My Dating Disasters Diary

by Liz Rettig

  THURSDAY NOVEMBER 4TH

  Think the toothpaste is working, sort of. I’ve still got seventeen spots. Well, eighteen if you count the new one on the end of my nose, but they are definitely fainter. Maybe, like Aunt Kate says, it’s just a matter of persevering with it. I’m absolutely going to keep this up even if I do have to buy a new tube of toothpaste after Mum moaned at me that there was none left this morning.

  Was gutted at first to hear that I came second in the writing competition and pleaded with Mrs Conner to let me meet the VIP anyway.

  ‘You will be meeting him, Kelly Ann, as you were the only entrant.’

  Thought about this. ‘So, erm, how come I came second then?’

  Mrs Conner shrugged. ‘Your work wasn’t of sufficient standard to merit a first place.’

  Bloody hell. I suppose I should be insulted but I didn’t care. Soon, I might just get to see Jason for real.

  FRIDAY NOVEMBER 5TH

  Our head teacher came over the tannoy today to announce that the VIP is a royal but, for security reasons, didn’t tell us which one. Everyone is hoping it’s one of the young ones but I don’t care. It’s not Jason.

  Mr Menzies is going mental marching about the school and nosing into classes. He even visited the girls’ toilets today but sent Miss McElwee in first to throw us all out. I mean, really, it’s a total invasion of our privacy.

  The problem is that the VIP is planning to take a tour of our whole school so our head teacher is freaking out about the state of the place.

  Mrs Conner is furious because Mr Menzies used her English higher class to wash floors and polish banisters during double English. Mrs Conner is a republican who utterly disagrees with the ‘very concept of monarchy in a modern society’. She is threatening to stage a protest when the royal person turns up.

  None of her higher pupils objected to being used as domestic slaves, however, as they were meant to be reading a Walter Scott novel and most people would rather scrub toilets with their tongues than read Walter Scott.

  MONDAY NOVEMBER 8TH

  We’ve just been told the royal is Prince Charles and not one of the young ones. Everyone is pretty disappointed except our head teacher, who acts as though we’re getting a visit from God Almighty or something. Honestly, he’s such a snob.

  Apparently the Prince, as well as congratulating us on our environment award, is also going to formally open our ‘new’ science and technology building.

  Actually it’s not really new – it was built two years ago by some company called PPP; however, none of the teachers use it because it’s freezing in winter (heating doesn’t work), roasting in summer (all the glass means it’s like a greenhouse) and the roof has caved in twice. They are supposed to have fixed things now, but nobody trusts it, so it’s basically a large ugly glass box beside the school which the jannie uses to grow tomatoes in. We can’t get rid of it, even though it’s useless and, according to our modern studies teacher, we’re only renting it. And for ten times the cost it would take to buy. It’s nuts.

  On the way home from school Liz was on at me about Jason again. She said, ‘Now are you going to admit the fortuneteller was talking rubbish?’

  ‘Totally not. She said I’d meet someone famous with the initials PC. And he’s definitely famous.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Stephanie said. ‘He isn’t Jason but he is famous.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and how is he going to have a big effect on your life then?’ Liz giggled. ‘Maybe he’s going to invite you back to the palace, then send you off to school at Eton.’

  I laughed. ‘Eton’s just for boys and you have to wear naff clothes. No thanks. Palace might be OK though.’

  Steered the subject away from Jason, but I hadn’t given up hope. Somehow I know deep down that Jason and I are fated to meet one day. After all, the fortuneteller also told me that I would find True Love early. And I think I’m beginning to love Jason more than anyone I’ve ever known.

  TUESDAY NOVEMBER 9TH

  Oh my God. Don’t believe it. Smashed are doing a concert in Glasgow on December 11th. It’s fate. I really am going to meet him. Only problem is, tickets are forty pounds each.

  Liz says she can’t come as it’s too dear, and anyway Zach is in rehab again and it’s rumoured the band are kicking him out so he probably wouldn’t be there, but Stephanie says she’ll come with me. Now all I have to do is get my parents to fork out the money.

  At first Dad said it was too expensive but after I’d pleaded with him for several hours he gave in.

