Come with me."
Ellen and Jools looked amazed: He was bloody gorgeous and he was taking me somewhere. I hobbled along attractively by his side. Not for very long, though, just into a French pâtisserie where the lady behind the counter was French.
In bed. The Frenchwoman talked French at me for about forty years. I nodded for as long as humanly possible, then just ran out of the shop and into the street. The gorgeous boy looked surprised that my limp had cured itself so quickly.
I really will have to dye my hair now if I ever want to go shopping in this town again.
wednesday august 26th
I have no friends. Not one single friend. No one has rung, no one has come round. Mum and Dad have gone to work, Libby is at playschool. I may as well be dead.
Perhaps I am dead. I wonder how you would know? If you died in your sleep and woke up dead, who would let you know?
It could be like in that film where you can see everyone but they can't see you because you are dead. Oh, I've really given myself the creeps now. . . . I'm going to put on a really loud CD and dance about.
Now I am still freaked out but also tired. If I did die I wonder if anyone would really care. Who would come to my funeral? Mum and Dad, I suppose . . . they'd have to as it's mostly their fault that I was depressed enough to commit suicide in the first place.
Why couldn't I have a normal family like Julia and Ellen? They've got normal brothers and sisters. Their dads have got beards and sheds. My mum won't let my dad use our shed since he left his fishing maggots in there and it became bluebottle headquarters.
When the electrician came because the fridge had blown up, he said to Mum, "What madman wired up this fridge? Is there someone you know who really doesn't like you?" And Dad had done the wiring. Instead of DIY he talks about feelings and stuff. Why can't he be a real dad? It's pathetic in a grown man.
I don't mean I want to be like an old-fashioned woman-you know, all lacy and the man is all tight-lipped and never says anything even if he has got a brain tumor. I want my boyfriend (provided, God willing, I am not a lesbian) to be emotional . . . but only about me. I want him to be like Darcy in Pride and Prejudice (although, having said that, I've seen him in other things like Fever Pitch and he's not so sexy out of frilly shirts and tights). Anyway, I'll never have a boyfriend because I am too ugly.
Looking through the old family albums. I'm not really surprised I'm ugly. The photos of Dad as a child are terrifying. His nose is huge-it takes up half of his face. In fact, he is literally just a nose with legs and arms attached.
Libby has woken up and insists on sleeping in my bed. It's quite nice, although she does smell a bit on the hamsterish side.
The tunnel-of-love dream I've just had, where this gorgey bloke is carrying me through the warm waters of the Caribbean, turns out to be Libby's wet pajamas on my legs.
Change bed. Libby not a bit bothered and in fact slaps my hand and calls me "Bad boy" when I change her pajamas.
thursday august 27th
I've started worrying about what to wear for first day back at school. It's only eleven days away now. I wonder how much "natural" makeup I can get away with? Concealer is OK-I wonder about mascara? Maybe I should just dye my eyelashes? I hate my eyebrows. I say eyebrows but in fact it's just the one eyebrow right along my forehead. I may have to do some radical plucking if I can find Mum's tweezers. She hides things from me now because she says that I never replace anything. I'll have to rummage around in her bedroom.
Prepared a light lunch of sandwich spread and milky coffee. There's never anything to eat in this house. No wonder my elbows stick out so much.
Found the tweezers eventually. Why Mum would think I wouldn't find them in Dad's tie drawer I really don't know. I did find something very strange in the tie drawer as well as the tweezers. It was a sort of apron thing in a special box. I hope against hope that my dad is not a transvestite. It would be more than flesh and blood could stand if I had to "understand" his feminine side. And me and Mum and Libby have to watch while he clatters around in one of Mum's nighties and fluffy mules. . . . We'll probably have to start calling him Daphne.
God, it's painful plucking. I'll have to have a little lie-down. The pain is awful-it's made my eyes water like mad.
I can't bear this. I've only taken about five hairs out and my eyes are swollen to twice their normal size.
Cracked it. I'll use Dad's razor.
Sharper than I thought. It's taken off a lot of hair just on one stroke. I'll have to even up the other one.
