My Fat, Mad Teenage Diary

by Rae Earl

  Bethany left about 20 minutes ago. Mum came straight up and said, ‘What’s wrong with Bethany?’ I said nothing. She said, ‘If she is that upset, Rachel, she should tell her mum.’ I can guarantee it – she has been listening through the door and she knows, and THAT IS CRAP. The walls are so thin in this house. I should know – I’ve found out so much stuff through these walls it’s unbelievable. Like when I found out my parents were getting divorced.

  Wednesday 5.4.89

  7.17 a.m.

  JUST WOKE UP THINKING, ‘WHY is this bed so uncomfortable?’ One of Bethany’s huge earrings was sticking in my backside. Even when she is not here she is winding me up.

  9.23 p.m.

  Sat here trying to make sense of it all. Rang Mort about Bethany. She won’t say anything to anyone. Mort doesn’t think she is pregnant and thinks she is just being a drama queen. She does agree with me, though, that Vroom sounds like a total pranny. I rang Bethany after Mort – she couldn’t talk properly because the phone is in her front room and her mum was watching Coronation Street. She could give me one-word answers, though. She hasn’t come on yet, she still thinks she is pregnant, and she is going to do the test tomorrow.

  Really feel for her. I know she winds me up but she is a good friend really and I hate falling out with people – I hate the atmosphere.

  Thursday 6.4.89

  11.02 p.m.

  BETHANY IS NOT PREGNANT. GENUINELY relieved for her. She did the test in Red Lion Square toilets because she didn’t want to risk doing it at home! She also showed me the carpet burns on her back she had got from doing it on Pretty Boy’s parents’ en-suite shower-room floor. ‘They only have a thin carpet.’ Then she was moaning about her clothes, saying the last time her mum had bought her a new coat it was for the school ski trip to Val d’Isère, and even then it was from C&A.

  God, my life is so boring. Just telly and crisps in this room, and other people’s stories. I’d love a boyfriend. I’d love these dramas.

  Oh, stop being pathetic, Rae. I piss myself off.

  Friday 7.4.89

  11.35 p.m.

  WELL, I’VE BEEN TRYING TO get my work done with little success. I’ve nearly done my theatre arts but that leaves US politics (massive!!), British politics, British history and English.

  Just been down the pub with Dobber. Brilliant – a total smash and everything. But I still don’t seem to be getting much interest from the boys. Dobber suggested my suede jacket from the Congregational Hall jumble sale is a bit musty and off-putting. Musty, it may be – it was also only 15p. She was just being kind anyway. I know what is putting men off. And I can’t just take it off when I get home. I have to live in it.

  Bethany and Pretty Boy had a row towards the end of tonight. It’s not exactly clear-cut but it looks like she told him she’d had a pregnancy scare and he freaked out big time. Not that badly, though, because they were eating each other’s faces by the end of the night.

  Mum has refused to get a home phone again. Cow.

  Saturday 8.4.89

  4.10 p.m.

  MUM GOT A LETTER THIS morning – and she announced that she is going to Morocco to see the husband in June. Which means – FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE house!!!

  BRILLIANT!!!!

  And just in time for the first week of the summer holidays!! YES!!!

  It’s weird, though – she seemed a bit upset. Actually more angry than upset. She usually shoves letters behind the clock on the mantelpiece but this one she put straight in her bag so I couldn’t examine it. As predicted by me ages ago, I KNOW something is going on.

  Going to the pub later with Dobber.

  Read my horoscope. It said, ‘Meet the chaos head on. You are short of cash on the 12th.’ When am I NOT short of cash?

  Sunday 9.4.89

  EastEnders omnibus is on so . . . 2-ish?

  NOT LONG GOT UP. GOT in late last night. Great in the pub with Dobber, Fig, Haddock and Battered Sausage. Then we all went back to Dobber’s to watch TV. Ended up watching The Hitman and Her with this bit in a club where the men rate the women out of ten and vice versa. The boys were playing along at home and giving really low scores to some of the women on there who were a lot better-looking and thinner than me. They were saying stuff like, ‘She’s a ten-pinter.’ I mean, what do these blokes want? It was totally depressing. Battered Sausage gave me a lift home in Clarence the Cortina. I got in, made some toast and watched pages from Ceefax until Mum shouted at me to stop eating and come to bed. It all went really flat at the end. If blokes give women scores, fuck knows what mine is. Don’t want to think.

  No Luke last night.

  7.14 p.m.