  ‘OK, love, if it really means that much to you, I’ll do it.’

  I threw my arms around him. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Ah, well, eighty pounds is a bit steep to listen to four eejits singing crap songs and cavorting around on stage like drunken chimpanzees, but if it makes you happy—’

  ‘It’s only forty pounds, Dad. Stephanie will pay for herself.’

  ‘Aye, well, obviously I’ll have to come with you. I’m not having you and Stephanie on your own at night with all those dodgy characters around.’

  ‘NO!’ I screamed. ‘You can’t come with me. I’d be a laughing stock.’

  But Dad wouldn’t give in. And I refused to go with him. Hate my dad. How can I ever grow up if he treats me like a five-year-old?

  WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 10TH

  Mum, thank God, has sided with me. ‘For Christ’s sake, she’s fifteen, not five. And there’s no way you’re going to a boy band concert like some dirty old pervert among all those young lassies. Now get on that phone after your dinner and book her a ticket.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Dad called but all the tickets are gone. The guy said they sold out in the first hour. Am gutted. But Jason will be in Glasgow in December. And no matter what, I am totally determined to find him.

  THURSDAY NOVEMBER 11TH

  Mrs Conner is definitely organizing an anti-monarchy protest on the day of Prince Charles’s visit. Our head teacher is fuming but there’s nothing he can do as Mrs Conner is insisting that the right to peaceful protest in a democracy is sacrosanct.

  People have been making placards during English periods and the head objected to this ‘frivolous waste of teaching time’. But Mrs Conner pointed out that the purpose of English was to communicate, and what could be more important than communicating one’s disapproval of the constitutional status quo and the need for reform. In any case it was far more educational than scrubbing floors and polishing banisters.

  Don’t know why anyone bothers to argue with Mrs Conner. I mean, they’ve got as much chance of winning an argument with her as I have of winning a wet T-shirt contest.

  Liz agrees with Mrs Conner and will be joining the protest. Her placard says DOWN WITH MONARCHY. Gary is joining for a laugh. His placard is shaped like a guillotine and says, OFF WITH THEIR HEADS in red letters with blobs dripping off the end of each word like blood. He was made to change it to PENSION THEM OFF but told he could keep the guillotine shape.

  Mrs Conner’s said, THE CONCEPT OF MONARCHY IS ARCHAIC IN A MATURE DEMOCRACY AND MUST NOT BE TOLERATED. WE SHOULD ASPIRE TO BE EMPOWERED CITIZENS, NOT SUBJECTS. I thought it was kind of long for a placard myself – the writing was so small you could hardly read it, but whatever.

  The only support from other staff has come from our modern studies teacher and Mr Stewart, the physics teacher, who always wears a kilt and sporran to work. He believes in monarchy but says the Queen isn’t the rightful heir to the throne. He says he’s traced the line from Mary Queen of Scots to the present day and the real Queen is a chiropodist in Govan called Fiona. His placard reads: IMPOSTERS OUT!

  Emailed Jason. Surely if the interfering web manager sees the kind of people I associate with, he’ll realize I’m not an ordinary fan and make sure Jason gets this.

  To: Jason

  From: Kelly Ann

  Subject: Prince Charles

  Hi Jason

  How are things? Hope you’re having a great time in LA this weekend.


  Anyway, just to let you know I’ll be meeting up with Charles next week. Of course I mean Prince Charles (heir to the throne). We’ll probably chat a bit about the environment ‘cos, like you, we’re both kinda keen on it. Just wondered if there’s anything you’d like me to bring up while we’re on the subject?

  Gotta go now.

  Bye!

  Love Kelly Ann xxxxxxx

  FRIDAY NOVEMBER 12TH

  Am starting to feel a bit nervous about meeting Prince Charles. He really is a Very Important Person after all. OK, I know Mrs Conner doesn’t think so, but I’ve never met anyone so famous. I mean, he’s been on TV loads of times and his mum’s face is on stamps and money. You can’t get much more famous than that.

  At least Stephanie and Chris will be with me. Stephanie was picked because of her posh voice and Chris because Mr Menzies asked Stephanie to recommend a boy in our year and she chose him. Mr Menzies seems to think Stephanie is totally responsible just because her parents have got money. Just shows how wrong a person can be.

