by Rae Earl
2) I have NOTHING to wear. They don’t do ball dresses in aged 19, losing weight but still bloody fat.
3) I’d be a gooseberry anyway because Battered Sausage has got a permanent woman. She’s pretty, rich, loaded, probably clever as hell. Oh – I’m not ready. I want to shove people up the bum. I want to make a glide-in beautiful Oscar red carpet entrance. Not a stomp, stomp, stomp elephant entrance.
Mort is back on Saturday. Thank GOD.
I’m currently sitting at my desk with the window wide open because apparently there is going to be an Aurora e.g. loads of flashing mad lights in the sky but all I can see is darkness except for Mrs Bark still working. It’s now 11.15 p.m. She gets up at 4! Does the woman ever sleep?!
Mrs Bark has gone to bed she’s in her pink nightdress. And if she complains to Mum about me looking – CLOSE YOUR BLOODY CURTAINS!
Saturday 15.6.91
9.12 a.m.
MORT’S BACK!!! She landed this morning at 6 a.m. or something. I wonder when it’s OK to ring.
10.45 a.m.
Apparently she’s really jet lagged and asleep! Fine but I want to speak to her Mr Mort. I think asking him to wake her though would be a bit selfish so I’ll wait till tomorrow.
Sunday 16.6.91
3.12 p.m.
Just spoke to Mort for ages. It’s OK now she’s just in Oasby to talk to her forever. She asked me about Poland. I said ‘Yeah – I’m really looking forward to it.’ She said ‘I know but I bet you are shitting yourself a bit.’ I told her I totally was. There is rabies in central Europe, what if I get appendicitis or meningitis or we have a car crash or they decide they want to be communist again and we are stuck there forever? Mort said ‘Rae – it’s going to be OK and I am there.’ She’s right. It won’t stop me being in a total state but Mort knows me and she can calm me down. I wish she was going to Hull but she’s way smarter than me and she’s going to St Andrews. I could never go there even if I was mega-brain because it’s in another country!! It’s a 6 hour train journey. SIX HOURS. If you have a panic attack there and need to get home you would have to call the coastguard and use their helicopter.
What if I lose it in Poland though? I can’t think they are used to mad people. Well they are – they used to run the country! I mean mad people like me.
It’s going to be OK
It IS going to be OK
I am going to take control like the psychiatrist says. I’m going to listen to music, go for a walk and keep it together.
I must take loads of batteries. So I’m never in a no music situation. Mum can use her staff discount card and completely empty the Duracell rack.
Monday 17.6.91
1.32 p.m.
According to sources ‘in the know’ the phone bill will arrive next week bringing with it –
1) One reverse charge call from South Africa.
2) About 3 half hour conversations with Dobber in Canterbury.
3) A few calls to Battered Sausage in Exeter. They are long because they have to go and get him from his room.
Tuesday 18.6.91
6.12 p.m.
Mum said to me today ‘Go and weigh yourself Rach – you’ve lost a lot of weight. Everybody is saying so. Go to Boots and see how well you’ve done. I’ll give you the 20p.’
My jeans are hanging off me. Well I can’t really wear them anymore. Leggings are good.
Perhaps I should do it.
People are saying lovely things to me. I don’t write them here. It’s seems big headed and I still feel . . . I don’t feel right. I don’t feel like the woman I thought I would feel. I still want to be in my jeans. Just I need a belt these days.
Actually if I go to Boots and show Mum how much weight I’ve lost it might slightly take the sting out of the phone bill.
Wednesday 19.6.91
7.12 p.m.
I went to Boots at about 10.30 this morning. It’s before the lunch rush but after all the pensioners have got their blood pressure medicines.
Anyway I am 11 stone 6.
I have lost THREE stone.
That’s MASSIVE.
Three stone.
When I told Mum she said ‘Rachel – that is FANTASTIC. You must be so proud!’
I told her yes.
Yes. No. I’m just thinner. I still feel fat in my head. I still feel like the . . . thing. The ugly thing. Deep inside I want to be sexy but I’m lost. Perhaps I just need to lose more. Get more normal sized and THAT’S when it all happens. That’s when you just become like the other girls – that prettiness, that woman thing. Not the Rae in-between thing.
