by Rae Earl
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!!
Where’s Haddock? That wasn’t debated but that’s what I’m thinking ALL THE TIME. He’d agree with me about ‘Mull of Kintyre’. He never gives a toss what people think. He’d tell the world he liked ‘The Frog Chorus’. Oh – he’s BLOODY AMAZING.
Monday 10.12.90
10.24 a.m.
Mum just said to me ‘What do you want for your birthday, duck? By the way, Adnan is back tomorrow for Christmas.’
1) Happy Gooseberry Rae!
2) I’d like World Peace please Mum!
3) And Haddock so we didn’t have to have sex in a rush because a war was starting.
4) And an offer from Hull. Or a rejection. Just SOMETHING. Why don’t I just ring? Because a) I’ll have to bother Mrs Armitage AGAIN b) Perhaps they haven’t decided yet and me bothering them will send them over the edge and they will reject me c) My head says if I do ring them it will stop it.
So I asked Mum if she could just give me some money. Money means I get to be in the pub more and the house less.
Tuesday 11.12.90
5.12 p.m.
Welcome back Adnan. Mum is of course totally delighted. He did bring me a silver leather shoe keyring which is more than Mum has ever bought me and I have to say his version of ‘Ice Ice Baby’ by Vanilla Ice may be one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
Wednesday 12.12.90
11.59 p.m.
I’m lying about the time. I’ll get all these 18 year old neuroses written down now!
Well, look at my 18th year. It started in the last golden days of 1989. Good days. What a Christmas and a New Year that promised so, SO much – but like Cardinal Wolsey’s foreign policy it has delivered fuck all.
Have to use A level knowledge for SOMETHING because so far it’s been useful for NOTHING.
It seems difficult now to try to go back. People who seemed so important then are now irrelevant. Things that happened that seemed THE EARTH are nothing. My need for love did not diminish. I did A levels, I crashed and burned, I left Essex and packed in the one job I got. Leaving Essex was the right decision. Leaving The Body Shop was me just being a lazy fat cow.
I still love Haddock.
My head is still a mess.
So I start my 19th year, no job, no higher education place, I have annoyed my friends and family, the one person I could rely upon in the weird boy way I needed doesn’t even speak to me much anymore.
But STILL I hold on to him.
I should make this year the year I change. The year I get motivated. I could sort myself out.
I’m very frightened. I’m scared. I’m worried. I’m tired.
Thursday 13.12.90
10.30 a.m.
TOTALLY out of the blue, Battered Sausage turns up!! Considering he lives in St Albans now when he’s not at university this is a totally gorgeous thing to do. He got a lift with his mum just so we could go out for my birthday. He’s a massive tosser but a lovely one. We are going down the pub!
No idea of time
I will write tomorrow as my roof is spinning. Even considering a tactical chunder. I hate being sick though and Mum will realise I am so drunk I’m probably dying.
Friday 14.12.90
9.28 a.m.
I suppose you want to know about my birthday. It was a real laugh. We went down the pub. Then we went to Olivers. Then I fell over. Too much drink. I feel like death this morning. TOTAL DEATH. I can’t even face toast. That’s how bad it is.
No Haddock last night. Stamford just isn’t that important to him. Or me. FACE IT RAE.
No, Adnan. Please don’t start doing your Arabic singing thing to ‘Saviour’s Day’ by Cliff. I might go and tell him that it’s about Jesus being not a minor prophet (Islam) but THE prophet (Christianity). How do Muslims feel about Cliff Richard? Probably like the rest of us do – HA HA HA!!
Saturday 15.12.90
11.34 p.m.
Still no Haddock out tonight.
Talking of Haddock – I forgot to tell you I spoke to his girlfriend on my birthday. He now wants to marry her and go out with her again. However he has got off with 5 other women including one who sent his girlfriend a Purple Ronnie card with ‘Friends!’ on it. Haddock’s girlfriend ripped this into four pieces and sent it back with ‘BITCH’ written on it.
Which is BRILLIANT. She is BLOODY funny.
