by Rae Earl
BOLLOCKS. It stops now. I do stuff my way. This is a state of independence.
Mum just came in then with an ironed shirt for tomorrow and said some shit like, ‘The choices you make now will make a difference to your future life.’ REALLY???? I NEVER WOULD HAVE GUESSED. Do these people think I am brain-dead?
Can’t be doing with schoolwork any more. Going to put The Cure on and forget I exist.
11.08 p.m.
Can’t lie. Listened to Gloria Estefan instead. Soppy but I love it.
Thursday 27.4.89
9.25 p.m.
JUST AS I THOUGHT – MUM admitted that life in the Forces would probably get my body in better shape. So that’s what it’s all about – being thin. I knew it. Dug out my ‘Which Way Now?’ careers guide booklet from about 1986, and pointed out to Mum that cinema usherette looked like a great job, as the positives listed were that you ‘got to see the latest films for free’, and the only negative was ‘unsociable hours’. She said, ‘You are capable of so much more than that.’ Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . Well, love, I quite fancy a job in the dark with King Cones and Kia-Ora on tap.
Friday 28.4.89
11.45 p.m.
TOTAL DISASTER – MY PORTABLE TELLY is broken. I’d rather not watch telly than sit downstairs with Mum.
At the pub tonight I had an in-depth chat with Luke by the fruit machines!! He told me that people called him ‘ratty’ sometimes because he was so thin. He reckons everyone gets stick from time to time, and that when people call me lardy and fat I should just let it wash over me. Then he gave me a little hug and left. What a sweet bloke. God, I fancy him. God, I like him.
Spent the rest of the night with Battered Sausage and Haddock. I was being a bit charming to Battered Sausage, calling him a shit-stirring bastard. Mind you, he was giving as good as he got. When I said, ‘I’m going to get my brother on to you and he’s nearly 20 stone,’ Battered Sausage said, ‘Well, so are you.’
I had to laugh.
But it hurts.
Luke. Luke. Luke. Luke. Luke.
Saturday 29.4.89
11.50 p.m.
IWAS DOWN TOWN WITH BETHANY tonight when I saw Luke in a car with his girlfriend – snogging. Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt. I stuck my Vs up at him. He must have clicked on to the way I feel about him – he must have. He stuck his Vs back and smiled. Ended up coming home and eating half a pack of sponge fingers because it was the only thing in the larder. I shove it in and it makes it all better. I’m a bulimic without the being sick.
Sunday 30.4.89
9-something . . . I don’t know
THE BULLSHIT IN THIS HOUSE. Apparently the sponge fingers were for a trifle. WHEN?? Mum last made a trifle in about 1977 for the Jubilee. It’s just another excuse to play the same record – moan at me for 25 minutes, then watch Last of the pissing Summer Wine. It’s the same routine every Sunday. The only way to get through it is to eat and forget and fantasise and to pretend that this shell I am stuck in is different. And to avoid mirrors and windows – I don’t want to be reminded.
OH MY GOD. MY TELLY JUST MENDED ITSELF. BRILLIANT! Only it can’t get Channel 4. Fine – can’t stand Brookside anyway.
Monday 1.5.89
10.15 p.m.
TIME MOVES ON. DO I diet or do I not? I don’t want to change my personality and that often seems to happen when people lose loads of weight. It will go against every principle I’ve ever had. You know – ‘personality before looks’. Right – I’m staying as I am till next week. This weekend is the crunch time. If I don’t get a man (preferably Luke) before the end of the weekend, THEN I’ll diet.
Trouble is, the Friday after that it’s Welly fudge pudding at school, so I can’t diet then. Perhaps I’ll leave it till the start of June.
I’m pissed off with being fat, but don’t want to go against my principles. I just need a cuddle and a snog and someone to give affection to. I’m not special – I need to be hugged and told everything is going to be all right. I’m no different to any bugger else.
I’m nearly in the middle of Volume 1 of this diary and so much has happened. Nothing happened in the last one. Yet in this one a lot has happened. Well . . . one snog. Nothing else, though. Actually, take it back – nothing has happened. I’m still fat with no boyfriend. SAME OLD SAME OLD.
Watched Dr Zhivago this afternoon. There was no happy ending. Good. Makes it more real.
Tuesday 2.5.89
7.23 p.m.