Bugger it. It looks all right, I think, but I look very surprised in one eye. I'll have to even up the other one now.
Mum nearly dropped Libby when she saw me. Her exact words were "What in the name of God have you done to yourself, you stupid girl?"
God I hate parents! Me stupid?? They're so stupid. She wishes I was still Libby's age so she could dress me in ridiculous hats with earflaps and ducks on. God, God, God!!!
When Dad came in I could hear them talking about me.
"Mumble mumble . . . she looks like . . . mum-ble mumble," from Mum, then I heard Dad, "She WHAT??? Well . . . mumble . . . mumble . . . grumble . . ." Stamp, stamp, bang, bang on the door.
"Georgia, what have you done now?"
I shouted from under the blankets-he couldn't get in because I had put a chest of drawers in front of the door-"At least I'm a real woman!!!"
He said through the door, "What in the name of arse is that supposed to mean?"
Honestly, he can be so crude.
Maybe they'll grow back overnight. How long does it take for eyebrows to grow?
Eyebrows haven't grown back.
Meet the Author
Louise Rennison is the internationally bestselling and award-winning author of Withering Tights, A Midsummer Tights Dream, and the angst-filled Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series. She lives in Brighton, the San Francisco of England (apart from the sun, Americans, the Golden Gate Bridge, and earthquakes).
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging is the diary of 14 year old Georgia Nicolson and her adventures throughout a full year. You are introduced to her younger sister Libby, wild cat Angus, best friend Jes, first boyfriend the professional snogger, and her one true love Robbie. Before school starts Georgia begins experimenting with makeup and decides that her eyebrows are the problem. She shaves her eyebrows off. These are the kind of problems deals with all year. Life is hard enough without eyebrows but after they grow back the boy problems start.
When I started reading this book I noticed that I would be flipping page after page and not even thinking about it. Before I knew it the book was over. I made the mistake of starting the book during 3rd period English which would have been fine but I couldn't put it down until lunch. I guess I will never know what happened during History and French on that day. Not only was Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging easy to read it was extemely enjoyable. I would be reading during class or during rehersal and literally laugh out loud. Angus was one of those character that made me laugh. Can you imagine a wild cat that is bigger than a poodle and who loves to frighten the neighbor's dog?
The writing style of Louise Rennison is witty and conversational. When I was reading this book I would actually be reading it in my head in a british accent. I think everyone can relate to Georgia. This book isn't a fairy tale made up of unbelieveable plots and happily ever after. Georgia is real, she often says how much she hates her life and I don't know a teenager who doesn't think that every other week. When reading this book I would think to myself I know how that feels. I truely believe that most teenage girls can find a new favorite book in Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging.
I never believe when somone says that a book is a laugh out loud book, but this one really was. I had to make sure I read it only in certain places because I was laughing out loud. I'm in my early 20's and I can't put it down. I remember all those awkward situations. this book is one of the funniest things I have ever read.
Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison's laugh out loud novel, follows the ups and downs of a British teen's experience growing up through her every day journal entries. Like most of us, Georgia has a goal. And that goal is to meet the man of her dreams and live to be fabbity fab fab. Too bad nothing can be fabulous in Georgia's life. To start off, she is missing her eyebrows thanks to a shaving accident. And that only accentuates her much too large nose. And she cannot manage to have a large nose because she has to impress her crush The Sex God and steal him away from his wet girlfriend. And to top things off she has to live with a cat the size of a Labrador, the Olds (A.K.A her parents) and her little sister who is far from the average kindergartener. Georgia's life is not hard. It's pure entertainment. Teenage girls will die laughing over Georiga's tell all diary, whether it be she is whining about her miserable love life or the fact that her best friend thinks she looks like an alien. No matter what something is happening to Georgia. Ninety percent of the time it is not pleasant. Unlike most teen books, which center on friendship and all the great things about growing up, Louise Rennison writes to make readers laugh. And the miserably embarrassing parts of high school are always the funniest; at least to other people. That's why Rennision decided to write Georgia's life based off her own teen experiences. In fact, most of the bizarre characters and happenings in the novel aren't one hundred percent fictional. Though Rennison does a great job depicting teenage woes, actual plot and morals get lost in the humor and randomness. The only thing the reader learns by the end of the book that there was really no story to tell besides the fact that Georgia is hilariously funny. That's what makes this novel the perfect relaxed read for girls. There aren't any big or fancy words and the closest thing to thinking required is deciphering some of the British slang terms that come up here and there. And best of all, Rennison was sure to leave out any adult sounding preaching. Rennison's writing is true to life, the good parts and the bad ones. She never condones teen girls making out or smoking cigarettes. Rather, she finds the humor in it and gives the reader a glimpse of how silly teenage worries and "struggles" really can be. All in all, Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging is a fun read for teen girls over the age of fourteen. Sexual themes are present in the book and its best if younger readers ages 12-14 wait to read this novel. --Dani
First read when I was a pre-teen. Hilarious!!! Now that I have picked them back up again, it's better then the first time.
