My Madder Fatter Diary (9 page)

Apparently councillors are having urgent meetings about us! An ‘outraged’ Tory says only one or two boys from Stamford School seem to be involved! THEN WHO ARE WE KISSING??!! I’M NOT KISSING ANYONE IN PUBLIC OR PRIVATE. I do have a laugh on the Meadows though – WE ALL DO. It’s not Stalin’s Russia is it??!! The best thing is Miss Byron is quoted as saying that ‘I would defy anyone in 1990 to make sure that 18 year old girls are perfectly behaved 24 hours a day.’ YES!! Finally a biddy that talks sense! We are allowed to be living loving women AND wear a school uniform.

We are going to get ROYALLY DONE tomorrow though! I’m glad I’m at the hospital having a check-up!!

Thursday 17.5.90

5.23 p.m.

We DID NOT get bollocked! Apparently the Lower 6th did – HA HA HA!!

My operation was a complete success. As they thought, I haven’t got cancer but this is something I will be prone to for the rest of my life. I will have to be investigated every 5 years. Can’t wait to tell any future husband that one!

Rae Earl – what a catch.

Friday 18.5.90

10.30 p.m.

What a bloody crap day. Unbelievable. It’s one of those days when you know it’s going to be totally crap. First, I nearly got run over by a pissing navy blue Metro. Then my Theatre Arts teacher gives me a 40 foot lecture. My head is burning. And nobody knows this side of me. Nobody could possibly comprehend how utterly messed I am. Why am I so buggered up?!

I know partly because of stuff that happened.

I know the ‘if onlys’ are a dangerous thing but if I’d just had the sense to run. Get out before . . . I didn’t fight. I can’t understand. I was frozen to the spot. It wasn’t even that serious. And I’m so numb about it. I feel nothing. I feel like slipping away. Going somewhere where no-one knows who I am or what I am. But I couldn’t cope. I know that.

It wasn’t that bad. Other people have had it far, far worse. I was bad before that. I’ve always been weird.

When I hit myself it hurts but it feels like a massive relief. A relief from all the anger and the guilt and being TERMINALLY PATRONISED.

At least I’m not under a Mini Metro. Look on the bright side.

Saturday 19.5.90

11.12 p.m.

I have had to listen to both Haddock and Battered Sausage go on and on ALL NIGHT about how fit Kylie Minogue is. Battered Sausage put on ‘Better The Devil You Know’ on the Vaults jukebox about 7 times. I came home early – they were a right pair of lads tonight.

On the quiet, it’s quite inspirational for us pretty-faces-but-fat types. Not that Kylie was ever LARDY but it proves that you can change. I just need a fit man for a sex transformation.

I think a problem with my life may be that I’m waiting for people to come along and sort things when actually they can’t be arsed!

That’s not fair. No-one can. If they could they would have done.

Haddock is growing bloody sideburns. Yes he still looks gorgeous.

Sunday 20.5.90

5.12 p.m.

Tomorrow is the last week of school before . . . FOREVER.

Shit!

Monday 21.5.90

8.12 p.m.

WE HAVE OUR YEARBOOKS!!

They are great and everything but I’m slightly annoyed. In the ‘What Will You Miss Least About School’ section there are loads of things about me like –

Rae’s annoying moods

Rae’s being self righteous and lecturing me

Rae’s tantrums

Rae’s singing

Rae scrounging at break

Rae’s gob

I’m also in the ‘What Will You Miss Most About School’ bit tons too BUT it’s a bit harsh!

Tuesday 22.5.90

5.34 p.m.

It’s probably good that it’s the last week at school because there is basically now CIVIL WAR over the yearbook. Natty Dawlish has written in the ‘What Will You Miss Least About School’ ‘the false pretentious stuck up cows who one tends to find in the U6 common room’ and then Ava Laird wrote in the ‘What’s Your Greatest Achievement’ ‘beating THEM at Rounders 91 to 85.’ Apparently the THEM is US in the common room. I thought they were both OK till I read that. I tell you what, they both live in far better nicer houses than I do so don’t call me a stuck-up cow!