EVERY TIME I THINK I’VE got problems someone comes along with far worse problems than me. Got into the common room today and Mort marched me straight out and warned me not to piss about with Amy Healer as she’d had a nasty shock but she couldn’t tell me. It took me till the end of double politics to get it out of Mort. Amy had been doing it in her bedroom because her parents were in the Lake District for the weekend. They’d come back early and WALKED IN THE BEDROOM MID-SHAG. I honestly can’t think of anything worse. The thought of my mum seeing me even acting like a girl makes me shiver. Anyway, she has been gated till about 1991, and the school nurse has been brought in for a ‘chat’. It’s the shittest punishment on record.
10.25 p.m.
Mum has just come up to ask why I ate all of the stew that was left in the pressure cooker. When I replied, ‘Because I was hungry,’ she called me a ‘selfish cow of a girl cow’. Now not only does this sentence make no sense, it’s also bollocks. I didn’t know the other bit was for her. I did not know that she had not eaten. I just thought I was eating leftovers.
Why can’t she just rustle up some soup for herself or something? Oh no, I am an easy target – come and have a yell at me, everyone else does. SICK OF IT. All that over pissing braising steak – it tastes like shoe anyway.
Wednesday 3.5.89
7.28 a.m.
RAN AWAY LAST NIGHT. JUST had enough. Just packed a bag and went. Got round the block once, went and sat in a playground on the slide. Got death-stared at by a pensioner who must have thought I was a mugger or something. Had a go at the monkey bars but couldn’t get my feet off the ground. Stared at all the lights for ages. Then got cold and went home. Thought no one would notice, but she guessed – SHE was on the stairs – she slapped me round the face and it hurt. But she was worried – I could see it. Good. I am glad. I know that makes me sound evil but I am going off my head here and no one has bloody noticed.
Have to go now. It’s school, and if you are late you go in the late book. Another piece of tradition designed to make our lives miserable. I don’t even think anyone looks at it. It’s just another guillotine hanging over my head.
10.02 p.m.
Came straight up to bed. I’m not apologising this time. She can for a change.
Thursday 4.5.89
7.07 p.m.
MUM HAS JUST BEEN UP – no apology. Instead, a suggestion from her. She suggested the old chestnut ‘If you’re not happy you can go and live with your father.’ No I can’t. She told me he didn’t even turn up to the custody hearing years ago – so I know when I am not wanted. More to the point – he lives in Ipswich! Suffolk is more dead than Lincolnshire.
When I said, ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said, ‘I’m going to get some chips. Do you want some?’ I said, ‘No, thanks – I’ve got chips at school tomorrow.’ She closed the door and said, ‘That’s not stopped you before.’ Yes, well, it’s stopping me now because I wouldn’t have to sit here night after night if I had someone. I could sit with them. And nibble them.
Friday 5.5.89
10.16 p.m.
EVERYONE IS JIBBING ON THE beer tonight so I am sat here on my bed watching a documentary about penguins. Sound down. Smiths on. ‘How Soon Is Now?’ My song.
The song that sums everything up. How fucked off I am. How I feel inside. How I always hope but my hope always turns to shit.
I wish I could say I wrote it. But it’s Morrissey. It could have been me, though, because it’s everything I think. Everything. And you’re left alone in a room full of Twix wrappers shoved in sheets.
And he’s singing what you are thinking. And that’s all.
Saturday 6.5.89
11.45 p.m.
IT’S THE GIG TOMORROW SO there was no one out tonight except me and Bethany and Pretty Boy Vroom (tonight in stonewashed jeans – EEK!). When Vroom went to the toilet Bethany told me that she was getting a bit annoyed with him because he was insecure. She still loved him and everything but he wants to see her more than she wants to see him. Vroom came back from the bogs and obviously knew we had been talking about him. He kept putting his arm round Bethany and his hand on her thigh and squeezing it. It was like watching my mum when she feels all the fruit in Tesco. It was making me queasy so I said my goodbyes.
I don’t get Bethany. All men go for her but she is not that great-looking. It’s like she believes she is gorgeous and everyone just invisibly agrees with her.