This is a light, comic read about a young 14-year-old who spends her days goofing off with her friends, complaining about her parents and pining away for an older boy. Pretty much the life of all teenage girls. The British glossary at the back of the book was pretty entertaining.
Do you sneak around spying on boys? Is you family weird and does you sister think she is a cat? If so this book is great for you. As you do crazy things with Georgia Nichols and her group of crazy friends they will do anything to get a boyfriend. Georgia is just an ordinary girl that goes to an all girls academy with her best buds. Georgia Nichols is in love with a new guy that just moved to her hometown and his name is Robbie. When Georgia finds out he is dating her worst enemy wet Lindsay, she has to do something to make him like her. Georgia lives with her mom and dad and her little sister Libby. Libby she is an annoying little girl and she acts like a cat and follows there cat Angus around and does everything he does. Angus there cat always traps mister and misses next door in there house because he is a breed between American and Scottish he is a big cat and everyone is afraid of him. This book is indeed the best book I have read recently. You should definitely read this book if it falls under your category. If you're a girl you probably will not regret reading this book, but if you're a guy you should not even pick this book up.
When reading this book i have literally found myself laughing out loud. I definitely recommend this series.
The novel I read is called Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison wrote this book. It is about a girl named Georgia Nicolson, she is a very funny and kind of awkward person. In this book she is growing up, learning about boys and is starting to kiss (snog) boys. Georgia has a best friend named Jass, she has a crush on the same boy Georgia does because he asks her to get coffee. They have some best friend problems. Georgia has a 3 year old sister named Libby, a mom and a dad, also she has a cat (Angus) who thinks it's a dog. I personally did not really care for this book, some parts were funny and other parts she acted childish. When her best friend had a crush on the boy Georgia liked, Georgia acted like it was the end of the world. She didn't solve the problem like the adult she wanted to be, she solved it by not talking to Jass. It was not the best book in the world. The ending was way better then I expected though.
THIS IS ONE OF THE GREATEST BOOKS EVER WRITEN. ITS NOT LIKE MOBY DICK OR ANYTHING, ITS JUST SPECIAL IN ITS OWN WAY. I WOULD RECOMEND READING THIS. IT IS YUMALISIOUS. YUM YUM. BURRRRP. -PEACE COMMIN FROM THE COOLKID-456
This book was a fast read, but so horridly enjoyable I should have taken snap shots of my face while reading it! HILARIOUS. So random and realistic, it was fab fab fabbity fab with a side of totally marvy, and double, no, TRIPLELY cool with knobs. ^-^
I loved this book it gave me quite a few good laughs... The ones that follow it are also very funny
I just finished this book. It was laugh out loud funny. When I picked it up what I didn't realize was that it's author was British. The fact that she uses words that I had never even heard before made this even funnier. She even put a glossary in the back for us "American-type chums" so even though she was practically speaking a different language I could understand everything she said. It was SO good.