BUT THEN that all faded into insignificance because Drew Walker had written in her Greatest Achievement bit ‘fulfilling all my sexual fantasies.’ EVERYONE was talking about it. She’s quite quiet but at Olivers she did dance in a very odd way to ‘Touch Me’ by the 49ers. Bum wiggling ahoy and all over the place.

It all made my 4 fishcakes achievement look even crapper than I thought but never mind!

Wednesday 23.5.90

10.38 p.m.

YEARBOOK 1990 – What Will You Miss Most About School?

‘The comforting sense of security that being so efficiently controlled has given me!’

ROSANNA – YOU ARE MY HERO! Her yearbook thing is brilliant. She’s really clever and funny AND she’s got a boyfriend. I should have asked her for tips!

Battered Sausage came round tonight. He took me for a drink. Haddock was waiting for us. Sideburns and all. Everything wonderful and perfect. And utterly beautiful. In a rugby shirt.

Can’t wait till June 21st. PARTY TIME!!

Leavers’ cheese and wine evening tomorrow at school. Sometimes it’s so posh it hurts.

Thursday 24.5.90

10.12 p.m.

Well that was BLOODY annoying. Listen to this CRAP.

Mum thinks I shouldn’t be annoyed but I bloody am.

Me and a few others were standing round tonight in the hall with wine (WINE IN SCHOOL – LEGALLY MAD!!) and a teacher came over. She started saying stuff to people ‘I can see you doing very well at Cambridge’ and ‘you’re a natural for law’ and then she turned to me and said ‘And Rachel you’re just one of life’s survivors.’

NOW WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!

One of life’s survivors?! When I think of a survivor I think of someone clinging to a bit of wreckage avoiding sharks with half a gob of salt water. Is that all I’m worth?! Sod being a survivor. I want to be brilliant. I want to rip up the sky.

Mum says she is saying that I’m tough. No. A survivor just survives. SOD SURVIVING.

Pissed off. And Camembert should be banned. It’s like heroin. I was like Zammo from
Grange Hill
tonight for a piece.

Friday 25.5.90

7.35 p.m.

Last proper day of school ever. We had chips. It was a bit moving when we put our trays on the conveyor belt for the last time. Normal life disappearing through a hatch waiting to be washed up.

Saturday 26.5.90

11.35 p.m.

Oh why does he do it? Why does he hug me and stroke my hair. I push him away and joke it off because I’m a twat but it kills me.

Once my A levels are over I’m going to stop dreaming and start living.

Sunday 27.5.90

3.50 p.m.

THE FUNDAMENTAL THINGS THAT ARE WRONG WITH MY LIFE:

THE EASIER STUFF

1) A levels – ONLY DAYS AWAY!!

2) My mental condition. Confused.

3) People are very condescending to me because they’ve had sex. But actually WHAT DO THEY KNOW? I feel like saying ‘Oh yeah you may have had a boyfriend but what the hell do you actually KNOW?’ SERIOUSLY??!! Bollocks. THEY KNOW NOTHING. ZILCH! People say to me ‘Oh I bet you marry someone really nice!’ SO PATRONISING. What if I JUST WANT TO MARRY A REALLY HORNY TOTAL BASTARD SEX MACHINE??!!

4) No-one really loves me. Nobody has given me a hug and said ‘Rae – I really love you.’ I mean I’m not loud and annoying ALL THE TIME! So why can’t they? Have I just got really bad breath?

SPECIFIC PROBLEMS

1) HADDOCK.

Now this really is a sod of a problem.

I know it sounds immature when I write it. I can’t say. Don’t want to encourage fate to kick me up the arse.

I’ve GOT to change.

1) Lose weight.

2) Keep good bits.

3) Get rid of shit bits.

What a brilliant night down the pub. Atmosphere 400% on!

Haddock came in. He told me he’d had a dream about me. He’d bought a Harley-Davidson and I’d bust it. It’s nice to be in his dreams even if I am breaking stuff.

I just take the piss out of him all the time. Blood is blue and it comes out red. Same thing.

Monday 28.5.90

2.36 p.m.