But I’ll still have a mad head. I’ll just have a mad head in a size 12 dress.
Ignore me. I can’t cope with any change even if it’s good.
Thursday 20.6.91
9.23 p.m.
When is Haddock coming back? I would like to see his reaction to all this.
Why am I waiting on a bloody man who has NEVER snogged me just bloody confused me?
Top of the Pops tonight featured a song called ‘People Are Still Having Sex’.
1) People are actually making money from stating the bloody obvious and putting a dance track behind it.
2) It was LAME. It was hardly Frankie talking about gay orgasms.
3) I am NOT having sex.
Friday 21.6.91
I sent Hull accommodation off. It took about an hour to check it. Aristotle told me which one to go for – Ferens. It’s a traditional hall so you get your food BUT it’s on the Lawns complex in Cottingham so it’s near the student bar.
Why can’t I just send things off. I’m always convinced I’ve written ‘Fuck you!’ on things. I get random people in the post office to check and pretend it’s to check if people can read my handwriting.
I write it. It’s NUTS. I can’t stop it though. WHY?!
It’s the year’s longest day. I’m starving for longer.
At least this diet is working – but for what?
I’m less out of breath but Etam is still out of reach.
Sunday 23.6.91
11.45 p.m.
Today is the sort of day when I’d rather be just about anyone instead of me. My head is . . . it’s like a fire not even the best pop can put out. I’m so scared of having Breakdown Number 2. That makes it sound like a film! It would be a shit sequel. It would be exactly the same as the first one. I’d be convinced I was dying, hurting myself, hurting others, rambling for hours and hours whilst psychiatrists encouraged me to talk about my experiences with people at least twice my age. What good does talking do? Does it really fix things? They bury dead people for a reason. Why can’t we just bury bad things and memories too? Raking it up. What is it like when a man touches you and you’re a kid and you don’t want him to? When he scrapes his hand across your groin LIKE IT’S HIS. Well clearly Mr Twat Psychiatrist it’s FUCKING AWFUL. Is this a trick question? Now let’s throw a beanbag at someone else and make them answer a horrible question.
Balls to it. Balls to HIM. I bloody LOVE MEN. I bloody love them. There are good ones everywhere.
Writing. Not talking. THAT makes me feel better. Now FUCK OFF Dr Tossface with your silly theories.
Oh he was only trying to help.
Ignore me. I’m in a foul mood. Color Me Badd are still number one.
Tuesday 25.6.91
8.23 p.m.
I’m so scared of fucking up the good things in my life. I just feel everyone is growing out of me.
To make this situation better I really should stop going on about how good Take Hart was compared to Art Attack. Rae – NO-ONE OVER THE AGE OF 12 CARES.
Friday 28.6.91
9.35 p.m.
I am at Mort’s house because we have a meeting tomorrow in London about Poland. She’s worked out where we are going as I have no clue. She’s brilliant with maps. She’s brilliant with everything. She has a fantastic tan and she has bought me the best present ever – some Nelson Mandela drink coasters! They are FANTASTIC! I will never use them. They
are too good!
Every time you are down you have to remember that life can get better. Nelson Mandela used to be in prison. Now he is a hero and something you can put your cup of tea on. THINGS CHANGE.
Saturday 29.6.91
10.34 p.m.
The Poland meeting seemed to go quite well. We will be going to a place called Œwidnica. It’s quite near the German border. The team we are going with seem lovely – you get paired up with a teacher and you do the lessons together. I’ve got a brilliant lady called Angela – she’s from Hull. HULL! Tell me that place isn’t my destiny?! It pops up everywhere. I made a few jokes in the group sessions that people laughed at. We’ve been told the country is in a transitional state and very different to what we are used to. We need to take batteries and torches, shower gel – everything really. They don’t really get vegetarians so they will mainly live on eggs. If you want to phone home you have to go to a special place in town and book the call.