Sunday 16.12.90
I haven’t seen Haddock for WEEKS now. He meant the world to me. He still MEANS it. Perhaps he always will. He’ll be like my lazy eye. Cured but comes back when I’m pissed or tired.
But I was thinking today . . . What am I missing out on whilst I wait for him? What the hell am I expecting? It all to change overnight? It’s not going to. And what do I expect him to do? Haddock and his therapy-cock magically makes everything better? Would it? Would it really Rae? Or would you just spend your entire time thinking a) What is the FUCK he doing with me and b) Touching things and praying so he never goes and so he loves me forever. I mean READ that back? THAT IS PATHETIC. I’m nuts but even I know that’s not going to work.
But then I think – he GETS it. He’s beautiful inside and out. He’d be a start. A way in to sort the shit out.
Monday 17.12.90
10.55 p.m.
Haddock’s Therapy Cock is the greatest name for a band ever. You’d never get on Top of the Pops though. Especially now it’s sometimes hosted by Blue Peter presenters.
Mum is panicking about Christmas dinner AS PER NORMAL. Everything is a drama. Just RELAX woman! None of us will die if there is no bread sauce.
11.02 p.m.
Actually we will – that’s the best bit!
Tuesday 18.12.90
9.34 p.m.
Leeds rejected me today. This is probably a good thing as I can’t be in the same city as a Haddock that is a sex machine that is not sex machining near me.
Wednesday 19.12.90
11.22 a.m.
‘Fairytale of New York’ by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl makes me feel really weird. Be honest Rae – it makes me cry because it’s lovely but it reminds me of having a breakdown. There are some songs that do.
‘Run To You’ – Bryan Adams
Tried to distract myself by playing ‘OutRun’ on the computer and listening to this at the same time. Failed.
‘Rush Hour’ – Jane Wiedlin
Played all the time on the radio when I was really off it. Love it though. Brilliant pop where the video featured her riding dolphins – a lovely image destroyed forever.
‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ – Bobby McFerrin
Mum bought this for me. Bless her – she was trying to help. She didn’t realise how ill I was I don’t think. To this day if I hear that song I want to kill everyone involved in it.
‘Happy Ever After’ – Julia Fordham
Another great song buggered by the thought of tablets in trolleys and . . . Oh why am I even going here. TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK. I’M GOING FOR A WALK.
Thursday 20.12.90
11.22 p.m.
Dobber and me just shared a bottle of Baileys down the Meadows. You can have too much of a good thing. That was a mistake. As she pointed out though, it was naturally chilled. YES IT WAS BLOODY FREEZING. Thanks to the random boys who pointed out my nipples were erect. Twats – but it
made a change from Jabba so look on the bright side.
On that note, there is a new name for ugly women like me apparently – ‘Moose’. I’ve already had it a few times. Who makes this crap up? Bored men with tiny willies. I’ve noticed I’m getting more and more aggressive. It’s a lack of sex. A good passionate session of DOING IT would cure it. Dr Haddock and his therapy-cock cures all again. Shut up Rae – just learn to deal with the fact some men have big mouths and tiny pricks. I’ve noticed that penis size is one way you can really hurt a man. Tell him you heard he had a tiny one. It’s evil – but all is fair in love and war and when someone calls you Moose.
But it still kills me. I hate being the ugly fat bitch. Please don’t think I don’t.
Friday 21.12.90
11.23 p.m.
Is Cliff Richard going to do this every Christmas now? Release a single? I never thought I’d say this but bring back Shakin’ Stevens.
I’m sitting here listening to the most beautiful song – ‘Keeping the Dream Alive’ by Freiheit. It’s Germans with terrible hair but it’s saying everything I feel. Perhaps I do want too much but I can’t let it go and why should I let it go? I’m fat. I’m not right in the head but Vincent Van Gogh was nuts too and his paintings sell for millions. He was thin though. I’ve seen his self portraits.
Mrs Bark has put tinsel round her sink. You have to love her for that.
I CAN’T HELP BUT LOOK – IT’S RED AND IT GLITTERS!!
