My Madder Fatter Diary (20 page)

Yet another letter I will never send. More emotional shoved in here. Closed. Under a mattress.

Wednesday 21.11.90

10.58 p.m.

Just when I thought things could not descend any further into the depths of doom and misery TODAY happened!

1) I now have convinced myself that I have spray painted intimate secrets of people all over the Meadows. This is because I just SAW spray paint in Wilkos. NOT BECAUSE I own some or would ever do that it’s just that my wanker brain saw some and decided to torture me because the cocking thing can.

2) Ronni slightly lectured me about not being able to keep a job or stay anywhere. She’s right. I’d like her to have my head for a day though.

3) Battered Sausage is coming back this weekend. Actually that’s a good thing. If university is so good why does he keep coming back?

Thursday 22.11.90

10.43 a.m.

BLOODY HELL MRS THATCHER HAS RESIGNED. THATCHER HAS GONE! I ran down the phone box to ring Mort (she’s working at her dad’s factory). I think this was why I gave up the Body Shop job so I could watch Thatcher go. SHE’S GONE! She was totally stabbed in the back by the people who were meant to be her friends. Geoffrey Howe may make shit speeches about cricket but he batted her straight over the head. GONE!

I can’t get over it – Thatcher GONE! It’s like she’s always been there.

4.13 p.m.

Still can’t get over Thatcher resigning. She’s resigning though to a lovely house and now she can just travel and play golf and do whatever old prime ministers do.

Wish I could resign like Thatcher.

It must be hard though – she had all that power. She could ring world leaders when she liked. Now she can only ring for a pizza and when people realise it’s her they will probably spit in it.

WHY AM I FEELING SORRY FOR THATCHER?! SHE MESSED UP EVERYTHING AND NEVER GAVE A TOSS. And in
Smash Hits
she said she LIKED Cliff Richard. Sympathy for that woman. I need my head sorting. I do need some more tablets.

Friday 23.11.90

12.50 a.m.

Let me write it here because you don’t give a fuck.

I think because I haven’t prayed enough I have told random people about how much I love Haddock because someone mentioned Haddock and my brain shouted something but I KNOW my mouth didn’t.

I’m totally fucked & disturbed. I don’t want to be like this. I want to be normal.

I know! WHAT IS NORMAL?! Well it isn’t this. And neither is Anthea Turner presenting
Top of the Pops
! Yet more evidence that the pop Guf is emptying.

Saturday 24.11.90

Battered Sausage is telling women he is a virgin. Apparently people LIKE virgins. Hello? HELLO??!! MASSIVE VIRGIN HERE WILLING and ABLE!!

Sunday 25.11.90

3.07 a.m.

I have had a totally crap day. I bloody roared last night. If one more person asks me what happened at Essex I’ll swing for them I swear it. I’m fed up with this town thinking that my business is theirs – WHEN IT ISN’T.

5.13 p.m.

University of Sheffield interview tomorrow. I honestly don’t care but I’ll have to show my face. I only partly picked it because of The Human League and ABC.

Monday 26.11.90

9.23 p.m.

The bloke I met at the University of Sheffield today looked like the sort of man who presents very old Open University programmes. He was wearing SOCKS AND JESUS CREEPERS. I couldn’t take my eyes off them so the interview did not go well. He asked me what I thought about Yeats. I said I thought he was good. WHY DIDN’T I JUST ADMIT I DIDN’T KNOW HIM?! He asked me which specific poems I liked I said ‘I prefer John Donne.’ I don’t think I’ll be getting an offer but I don’t think I want one either. Plus I hated that last song The Human League did – ‘Human’ – with that drippy speaky bit in the middle.

On the way back I sat on the train with a soldier who was really interesting. I told him I kept leaving stuff. He said everything in life was shit to start with. Everything. You just have to get over the shit. He nearly left the army. When I asked him why he didn’t he said ‘because things always get better and when they don’t – that’s when you go.’ Then he got off at Nottingham. I didn’t have a chance to add in the fact I was nuts but perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps I need to stick at stuff more. He bought me a cup of hot chocolate too. No – he was not on the pull. He was kind and I told him I was skint. I couldn’t marry a squaddie. I have to do stuff 36 times and worry when people I love go to the shops – let alone a FUCKING WAR.