Yes. Inside I am beyond panic BUT Angela is from Hull. That’s telling me something. And Mort is always going to be there. If I can stick this I can prove everyone wrong. Everyone. Hardly anyone in Stamford has been to Poland – it’s all Torremolinos, or skiing in Italy or Florida. If I do this . . . Even writing it is hard but I can start to put the fuck up away. The nightmare away. I can become what I need to be. And I can lose weight, go Interrailing with Haddock without a panic attack and do it on every train in Europe – and now there’s no Iron Curtain in even more countries!
That last bit was a joke – I just need to calm myself with thoughts of Haddock-based sex adventures.
Sunday 30.6.91
11.00 p.m.
Poland sounds amazing but what if my crazy neurotic-ness fucks things up.
NO. STOP THINKING OF IT.
Jason Donovan is number one. Drippy thing from Joseph but he looks GORGEOUS as hell in his multi-coloured dream coat.
Monday 1.7.91
8.28 p.m.
The sun is shining, the radio is blaring and summer 91 has arrived in splendid form! Whether or not the next three months (is that all?!) can live up to today’s weather is another thing. I hope they can.
Thursday 4.7.91
12.46 a.m.
You know Shellboss was rejected today from somewhere she really wanted to go to and I could say absolutely nothing constructive whatsoever. The girl has helped me through endless horrible stuff, especially this year, and I think I just ended upsetting her more.
God I’m a twat. It should actually be a massive banner over my head: Rae is a twat.
‘Rae is a twat’ fits the Blankety Blank theme tune perfectly.
Friday 5.7.91
11.45 p.m.
I think everyone is back. Tomorrow. I haven’t seen people for ages. It will be amazing to see their reactions to me being less of a fat cow.
It will be BEYOND wonderful if Haddock is out.
Mum says I’ve got to start taking compliments and then started saying stuff like ‘I think sometimes Rachel I’ve been too hard on you. I’ve just didn’t want you to get a big head. There’s nothing worse than a big head.’
There are far worse things than having a big head and being arrogant but it was not time to start a row. The phone bill hasn’t arrived yet.
It was ALMOST an apology for being a dictator mother.
Sunday 7.7.91
3.09 a.m.
WHAT A NIGHT.
REACTIONS TO MY WEIGHT LOSS FROM PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T SEEN ME IN AGES –
Dobber – ‘You look amazing, but you did anyway!’ (she’s just lovely).
Battered Sausage – ‘LESS BIG RAZZA!’ (predictable but half a compliment).
Fig – ‘You’ve lost shitloads of weight. I’ve put some on. It’s all the kebabs.’ (He has – but he’s still good looking and very sweet).
Then Haddock’s girlfriend came in the Vaults. Now she’s been around for months so she’s sort of seen my weight disappear and she’s been really kind about it but she was followed by HADDOCK.
I swear when you haven’t seen him for ages he . . . HE GETS MORE GOOD LOOKING. It’s like he’s taking horny pills or something or I’m just UTTERLY LOVED UP TO THE POINT OF NEAR HEART ATTACK.
He walked in just as Kenny Thomas’ ‘Thinking About Your Love’ was playing on the Vaults jukebox. Me and that jukebox are psychically linked – shit song but lyrics spot on.
I quickly put Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine’s ‘Sheriff Fatman’ on.
He didn’t spot us at first. Then I swore he did a double take and waved. Eventually he came over. It’s the eyes. They are like chocolate. A lovely non fattening chocolate. Like Thornton’s Continental but with zero calories.
Can you tell I’m hungry?
Anyway he looked me straight in the eye and dry- as-a-bone said ‘Have you seen Rae?’ and winked.
I said ‘Piss off – I will have you know I am Rae of which you speak. I’ve just not been eating so many crisps.’
Then he goes ‘Looking good young lady.’
Looking good young lady. It’s hard to come back from that.
And I said ‘Well you look knackered’ (HE DIDN’T – HE LOOKED BEYOND BEAUTY).
He then told me he’d been ‘burning the candle at both ends’ and is going to work all summer. I said I was going to Poland at the end of the month. He just sniffed and said ‘Well we better have a good time while we can then.’
Then we all went to Olivers and we all WENT FOR IT. He still dances like a god.
Now I’m tired but I can’t sleep. I don’t think I can sleep again.
Monday 8.7.91
10.20 p.m.