Saturday 22.12.90
1.08 p.m.
I’ve just seen Dobber out in town. Apparently Haddock is out TONIGHT!! FUCK!! Why aren’t I nine stone yet? Or even ten stone? That will do. Why has the bloody crisp eating continued?! I’m still the bloody caterpillar. FUCK IT!! I NEED to see him. It’s like a dose of something good. I NEED him.
Sunday 23.12.90
3.25 a.m.
Went down the pub. I was dreading seeing Haddock. Excited but dreading it. His girlfriend was with him. He ignored me. I had a drink and just felt so LET DOWN and PISSED OFF. So I went down the Meadows. I needed my willow tree and some peace. Sometimes in crowds it gets too much anyway. Then I see this total twat pretending to swim towards me. It’s HADDOCK! Gives me a big hug, says sorry for not speaking to me as he ‘was arguing with his Mrs’ and wants to know everything that’s been going on. I told him I had fucked up everywhere. He said ‘Bet you’ll be all right though.’ I’m glad he has faith in me. I haven’t. We talked for ages and then went back to the Vaults. He asked me to stay out longer but Mum has insisted that I have to get up early tomorrow to go and fetch the prawns for Christmas with her from Morrisons. So beautiful time with the man I want to be my eventual husband is now getting affected by seafood. Fucking hell. SOD PRAWN COCKTAIL – WHAT ABOUT COCK?
Monday 24.12.90
7.01 a.m.
Yes Mum. I am up. Yes Mum I am coming to get the bloody prawns. Yes I will put them in the fridge as soon as I get home. Yes I won’t start on the Quality Street till tomorrow (cross fingers behind my back – I’m having one the moment I get home. It’s my reward.)
11.45 a.m.
BLOODY HELL!!
UNIVERSITY OF HULL UNCONDITIONAL OFFER!!!
It was here when I got home after getting the prawns!
In the words of the Edwin Hawkins Singers, ‘OH HAPPY DAY!!!!!’
WHAT A RESULT!! WHAT A CHRISTMAS PRESENT!!
That makes me think IT IS MEANT TO BE. Come on that is WAY TOO SPOOKY. That is INSANE. ON CHRISTMAS EVE!! I was right. I have to listen to ME more. I talk myself out of stuff all the time but perhaps I’m right. Perhaps I have this mad instinct that is – just – IT KNOWS SHIT. And I should follow it whatever it says. But then it gets mixed up with the other stuff, like you can speak to God and stop him doing stuff. If I can just separate them I could make stuff work. I could . . . I could. I just COULD.
This feels like a start. Of something. Perhaps just of not being a TOTAL twat.
Tuesday 25.12.90
8.30 a.m.
The day of Chrimble!
As you may have guessed, I got into Hull. I rang up Mort. She wet herself. I LOVE THAT GIRL. She’s there in times of shit and in moments of sugar.
Last night was the weirdest Christmas Eve I have ever had. The pubs were horrendously crowded but empty of decent people. People were moaning about how crap Stamford was. The top bar of the Vaults was NOT open (INSANE!!). Aristotle was a total love when I told him I’d got into Hull and looked genuinely pleased. Haddock came in and gave me a hug. Dobber and me (by now well pissed) went down the Meadows. Then I saw Haddock and his girlfriend screaming at each other. They were in MY spot. I just lost it and said ‘Any chance you two can have a normal fucking relationship?!’ Haddock said to me ‘Bollocks – you of all people should get it.’ Dear Haddock – in case you haven’t noticed I don’t get it because I’M NOT IN A RELATIONSHIP. Anyway they buggered off to rip each other apart elsewhere whilst I got plastered with Dobber.
‘I should get it!’ Oh fuck off Haddock. You could make everything better but you just piss me off. We could have the best laugh ever and the best thing ever but you just opt for the same old, SAME BLOODY OLD.
You know what? Next time they are arguing I am going to scream at the top of my voice ‘I can sort this out. No you shouldn’t be together. Haddock’s girlfriend, you have loads of blokes who want to be with you and I really want your man so there. Totally sorted sodding out!’