  Chris and Stephanie aren’t that keen on being part of the welcome group but they don’t seem at all worried.

  Unlike Mr Menzies, who’s really freaking out about Prince Charles’s visit. He’s had all the corridor floors not just brushed and mopped but polished as well. They’re now so shiny Terry Docherty says you can see girls’ knickers reflected in them (which you so cannot, but some idiot girls are walking around with their knees squeezed together anyway), and Miss McElwee slipped and hurt her hip. Mr Menzies wasn’t very sympathetic, even though she had to go to hospital for an X-Ray. Just asked her if she’d still be able to do the cucumber sandwiches and vol au vents for the Prince’s visit.

  Mr Menzies has also had all the windows washed, walls repainted and fake grass put on the football pitch, which he said was too muddy. But the most stupid thing was the toilets.

  Went in at break today and they were lovely – sparkling clean, jasmine scented and, best of all, every cubicle had fat rolls of three-ply ultra-soft toilet paper. However, before I could use our new luxury facilities we were ordered out and the janitor locked the doors. He told us we wouldn’t be able to use them again until after the Prince’s visit in case we messed them up.

  Tried to argue with him. I mean, Prince Charles wasn’t likely to want to use or inspect the girls’ toilets, but he wouldn’t budge. Said he’d got his orders from the head teacher and that was that.

  Of course he also locked the boys’ toilets but had to reopen them when the boys threatened to pee in the glossy corridors if he didn’t. They weren’t allowed to use the cubicles though.

  By home time I was bursting and wasn’t sure I would make it to my house. Liz suggested I go behind some bushes in the park – she would keep a lookout for me. But I was too scared someone would see me, especially as it was winter and most of the bushes didn’t have leaves.

  ‘Did you know,’ Liz said, ‘that a pregnant woman is allowed to pee anywhere she likes in the UK? Even in a policeman’s helmet? It’s the law.’

  ‘Well, um, right, Liz, thanks, but I think it might be quicker for me to just hurry home to my own toilet than get myself pregnant and ask for a policeman’s helmet.’

  ‘Good point,’ Liz said and laughed.

  Which made me laugh too. Unfortunately.

  SUNDAY NOVEMBER 14TH

  Am really nervous about meeting the Prince. What if I say or do something wrong? Our head teacher will go mental. Hardly slept last night thinking about it.

  Called Chris, who said not to worry, I’d be fine, and in any case there would be so many people we would have hardly any time to say anything.

  That’s true at least. As well as the three of us, there’s a fifth-year swot who plays the violin and goes to spelling tournaments, the head girl and boy, and two other sixth years. Anyway, the Prince will probably spend most of the time talking to our head teacher and Mr Smith.

  Still, there’s bound to be photographs – maybe even for the papers – so I need to look good. Don’t want Jason to find some awful picture of me with spots, greasy hair and crumpled clothes.

  Have ironed my skirt and polished my shoes like Angela would and laid everything out for tomorrow. Have also asked Mum to wake me early so I’ve plenty of time to get ready. Can’t wait for tomorrow to be over.

  MONDAY NOVEMBER 15TH

  Mum woke me at seven but I was tired as I’d taken ages to get to sleep last night; I decided to just go back to sleep for half an hour.

  Oh God – ten past nine already! I’m late. I’ve missed registration, obviously, but if I get a move on I might possibly make the meeting with Prince Charles. Just as well I got my stuff ready last night.

  Scrambled into my clothes, snatched up my bag and ran out. Damn. Forgot shoes and had to run back in. Found a polo mint in my blazer pocket and crunched it. Not much of a breakfast but at least it would stop my breath smelling as I hadn’t had time to do my teeth.

  Jogged all the way. Knocked over a toddler which was attached to its mum with reins so they both went down. Felt bad but there was no time to waste. Outside the post office I also barged into a pensioner who was a lot sprier than he looked and managed to whack me with his walking stick as I ran off.

