My Madder Fatter Diary (6 page)

I told her I was going down the pub. Which I am! Goodbye!

Saturday 10.3.90

1.04 a.m.

No Haddock tonight but Haddock TOMORROW apparently. Me and Dobber had a great night. Even though tonight she admitted that Rod Stewart ‘had something’. Yes Dobber he has something – rickets and dentures. Snog him and you’ll suck his teeth out. Battered Sausage loved this and said I was ‘fucking funny Big Razza’. I am occasionally very funny but sadly also permanently fat as a house. The Elephant Man got more action.

Sunday 11.3.90

2.34 a.m.

I don’t know what shelf stacking does to a man or if it’s just because I haven’t seen him for yonks but Haddock – OH I WANT YOU TO SEE HIM. He is BEYOND IT ALL and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Battered Sausage had told him about my mum’s tattoo. In fact when Battered Sausage picked me up tonight he asked to see my mum’s tattoo. She didn’t show him but I suppose it’s only a matter of time. Perhaps she’ll put a shot in the
Mercury
.

Anyway Haddock thinks tattoos are a waste of money.

I KNOW, he sounds very middle-aged doesn’t he sometimes?! BUT he’s not. He’s just HIM – he doesn’t really seem to give a fuck what other people think AT ALL. He’s like me but with a knob and a six-pack.

He’s not like me – I do give a fuck what people think ALL the time and whether they like me or not. I need Haddock ‘don’t give a shit’ lessons.

I’m listening to The Beloved’s ‘The Sun Rising’. It’s not. It’s pitch black but it’s just brilliant.

6.23 p.m.

I have written Mum’s letter. I am particularly proud of ‘The reference to my tattoo bears no relevance to my medical condition. The presence of a bodybuilder on my buttock would not affect my urinary tract.’

Mum can’t decide whether to send it or not. I don’t care – she’s buying me a single as payment.

Oh Haddock. You’re in my head a lot. Even when I’m writing letters about my mum’s bladder.

Monday 12.3.90

6.13 p.m.

Mum had no luck buying my single today from Woolworths. This was because she was asking for a single by Rogan Josh. Rogan Josh is a curry not a musician. I wanted ‘Infinity’ by GURU Josh. She’s now given me £2 as it’s too embarrassing for her to go back.

It’s too embarrassing to go in Woolies but apparently fine that the whole of Lincolnshire knows she’s got a permanent picture of a bodybuilder on her bum.

The fair is coming soon. Perhaps Mum can be the tattooed lady on a stall and make some money. It can’t be any worse than Rhona the old girl who has a stand every year that is actually just a fat woman sitting in a sawdust pit with a load of terrified mice. HA HA HA!!

Tuesday 13.3.90

Naomi failed her driving test again today. She stalled on St Peter’s Hill AGAIN. She was in tears in the common room. I told her not to worry – she can always take the test in Peterborough! This didn’t cheer her up much.

Some people need to count their blessings and be a bit less melodramatic. At least she has parents who can afford a car AND lessons. My mum is currently claiming that my Guru Josh record has left her ‘short’.

Wednesday 14.3.90

5.38 p.m.

Shellboss attacked me today. Not
verbally but with a piece of stuffing from the chair in a comedy way! Then we had a MASSIVE cushion fight till Mr Mills reminded us we have A levels in 3 months. WE BLOODY KNOW. We need to let off some pressure, man!

Thursday 15.3.90

I’ve got a period coming. I can tell this because a) I’m in AGONY b) Today I cried at ‘Uptown, Uptempo Woman’ by Randy Edelman – which is actually just a piece of soppy Yank shit.

Periods hurt but at least they prove the girl in me is still alive and not killed by crisps.

Friday 16.3.90

7.32 p.m.

I can’t go down the pub tonight. I can barely move. I’ve got 2 hot water bottles and I’m sandwiched between them.

Ponstan tablets are shit. Libra regular towels are shit. Morrissey is not shit.

Please, please, please let me get what I want. I can tell you what in living memory it WILL be the bloody first time EVER.

Saturday 17.3.90

11.35 p.m.