Came home from the pub early tonight especially to watch the end of the Eurovision Song Contest. Bloody YUGOSLAVIA won! It beat our entry by seven points, and I’m not being biased or anything but it is an utter pile of turd. ‘Rock Me’ it’s called. Utter bollocks. The lead singer (who looked like the woman who used to sing with Matt Bianco) was wearing fashions that looked like something from about 1983. Horrible red batwing thing. Honestly the people who voted for that pile of poo want their bloody ears syringing out. Proves yet again that the world isn’t fair. The world doesn’t reward talent – but if you are a fit bird in a short skirt with half-decent legs you could persuade the whole of sodding Europe to vote for you.
PREDICTABLE. PREDICTABLE. PREDICTABLE.
Sunday 7.5.89
Late
JUST GOT IN FROM THE gig to find this message from Mum:
Rachel,
This is not a hotel, it is MY home. I asked you to be in by 10 p.m. and at the time of writing it is now 10.45. Please leave your front-door key on the kitchen unit as I would like a spare. Have you looked into a summer job yet?
Oh, PISS RIGHT OFF. Just feel like scrawling the word NO all over the house.
Actually, it’s been quite a good night tonight. Only got one comment about my weight from some prat who said I looked like a walrus when I clapped. I think he meant a sea lion. The rest of the night I got left alone. To be honest, people could have been saying stuff but the gig was so loud I could not hear them. Wish it could be like that every day.
Yes, I did see Luke tonight. No, nothing happened. Do you think, Diary, I’d be telling you about the walrus thing if anything had happened with him?
Monday 8.5.89
TALK OF SCHOOL TODAY WAS the gig last night, and I have to say that the gig last night WAS incredible. I have always been very dubious about the Scotgate and most of the music that comes from the boys’ school but last night I was proved wrong. I went with Dobber and met Battered Sausage, Haddock and girlfriend, plus Fig and Bethany there. Getting served in the Scotgate is easy beyond belief. At the bar it looked like a Brownie meeting at one point. The gig started with a group called the Mysterons. They mainly did Bauhaus covers, and there was some indie dancing near the stage by some girls in the fifth year, but fuck all else. Then Stamford School’s answer to Howard Jones came on and blew everyone totally away. His songs were just there, if you know what I mean. He played a song called ‘Take It as Read’, which apparently is about his ex-girlfriend two-timing him. He played it twice and everyone was singing the chorus:
Take it as read
When all is said
You’ll be sorry you did what you did.
It just summed up what a lot of people have gone through.
After the gig everyone was just milling around. Luke wafted past me (he looked GORGEOUS tonight) and said hi. He disappeared with his girlfriend. Then bloody Haddock started the most bizarre conversation with me ever about the Harry situation – totally out of the blue:
H: You do realise that Harry partly went out with you to prove a point . . . ?
ME: What?
H: Well, the rumour was that he was a poof, so he went out with you to prove he wasn’t. And he felt sorry for you because you are really nice but a bit . . .
ME: Why are you telling me this?
H: Because I think you—
ME (INTERRUPTING): No – because you are a nasty prick with an attitude problem.
H: Well, fuck you, then.
ME: No – fuck YOU, then.
I stormed off. Battered Sausage told me off and said Haddock was just trying to get to know me better. No he wasn’t – he was just trying to shit-stir. I see right through it.
The way Haddock tells it, Harry makes me sound like a dare. Bastard. Mind you, I wasn’t even a dare. I wasn’t even that. I’ll forget I ever kissed anyone. Nobody has snogged me. It’s not counted. It wasn’t real. Harry, I will do my level best to forget you. I must snap out of it. It’s just the thought that the only bloke I went out with only went out with me because of pity. WANKER!!! I hate that – I hate that so, so much!!
Battered Sausage was really pissed last night. I was being a bit fertive. Bethany said, ‘You are getting in too deep.’ I pointed out I’m young and I can do what the hell I like. Battered Sausage is brilliant, but not the one for me. I just want Luke’s heart and soul!
Tuesday 9.5.89
8.47 p.m.
SUNDAY NIGHT WAS INSPIRING FOR lots of us. Loads of talk about starting bands. Daisy in the common room suggested a goth band that does All About Eve and Mission covers. She can’t be in it herself because she lives on a farm and her dad won’t drive her to band practice. Someone suggested the name BLACK LETTER. I volunteered to do the band logo as I really want to be a part of this, but I only play the recorder – and ‘Oh, Susanna’ on the harmonica – because Mum was too tight to pay for music lessons. Got shit-bored today in British politics so had a go at songwriting too. Got as far as writing this about Luke:
You don’t know love’s hard to do
But I seem to be in love with you.