  Finally got to the school gates, where a small crowd of protestors (including Liz and Mrs Conner) were gathered with their placards. Also saw that – oh my God – it was him on the steps leading to the main school entrance. Prince Charles was already there, chatting to Mr Menzies, whose head was tilted to the side, nodding like he’d broken his neck and couldn’t control it.

  Liz spotted me and shrieked, ‘Kelly Ann. No! Go back home!’

  I ignored her and ran towards the steps and right up to the welcome group. The head teacher didn’t see me at first, though the others, including Chris, stared at me openmouthed and eyes wide like they’d just seen a yeti or something.

  Honestly. Couldn’t they be a bit more discreet? I was only a minute late after all. Chances were the Prince wouldn’t realize if they’d just stop gawping at me.

  Mr Menzies hadn’t noticed as he was totally involved in grovelling to the Prince, his balding head bobbing up and down, body bent so low he looked like he planned to kiss Prince Charles’s feet any moment.

  I sidled along behind them and stood at the end of the queue beside Chris, who annoyed me by shoving me away and sort of pointing with his eyes for me to leave. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same, especially Stephanie.

  No way. I was going to stay here and talk to Prince Charles like I was supposed to. Anyway, it would look really rude if I just went off now, like I’d got bored waiting or something.

  Mr Menzies was saying, ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I couldn’t agree more, sir.’

  Then the Prince turned to Mr Smith, who was next in line. I’d thought Mr Menzies hadn’t noticed me coming late but he must have realized now, because when he saw me his humble smile vanished and he looked so furious I thought he was going to have a heart attack. His whole face went a purply red and the veins on his bald head stood out like climbing ropes and started pulsing. Oh God, I would be in trouble after this. Wish I hadn’t been late, but it was only a few minutes after all.

  Anyway, if the Prince noticed, he didn’t let on, just continued to move down the line, smiling and talking to people. Obviously he had the good manners to overlook small stuff like this. Unlike our head, who was showing up his commoner background.

  The Prince made his way down the line until he came to Chris. ‘So, young man, you intend to do medicine. Excellent. Marvellous. Tell me, what are your views on homeopathy?’

  ‘Um, well, it has its place, sir.’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Wonderful.’

  Couldn’t help smiling at that as Chris has always said it’s superstitious crap.

  Then it was my turn. At first I nearly clammed up completely. Well, I’ve never talked to anyone famous or with such a posh voice before. But Prince Charles was great. Really dead nice and not nea
rly as stuck up as I’d expected. From a royal person anyway. He asked how I was doing at school (not all that great actually, but he admitted he was pretty duff at some subjects too), what my hobbies were (not polo) and other stuff, so I was soon gabbing away, feeling totally at ease about the whole thing. Kind of hoped if the Prince liked me then the head would forget to be annoyed later. Finally Prince Charles asked if I was looking forward to using the new science and technology centre.

  Was going to say, Yeah, totally, but he’d been so nice I didn’t think it would be right to lie to him, so instead I said, ‘Not really. You see, no one is allowed in there as it’s not safe. We can’t knock it down though as it cost a lot of money so it will just have to stay. A pity, ‘cos it’s an uglylooking thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hmm, well, I mustn’t say really. Got into rather a spot of bother before, speaking my mind about such things.’

  ‘Oh, you shouldn’t worry about all that stuff people say about you. I mean, I know some people say you talk to vegetables and are totally bonkers, but I think you’re all right really. Just a bit odd maybe and kind of old fashioned. Anyway, I think it’s good for old people to be old-fashioned and, you know, sort of traditional. There’s nothing worse than someone even older than your dad trying to act cool. Cringe.’

  ‘Quite, yes. I, um, see your point. One does value tradition. Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are best, don’t you think? Using toothpaste to get rid of spots for example. Marvellously effective remedy, so I’m told. But your, um, snood? I didn’t think young people today wore those any more – though I suppose all fashions come round again eventually.’

  I frowned. Snood? What was he on about? He was right about the toothpaste though. It’s been great for my— Oh. My. God.

  The Prince moved away, followed by the head teacher and Mr Smith, both of whom managed to throw me a murderous glare as they passed, but I hardly registered it. Instead, I twisted round and stared at my reflection in the sparkling clean office glass. Then Stephanie came over and handed me a make-up mirror.