Perhaps my period is making me hypersensitive but Battered Sausage was ALL OVER Jasmine Bobbs tonight like a rash. Now I feel weird about this because . . . I don’t know. When Battered Sausage gets a piece all he cares about is slice and I completely go out the window. I don’t need that right now. Dobber said he is totally sharking round Jasmine and when we all sang ‘Sausage Techniques’ to the Pearl and Dean theme tune WHICH WE ALWAYS DO WHEN HE’S ON THE PULL he looked angry. Which means it’s serious.

I just know everyone is going to end up married and I am going to end up talking to the grannies table at the wedding doing the conga and pretending everything is OK when it is NOT.

Sunday 18.3.90

9.34 p.m.

Rang Mort and talked for ages. She totally thinks Battered Sausage is after Jasmine. The thing is Jasmine is LOVELY. You can’t hate women like this. She is beautiful but great to be with too. And she’s always listening to David Bowie. She was the one that told me that on ‘Starman’ he doesn’t sing ‘picking my bum on Channel 2’ but ‘pick him up on Channel 2’. She knows LYRICS too – how can I compete?!

Monday 19.3.90

8.12 p.m.

I’m listening to Dollar. Oh I don’t bloody CARE. I love ‘Hand Held in Black and White’. It’s a great song.

Jasmine Bobbs in the common room today started going on about how funny Battered Sausage was. Oh yes HILARIOUS. Except when you’ve heard him ask for a bit of battered flange in Des’s Superchip for the millionth time and then it’s actually not funny AT ALL.

Ignore me I’m jealous. It’s my Scorpio moon it makes me nuts.

Tuesday 20.3.90

11.22 p.m.

Sod off everything basically.

Wednesday 21.3.90

10.32 p.m.

Me and Battered Sausage have just been down the Vaults. Oh the big prick does make me laugh. I wish he didn’t but he does. Tonight he was singing ‘Love Shack’ by The B-52’s and shouting ‘LOVE SHACK BABY’ at me! I think you had to be there.

Thursday 22.3.90

5.13 p.m.

Mrs Bark caught me checking the door again and again today. She muttered something so I said ‘It has a habit of unlocking itself.’ No it doesn’t. I just have it in my head that I’ve left it open when I know I haven’t.

I’m not taking any shit from a family called Bark who called their son Mark.

That’s not fair. They are all right.

I’m having the heaviest period ever.

Friday 23.3.90

11.29 p.m.

Oh Haddock, you must be a multimillionaire by now the amount you are working. WILL YOU JUST COME OUT AND BE ALL FITNESS?! When his girlfriend tells me he’s not coming out I try to look not bothered but I think I fail.

Saturday 24.3.90

11.56 p.m.

Dear Saturday night. You were a bit of a twat.

1) Battered Sausage all over Jasmine Bobbs again.

2) Battered Sausage singing Candy Flip’s ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ as ‘Strawberry Ice Cream Forever’ was funny at 7.30 p.m. but NOT by 8 p.m. and CERTAINLY NOT by 10.30 p.m.

3) Ryan Bates kept putting ‘Birdhouse In Your Soul’ by They Might Be Giants on the jukebox and asking me what I thought of it. Not content with the answers ‘utter shit’, ‘total bollocks’ and ‘twee indie shit’ he asked me again and I snapped at him ‘just fuck off.’

4) Then I felt bad and guilty but he’d left the pub so I couldn’t apologise.

5) NO HADDOCK AGAIN.

6) Had 3 bags of beef and mustard crisps, 2 pints of cider (which according to Naomi at school are ‘cream cakes in a glass’) and then some chips. Can’t stop eating. Don’t want to stop. Empty and full all at the same time. Usual, usual. Never gets better.

7) Cleaned the heads of my cassette player with toilet paper. Got loads of gunk off it but then got a big bit of Andrex jammed in the machinery. I need to get some tweezers.

I’m going to see the fair being put up with Dobber tomorrow. It’s something to do and she’s lovely.

Sunday 25.3.90

10.28 a.m.

Asked Mum for some tweezers. She said ‘Oh, are you doing your eyebrows?’ I said ‘No – I’m doing my cassette heads.’ She looked a bit disappointed. She probably thought I was finally changing into a real woman.

I’m not.

7.48 p.m.