I was tempted by a pizza tonight that Adnan was scoffing but I have never been so committed to sticking to this. I can do it. I’VE DONE IT and I’m keeping doing it. The weekend proved it.
God – I hope the Poles still have food queues and rations. Oh that’s an awful thought. I just don’t want to get there and put on loads of weight.
Wednesday 10.7.91
9.30 p.m.
If I’m not writing much in this diary it’s because NOTHING AT ALL is going on.
Diets are boring. Weighing out Special K (25 grams!) is dull but essential.
I am totally living for the weekends and of viewings of you know who.
Saturday 13.7.91
11.23 p.m.
Haddock was working tonight. I very nearly had a Pukka Pie and chips in commiseration. The Model Fish Bar smells like SEX when you haven’t been there in a long time but I resisted. I would feel like crap afterwards and just at the time I feel the loss of my virginity nearing more than ever before.
Sunday 14.7.91
10.23 p.m.
Don’t I write total shit at times?
Tuesday 16.7.91
4.55 p.m.
My mum is under the complete control of the all-eating Adnan. It’s very sad – for such a strong woman she disintegrates in relationships. She’s a right pathetic cow. She waits on his every word. Perhaps it’s her generation. That’s the only way they know how to be with men.
And before you say, if I married Haddock I would not moon all over him night and day and wait on his every word and wish. He’d certainly do the washing up, wash his own underpants and do the cooking. I don’t mind doing the hoovering and the driving everywhere. It would be a very equal relationship IF WE EVER GOT OUT OF BED!
Can you imagine if people knew about this?! The world would explode!! His girlfriend certainly would! HA HA HA!!! Even if I do ever go out with him I’m not telling him all this. I know it’s a bit . . . full on.
Wednesday 17.7.91
11.34 p.m.
Thoughts have been bloody awful today.
You never forget being a gooseberry. You never forgive either – both the people who made you one (not their fault) and yourself (YOUR fault).
I want to save the world but I haven’t worked out a way to save myself yet.
Today it was quite funny/tragic really. I had a bad thought on the way
back home, swiped myself hard around my face and two people were behind me. I realised all the tramps and ‘nutters’ I used to avoid and I had become one!
A street nutter.
If my writing is slightly all over the place it’s because I’m trying to avoid watching a woman on TV who’s having a facelift.
I got into the hall of residence I wanted at Hull which was a severe relief.
I can’t stand staying in my room on a night as lovely as this. I want to be a part of it.
Thursday 18.7.91
4.39 a.m.
It’s pissing it down with rain. I hope it does it like this on Saturday night as Battered Sausage reckons he is sleeping down the Meadows!
Having trouble sleeping. Keep thinking about Poland. Can I stick it?
I love ‘Get Ready!’ by Roachford. Says so much of what I want to say. Asks all the questions too.
It was 49p in the bargain bin at Woolworths. Criminal really.
Sunday 21.7.91
3.45 a.m.
Just had the last Saturday night before Mort and me go to Poland.
Battered Sausage’s girlfriend bought him the Bryan Adams number one single shit. We took the piss for 3 hours tonight! We managed to work ‘Everything I Do I Do It For You’ into nearly every sentence we said to him. IT WAS EPIC.
Haddock and me chatted for ages. When he said goodbye he gave me a big hug and said ‘Now be careful and don’t you be running off with a Pole.’
I told him I wouldn’t. I didn’t tell him a photo of him was coming with me to Poland.
It is.
Wednesday 24.7.91
7.46 p.m.
All of us have got to do a special lecture in Poland on British Culture. Naturally I have picked music. They’ve got a video player there so I am going to take a recording of The Rock ‘n’ Roll Years to show them AND I have drawn pictures of hippies and punks. Apparently they didn’t have hardly any Western music and they have only just got MTV.
I would NOT have survived if I had been born in Poland. No way.
Thursday 25.7.91
10.12 p.m.
My suitcase is packed. I’m at Mort’s house now because Mr Mort is driving us to Heathrow tomorrow. I have bought every medicine and drug known to man. I basically emptied Boots today. I don’t think I’ll need corn plasters but I’ve got some. Nan had corns – not 19 year olds!