When I say, "Milk may come out of your nose"...I truly mean it.This book is so funny it is known to 'cause redness of face, loss of breathing,and in the most severe cases... falling out of your chair,rolling whilst clutching your side and laughing!! There were times where I,honest-to-goodness, could not breathe from laughing so hard, causing me to fall out of my chair. There were times where I just couldn't believe some of the things Georgia and her friends would do, but half the time I was to busy laughing to even care! Louise Rennison is amazing at creating humorous, and I'll be it awkward, situations that you can't help but wonder if Louise actaully has a first hand account. Whether you be fourteen or eighty if you love to laugh, and enjoy loving life then this is the book for you!
It's like reading about someone¿s thoughts every ten minutes of their life I think it was cool because it was like reading someone¿s mind I think seeing her struggle and triumph I laughed so hard reading this book because it was really RANDOM and verrrrrrrrry realistic because it includes those weird questions that you sometimes think of some time like why is my friends head so round? Or why is the sky blue why can¿t it be purple? Another reason that I completely loved this book was because it was full of humor and drama. I felt like I could relate to Georgia Nicholson (the main character) when she does all of her stupid things and expestilly the things that se says The main plot of the story is that Georgia is just trying to fit in with the school that¿s she¿s in she¿s trying to make herself feel beautiful pretty and stuff for all the wrong reasons like to get a boy friend and things like that other things that she has a slight problem with is that she goes to an all-girl school which is a problem all in it¿s self but everything changes when she meets ¿¿¿.. Well she doesn¿t know his name yet The people that I think should read this book are people that are in for a great comical experience people that love other books by Louise rennison also people that should read this book are girls that are having trouble getting through certain things but any way overall this book was great!
The book itself was funny, but non- of the HAHAHAHAHAHA! And it's soooo steaoptypeal. Can't there some action desides snogging?
Rating: 3 This is a light-hearted and fun book about love, waiting, growing up and huge, scary cats. When Georgia’s best friend, Jas, falls for a boy she meets in the local grocery store, they (as best friends do) launch a plan to get Tom (the boy) to fall for Jas. Who knew that Georgia would end up falling for the Sex God? And that Sex God is Tom’s older brother, Robbie? Through a series of adventures, from practicing kissing with the local teenaged authority to working on how to smile correctly so her nose doesn’t look huge, Georgia is alternately smitten with and loathing the Sex God. Why he sometimes looks like he cares and sometimes looks like he doesn’t is infuriating. To top it all off, her dad is threatening to move them all to New Zealand (where he’s currently working); Mum seems to be falling for the contractor she hired; and Angus goes missing. If only she’d been doing her yoga, maybe she’d be able to take it all in stride. The Bottom Line: A cute tale that will suit any reader looking for something flippant and light. One reviewer aptly referred to this as Bridget Jones for teen girls. And don't worry if you aren't up-to-date on your British schoolgirl slang; there's a dictionary at the back of the book! Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison was published April 10, 2001 by HarperTeen. Ink and Page picked this book up from the library, so no one had a choice about whether it was reviewed. Genre: Young Adult Fiction Contemporary Romance Series Ages: 12 and up You Might Want to Know: Nothing of note
It's like reading a printout of someone's thoughts every ten minutes of their life. But not funny thoughts (cause reading someone's mind could be awfully funny), but rather, complaint after complaint after negative complaint about how awful one's life is. I had to read this book for a class and struggled through every page. Try it if you wish, I know there are many others who enjoyed it... but as for me, I don't enjoy being around negative people in real life, and certainly wouldn't like reading a manuscript of their every thought. :-(
I'm sorry if I am wrong, but PERSONALLY think that this book is a little bit sick. I thinkthat if this book is a video, it would be rated R/X
I had heard from so many people that this book was absolutely hilariously, but I did not find it to be that funny.
Read it every where people looked at me like i was weird ..... but i didnt care because how good the book was
I picked up this book mainly because of the title.. lol.. It was something different for me to read.. I thought overall the book was good.. It was light and funny.. I am going on to pick up the next book in the series looking forward to more adventures..
I love it so much i could die
A little interseting not too badXd