Tuesday 27.11.90

11.23 p.m.

I went down the bar tonight where Tegs works. It got really busy so she asked me if I wanted to help out. I LOVED it. I could do it too and I was BLOODY GOOD at it. My maths is good too! Piss off GCSE – I knew fractions and long division were pointless. Anyway she’s asked me if I want to work tomorrow too. Answer – YES!!

Wednesday 28.11.90

5.45 p.m.

Just told Mum I was working in a bar tonight. This apparently makes me ‘just like your father.’ Thanks for the encouragement. Well Mum – here’s the deal. You like Moroccan bodybuilders and having them tattooed on your bum. I like socialising in bars and watching MTV. WHAT IS MORE NORMAL?!

Thursday 29.11.90

5.34 p.m.

I had a letter from Dobber yesterday. I live for letters from lovely friends who actually have lives.

But at least I have the bar job now on and off and I LOVE it. It’s good fun and it pisses off Mum. The thing is I think I’d be a brilliant landlady. Like Bet Lynch but without the leopard skin. Actually no, why not WITH leopard skin and a miniskirt? WHY NOT? I’M A WOMAN.

But do I actually want to be that sort of woman? I look stupid even in earrings.

Friday 30.11.90

12.20 a.m.

It’s less than 2 weeks till my birthday. I can’t believe it.

10.56 a.m.

I haven’t heard from Haddock for ages. I can’t analyse this too much. It’s depressing.

3.05 p.m.

1000 pieces of pretentious crap,

Litter all the scrawny books

In secret I embarrass his name

And misunderstand his sympathetic looks.

He used to think I was just a bitch

Slowly that began to amend

And then one of the exclusive

But like a sister. His bloke-like friend.

But bloody hell don’t act like my brother

I want to be your everything and your lover.

Saturday 1.12.12

12.22 a.m.

And didn’t November end as craply as it started!

Work at the bar was fine until a piece of posh-public-schoolboy-shit kept calling me fat over and over. Kept saying ‘Watch that belly!’ and ‘How do you fit behind there?’ and ‘Wouldn’t you be better in a wider bar?’ WHAT A NASTY COCK. What a complete BASTARD. He doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned in this diary and HE was an ugly shit. International WANKERTHON!

1.12 a.m.

Yes he does. I HOPE YOU NEVER GET A STIFFY AND YOUR KNOB DROPS OFF. I hope you are bullied. Really bullied till you get home and cry and shove matches in your arm but people like him never do. They LOVE themselves. That’s why I hope he gets a gangrene knob. I don’t even know if that exists but . . . he’s damaged one of the few places I felt USEFUL and WANTED.

5.50 p.m.

I’m listening to George Harrison. He calms me down.

That git last night. If I wasn’t such a strong person (!!) I would think he had given me a complex . . . If I didn’t have one already.

This is a weird bit of psychology. Sometimes when someone has shared a hard time with you and you’ve been their shoulder to cry on they don’t seem to want to know you when they are better. It’s like they are embarrassed by what you know about them. It’s like YOU are living testament of THEIR bad time. The person then becomes resentful. There’s almost dislike. I think this is what happened with Haddock.

So next time someone tells me their problems and confides in me I’m going to tell them to SHUT UP especially if they are FIT AS HELL. HA HA HA!

I’m joking but it’s not funny to have lost the one person that can make you feel better. Feel something. Feel ANYTHING.

7.52 p.m.

I’m supposed to be down Dobber’s for 8 but I feel so down I can’t be bothered. I want to go to the pub later.

Haddock.

Don’t know why I just wrote that. Bet his ears are burning. He even has nice ears.

Oh Rae fuck off – he’s just a bloke NOT GOD.

Sunday 2.12.90

1.04 a.m.