6.20 p.m.
They just showed E.T. on TV for the first time! This was brilliant as I’ve only seen it on pirate video before and at the end EVEN Mum cried! HA!! Adnan did not cry but he did try to do an impression of E.T. phoning home which was the worst and funniest thing I have ever seen. Imagine a six foot bodybuilder on his knees sticking his finger in the air saying ‘Hone Hone!’
8.25 p.m.
Yes Mum, I am upstairs because I don’t want to watch the bloody Birds of a Feather Christmas special.
Wednesday 26.12.90
10.11 p.m.
I really feel like the fat old aunty who is there when there are problems then rejected when life gets good again. I’m taking up bloody knitting and getting into Cliff.
No I’m not getting into Cliff. No-one is getting into Cliff! HA HA HA!!
I think me and Cliff Richard have more in common than me and Madonna and Kylie. Especially now Kylie is sexy as hell and Madonna is taking over French hotels with orgy parties. Meanwhile me and Cliff are eating a box of Roses and watching Noel’s Christmas Presents – which was the loveliest thing ever.
Thursday 27.12.90
11.10 p.m.
I’ve sent my UCCA thing in to accept my offer at Hull. I am now absolutely neurotic that I have ticked the ‘You reject the offer’ box BUT I haven’t. I checked it at least 1000 times and got stuck by the main post office letterboxes. An old man said to me ‘Just send it love.’ It’s all right for him to say, he hasn’t got a fucked mind.
That’s bad. That old man was probably in the war and never got a chance to doss at uni. He’s probably got a B.A. in killing Germans and still has nightmares about their dead faces. My great granddad did. War is shit. I don’t know why we still do it.
Friday 28.12.90
11.47 p.m.
I’m feeling so mad tonight. I’m trying to make sense of it.
Part of it is still leaving school.
Things were so different there. It was such security and such a laugh. It was friendship – it was just brilliant. Sometimes I think I had too much fun – it makes it harder. I’ve just spent the night with a load of my old school mates. It reminds you what you had everyday. I just took it all for granted.
And then there’s the really mad stuff. When I’m with NORMAL people, when I’m sitting with them I wonder what they do in secret.
How many of them, how many people of my age, IN FACT ANY AGE beat themselves up in order to stop God punishing them or to stop bad stuff happening.
I’m worried that I might really hurt myself and t
hen people might think, when I’ve had a stroke or something, that someone else has beaten me up. But they haven’t. If you’re reading this and I’m dead know I’ve hit myself for years. It’s my fault I’ve had a brain haemorrhage or a stroke.
How many people check food for being poisoned, wash their hands 100 times, think their thoughts can hurt people, think their lack of prayer causes misery, are so paranoid that they think that everyone is scheming to get them.
Is all this shit just me? Or do I just hide it the best and not get locked away?
I’m all over the place.
At the same time though I’m happy, I’m me. Lots of girls I know don’t know shit about music. What’s the point?
I’m so fat. External exterior shows a complete lack of love. I think I do have a slow metabolism. But let’s not get too technical. I’m a fucking pig.
All of this is predictable shit you’ve heard all before. I’m bored too. I have bored myself senseless. Fundamentally I’m a twat.
Where is this all going? Rae Earl – who the hell is she and where is she going?
Saturday 29.12.90
10.34 p.m.
My stars said that I shouldn’t think so much. So I won’t. Goodnight.
Sunday 30.12.90
9.35 p.m.
I rang Mort tonight. She told me she’s going abroad on a trip all round South Africa. God I will miss her. It feels like my leg is being cut off. I can’t imagine not being able to go down the phone box and ring her up to make sense of all this shit in my head. She always calms me down. She always helps me out. She saves me from shit time after time. How am I going to cope when she’s miles and miles away in a country that does not have decent communications?! They’ve only just let Nelson Mandela out of prison. To be fair they’ve had more important things on their minds than having a decent phone box network but still . . .