We went down the fair. Usual rides. Big Wheel, Noah’s Ark, Tip Top, Mexican Hat, Hook-a-Duck and the women who runs the cake walk is STILL there. Me and Dobber agree – she must be over 80. Just RETIRE WOMAN! Anyway, Dobber and me are going again tomorrow.

I can’t wait to retire. I know I haven’t started work yet but I just want no pressure, to live in Edmonds Close and walk in fields.

Monday 26.3.90

9.36 p.m.

I nearly killed someone tonight.

Dobber and me went to the fair. It was a laugh – it always is with her. We went on the usuals but then we went down Bath Row and on this new ride called the Zodiac. It’s like this massive round disc with a seat all the way round it and it bounces you around. We went on it, they were playing ‘Soul Finger’ by The Bar-Kays and it went CRAZY. It was throwing people around everywhere and it threw me on to this middle-aged beardy bloke. He took it really well but I think I broke his wrist. Imagine if I’d fallen on to a townie twat. Everyone was already laughing. Why do I do this SHIT? I had the same thing at Alton Towers. Situations where I stick out are not good situations. Theme parks and fairs, pubs, school – actually everywhere except my bedroom!

Sometimes I catch myself in shop windows and I take up so much space. I see my outline. It’s not me. Wish I could take my fucking skin off. RIP IT OFF.

One good thing – Dobber won a goldfish on Hook-a-Duck. Yes she is 18. We don’t care. We’ve called it Silk Cut!

Tuesday 27.3.90

8.55 p.m.

I resent you at the moment, diary. I didn’t want to write you.

Fate, once encouraged, can twist horribly and vengefully. Now that does sound melodramatic but it’s true. Battered Sausage is going out with Jasmine Bobbs.

You know FULL well how I feel.

The winner takes it sodding all.

Wednesday 28.3.90

8.25 p.m.

Silk Cut died today. Fair fish never last long. In fact my sugar dummy has lasted longer – which is a bloody miracle.

I’m so pissed off.

Thursday 29.3.90

9.54 p.m.

I should be at a party. I’m ill. I can’t get out the house tonight. I’m saying it’s a sore throat. It’s not.

I want to sit down with Battered Sausage and talk to him.

Dear Battered Sausage,

Forget all the bravado. All the lads, everything and just get in touch with what you actually FEEL! DO YOU ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT?!

I feel numb in life. I want out of this town. I want out of my bad points. Angry, angry, angry, ANGRY and very paranoid. Feel my mental condition slip – No, I don’t. Probably all this is normal A level syndrome.

No it’s not. I’M A MESS.

Friday 30.3.90

Late.

Went down the Vaults. Battered Sausage and Jasmine all loved up. I feel like a spare part. Like the pantomime horse from
Rentaghost
.

Haddock won his girlfriend a cuddly poodle thing at the fair. Apparently he’s good at throwing balls in buckets or something. They were taking the piss but it was sweet. It was funny. It was Haddock.

And then he disappears into the night. No, I’ll walk my own way home thanks Haddock. Actually I’ll go down the Meadows and listen to Kate Bush. ‘Cloudbusting’ in the dark. It works. Then I will come home to write this and eat CRAP.

Diary – I feel so lonely I could die.

Shit – now I sound like Elvis. He ate himself to death too. The difference is he’d had sex and a career before he did.

Saturday 31.3.90

4.35 p.m.

Dobber is doing the 24 hour famine for World Vision. Apparently a normal person can fast for a day safely. A NORMAL PERSON. What’s one of those? She wanted to know if I thought Snakebite was included on the fast. Er . . . yes!

So we’re not going out tonight.

On days like this ‘Bedsitter’ by Soft Cell IS my life. I am fooling myself I’m having fun a lot of the time but inside . . . I’m going. I can feel myself going.

Sunday 1.4.90

10.19 p.m.

It’s kicked off in London about the poll tax. Humungous riots – THATCHER, WE ARE NOT PAYING. I feel sorry for the police horses but that’s the price you pay for having eyes on the side of your face. You are handy to the law.

I would love to go down and join them but I know I’d have a panic attack. St. John Ambulance probably have enough to cope with without me having a turn.