Went down the bar. Fraggle’s boyfriend was there playing up so me and Dobber chatted all night. She is lovely and I miss her. I did a bit of work behind the bar. Haddock’s girlfriend got off with someone because Haddock had apparently got off with someone in Leeds. I hate who she got off with – he’s a right wet pretty boy. Josh Wyledon also fancies Haddock’s girlfriend. So that’s YET ANOTHER MAN in love with Haddock’s girlfriend that I’d like to be in love with me.

Rae = fat cow = Joke

Rae = Joke.

I can do the maths that really matters.

Monday 3.12.90

5.25 p.m.

I went down the Jobcentre to sign back on. I told them that after all the travel expenses to get to Peterborough it made the job pointless. They accepted this and let me sign on again! I wouldn’t have done that. Perhaps I’ve been more affected by Thatcher than I thought. My parents have both worked since they were 14!! I’m entitled to benefits that they’ve earned on my behalf.

Tuesday 4.12.90

5.32 p.m.

I’ve written to Hereward Radio to ask for a job. Mum thinks this is ridiculous. No Mum – it’s what I want to do. OR I want to be a three day eventer but since my equine experience stretches to the donkeys at Skegness I think I’ve got more chance with radio don’t you?!

Wednesday 5.12.90

8.34 p.m.

My life at the moment is –

a) Watching the postman belt it up Edinburgh Road and trying to see if he slows down outside my door. When he does it’s never for me.

b) Singing to the British Gas jingle ‘Shag – Shag – Shag – Shagability – that’s the beauty of Haddock.’

It doesn’t scan but it makes me happy. I mustn’t sing it in public though.

Thursday 6.12.90

5.32 p.m.

The postman finally arrived for ME today and the University of Sheffield rejected me.

Good!

Finally a rejection that I actually want – I just wish I’d got in first! That’s a life lesson.

Friday 7.12.90

6.32 p.m.

Today I went into Woolworths and hid every copy of New Kids on the Block’s ‘This One’s for the Children’ behind ‘All Together Now’ by The Farm. Children need to be shielded from shit. It’s pop activism not terrorism and it’s completely legal. I would do an IRA Bobby Sands hunger strike against the shit but it’s nearly Christmas.

Saturday 8.12.90

11
-something – my watch has stopped!

Brilliant down the bar tonight! For a piss take I re-enacted the ‘Justify My Love’ video with the aid of the beams! Everybody laughed and it was a piss take but I’m also a very sexual being and I think people I know may understand that. People are calling Madonna a slag but sod it – if she wants to go to a Paris hotel and do it with Arthur AND Martha let her! If a bloke did it no-one would bat an eyelid. Her lips look stupid though and she could pick fitter blokes. She is bloody Madonna! She could have whoever she wanted!

Sunday 9.12.90

11.34 p.m.

Massive debate down the bar tonight about three things.

1) What is an IRA coded warning? How do the police know what is a real IRA code and what is just some nutter making a fake bomb threat? Dobber suggested that the IRA sent the police a Christmas card every year saying ‘This is next year’s list of REAL bomb code words’. We all wet ourselves but hang on – is that what happens? Does Gerry Adams ring them on the IRA’s behalf? Does Gerry Adams nip round for a sherry? WHY DON’T THE BBC TELL US?

2) Is Mrs Thatcher having a better Christmas now she has less pressure? Hopefully not. I hope she is sat there watching programmes for schools every morning thinking about HOW SHE RUINED BRITAIN.

3) This was the big one. I said I liked ‘Mull of Kintyre’ by Wings more than ‘A Day in the Life’ by The Beatles. Everybody went mad at me but they are just trying to be cool and I don’t bloody care. I am not saying that ‘A Day in the Life’ is NOT a better song. I’m saying at this time of year in particular I just want Christmassy and not John Lennon being arty. ‘Mull of Kintyre’ reminds me of brilliant 70s Christmases – Sindy Doll Wardrobes, and
The
Generation Game
with Larry Grayson. ‘A Day in the Life’ is about A BLOODY CAR CRASH. HAPPY CHRISTMAS RINGO! Come on!!