That last entry sounded so monumentally pretentious.

I really need to start revising. Why can’t I just be a pub landlady? Or Bez from the Happy Mondays.

Tuesday 29.5.90

11.23 p.m.

Mum has just tried to show me she can moonwalk. She can’t.

Her impression of Mick Jagger is also crap. Pursing your lips together and strutting on the lino doesn’t make you the lead singer of the Rolling Stones. It makes you very annoying indeed especially when you’re in the way of the bloody fridge.

Wednesday 30.5.90

3.47 p.m.

Nothing is going in my head. Nothing is sticking. I’ve just sung every word of ‘Look of Love’ by ABC though – even the bit where Martin Fry starts talking to himself. But can I remember the dates that Perkin Warbeck kicked off some shit? No. Don’t care anyway. Like Mort says, he’s got the same name as one of the Flumps so you can’t take him seriously.

Thursday 31.5.90

5.12 p.m.

The reason why Mum is so happy is that Adnan is coming back on Friday. That explains everything – the singing, the dancing, the way she actually dusted for the first time since I had to have the doctor out in the middle of the night. Adnan is returning. Can he help me with my A levels? No. Is he an expert in Elizabethan court politics? No. Will the dining room be turned into a gym IN THE MIDDLE OF MY A LEVELS? Yes. Will he eat an entire Morrisons swiss roll cake like the rest of us eat a Polo mint? Yes.

The selfishness of my mum beggars belief. Just go out with a normal man like other women!! I know marriages break down but why can’t she marry someone with loads of money and a decent house. She’s even trying to get preserved lemons from somewhere? PRESERVED LEMONS?! It’s Stamford not Marrakesh. Tinned satsumas are exotic round here love!

WHY CAN’T WE JUST BE NORMAL?

Friday 1.6.90

11.12 a.m.

Yes Mum, you can revise
The Tempest
and listen to ‘Our Tune’ on Radio 1 at the same time and ‘Our Tune’ is more entertaining. No Mum I don’t care that you are going to the market to get some onions – WHY IS THAT RELEVANT WHEN SOMEONE ON THE RADIO HAS LOST THE LOVE OF THEIR LIFE HORRIFICALLY?! And yes I will hoover. Does anyone exist in my mum’s life other than her?!

2.36 p.m.

Just hoovered in time to the theme tune from
Shaft
! Think Mrs Maughn from across the road might have seen me but I don’t care. I do not fear people seeing my funkiness. HA! HA! HA!

Oh I bloody do. If she tells my mum they’ll think I’m going funny again.

I do feel funny again but it’s nothing to do with Isaac Hayes or Otis Redding.

7.12 p.m.

Adnan has just arrived. There’s a stinking olive tagine orgy and kissing going on in the kitchen. I’m going down the pub with Dobber where’s there’s just crisps and cider and people under 20 who should be the only ones snogging.

11.48 p.m.

I sat down the pub tonight telling Dobber about Adnan and in the middle of it she went ‘Ronnie Corbett.’ I was going on a bit and I know she’s got her own stuff to worry about but it was a bit harsh.

Do I go on, diary? Probably. But no-one else wants to listen and compares me to the Two Ronnies.

Saturday 2.6.90

Dobber house. Late. Really late.

No it was not the best idea preparing for your Shakespeare English A level by getting totally ratted and then hiding under an orange blanket whilst Battered Sausage ran around Dobber’s front room with no clothes on pretending to be a male stripper and gyrating on the orange blanket to ‘Hear the Drummer Get Wicked’ by Chad Jackson. But that’s what has just happened.

Sunday 3.6.90

4.15 p.m.

Somewhere along the way I have gone drastically wrong. My being is so consumed with the most hateful anger. I want to scream and kick it all out of me. Punch it out till I bleed and others finally see it.

My home life is total bollocks at the moment. They have no idea what it does to me. There’s no stability. Mum is either horrible or finding herself or making Adnan a massive non-pork sandwich. I’m staying round Dobber’s. I want somewhere safe and secure. Vine Street is it.

Monday 4.6.90