There’s someone in the world
(Der der dum dum).
They say you’re attached but I don’t care
Let them say what they dare
There’s someone in the world
Because love changes everything
From fools to kings.
Can’t decide if this is brilliant or total crap.
11.55 p.m.
Just watched this thing called Take Me Home where this ancient taxi driver (who is the old bloke from the sitcom Duty Free and looks like my dad) starts an affair with this gorgeous twenty-something. What is it with the BBC? It’s like middle-aged men propaganda! THIS WOULD NOT HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE. Then Mum comes in and says, ‘Goodnight. Did you just watch that thing?’ I said, ‘Yes – wasn’t it crap?’ and then she says, ‘No. Loneliness does funny things to people, Rachel.’ Maybe – but not that funny.
Wednesday 10.5.89
4.55 p.m.
REALISED MY SONG NICKS A bit from Climie Fisher ‘Love Changes (Everything)’ but the rest of it is original, I am sure of it. Looks like the band is off anyway, because people at school only play the violin, piano or the bloody clarinet – there are no guitars, drums or anything else. Plus the fact apparently Black Letter is a type of condom that goths use. God knows why goths need special condoms – perhaps being miserable makes . . . Oh no, won’t go there.
Going to the pub tonight. It’s the last time mid-week before A levels start in earnest. Battered Sausage is picking me and Bethany up from mine at seven. Bethany is trying to avoid Vroom because she thinks he is getting too possessive. She does not know how lucky she is.
Oh God – please let me see Luke. Let me see him and let him fall so madly in love with me it consumes every part of him.
Thursday 11.5.89
11.23 a.m.
WRITING FROM STUDY ROOM 4. Last night was so uncomfortable. Bethany confessed that she was going to chuck her boyfriend, Vroom, as he was ‘pathetic’. Now, Diary, I do not like the boy but I felt so sorry for him. First of all he turned up in the Vaults on the
off-chance that she would be in there. He was carrying with him a cuddly pig with a big heart on it (Bethany collects pigs). He raced up to her, gave it to her and clung on to her like a limpet. He must have known it was coming. Then she suggested they go for a walk down the Meadows.
Battered Sausage and me sat there waiting for her to come back. He is such a good laugh – we were talking about A levels and music and where he wants to go to university and how much we both secretly love Dusty Springfield’s ‘Nothing Has Been Proved’ and Spandau Ballet. He put ‘Through the Barricades’ on the jukebox. He said, ‘Rae, this can be our song. We drank our beer on wasteland and through . . . the barricades.’ I was pissing!
Eventually Bethany came back in tears and said, ‘That was so hard, so, so hard. He was gutted.’ Apparently he called her a ‘fucking slag’, told her she was a bitch, burst into tears and stormed off. Battered Sausage said that that’s what blokes do when they are ‘dead hurt’. Bethany cheered up with this, and spent the rest of the night talking to Battered Sausage about losing it. Apparently he lost it in an alleyway in Castle Bytham. I went to the toilet like I always do when shagging comes up. It avoids the inevitable question ‘What about you, Rae?’
No Luke out last night. Apparently he is worried about his economics exam. HOPE he is out on Friday or Saturday. I need just a glimpse.
Friday 12.5.89
3.15 p.m.
THERE IS A NEW CODEWORD going round school. DFS. It means ‘desperate for sex’. It sounds like you are talking about the furniture shop. For the record, I am certainly DFS. In fact I am permanently shopping in DFS with no hope of getting out the store.
Going down the pub tonight, but I can’t see this changing.
11.50 p.m.
Pub tonight was traumatic to say the least. Me and Bethany were just sat there waiting for everyone when Vroom came in. He just started yelling, ‘YOU BITCH. YOU ARE A USER. A FUCKING USER.’ Bethany tried to ignore him but he came up to our table and started yelling, ‘WHO IS IT? WHO IS IT? TELL ME WHO IT IS. TELL ME NOW.’ Luckily Battered Sausage came in with everyone, grabbed hold of Vroom and said, ‘C’mon, mate – time to leave it.’ Fig grabbed his other side and kind of marched him out of the pub.