  Mum just showed me the Great Universal Catalogue, trying to get me interested. What’s the point? Everything in there only goes up to size 14 – nothing fits. And the week she can’t afford the payments it will be me who goes to the door to say she’s not in, even when she is. There’s no point buying new nice clothes till I am a size 10. It’s pointless dressing nicely now. It’d be like putting Chanel on a turd.

  Monday 10.4.89

  10.20 p.m.

  IJUST CAN’T GET MY BLOODY A-level work done.

  I’ve put it off for yet another day. Just can’t be bothered with it. Sat in my bedroom with me portable telly. Just broke the on/off switch so having to turn it off and on by prising the knob out with nail scissors. Sometimes it feels like everything is going wrong. Even with the things that are wrong already. I’m the only girl at school that still has a TV with a DIAL to find the channels rather than buttons. Waiting for Come Dancing to come on at 11.

  I want to write more. I’ve got that mad feeling. It’s weird. I really want to go out with Luke but it’s not likely to happen. That’s life – it’s cruel but it’s life. I’m not making the same mistake of getting totally infatuated and making a complete fool of myself. I do feel a picture of the legendary Luke is in order. Actually scrap that. I can’t do him justice with a biro.

  Why is he so attractive? He is sarcastic, bitchy, funny, affectionate. BUT I’M NOT GETTING MY HOPES UP. I can’t believe I ever fancied Harry. I can’t believe I went out with him – he’s just not my type, whatever that is. So quiet – I just fell for that sweet Aquarian face . . . but I shan’t do that again.

  11.45 p.m.

  Here I am watching some telly. To think that not long ago there was no night-time TV. Now there’s Prisoner Cell Block H, then the People’s Choice Awards – whatever that is.

  I wish someone was here with me now. Just beside me, holding me – giving me that warm feeling and really meaning it. I wish I could take it and give it back. I completely know I could – to the right person. But it’ll have to be someone I really trust with my heart – and he will take some finding.

  I never want to end up in prison. Especially in Australia. They are all lesbos. And the only job you get is in the laundry doing whatever the ‘top dog’ wants you to do.

  Tuesday 11.4.89

  11.45 a.m.

  ASTRANGE TIME TO BE WRITING, I know. I’ve just cut up my diary (old one). It looks so weird. A part of my past wrapped up in yesterday’s edition of the Daily Mirror and tied in a dirty shoelace. Now I’m going to burn the bloody thing. Appalling. Let me quote one line: ‘I’m too busy with a commitment to Tom Cruise to bother with a boyfriend.’

  In proper talk that means ‘I have to fancy a film star because no one fancies me.’

  Ahhh . . . the fragrant joys of bullshit.

  Sad thing is, two years on nothing has changed. My boyfriends are still imaginary.

  Wednesday 12.4.89

  1.23 a.m.

  WATCHING MORE TV.

  Not the best evening. Forgot I had written my old diary on that paper that doesn’t burn very well. Used the old Qualcast mower’s metal grass-collector to burn it in. It created an unbelievable amount of smoke and you could still read half the stuff in it. Then Mum came home from Nan’s and went mad. Usual crap.

  Then just went for a late-night walk, and Mum kill
ed me and grounded me. I only went for a quick midnight walk – it’s not as if I’m taking heroin! She is so lucky to have me.

  Had good conversation with Bethany today. I don’t feel loved by anyone basically, but I hate pity. Actually if pity helps me lose my virginity I will live with it.

  Bethany doesn’t think I’m ‘fertive’ enough. That’s her term for tarting. Flirtation never was my thing, was it? Things will start to heat up once we are back at school hopefully.

  I know the real reason. The weight. Everyone skirts around it but pretty girls at school don’t have to flirt. If they just stood there gutting fish, blokes would still want to do them.

  The BBC close-down has just come on. They always have a classic public information film – oh no, it’s the one about Rabies! No! No! It’s ‘BAG IT AND BIN IT’!!

  I know this routine like the back of my hand. The announcer will say, ‘That was a public information film.’ YES, DEAR, WE KNOW AND, YES, I ALSO KNOW THAT YOUR COLLEAGUES AT RADIO 2 ARE STILL THERE THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT!!! What’s your name? Something David? I bet you are going home to someone – even though you have a beard and wear corduroy.

  National Anthem! Marvellous! Can’t be bothered to stand up.

  I know this routine back to front because I can’t sleep. Stuff races through my head.

  Weird thoughts bad today.

  Tuesday 18.4.89

  SCHOOL WAS A BLOODY NIGHTMARE today. Everybody seemed to be in a state about exams. Lots of comparing of revision timetables. I have done basically fuck all. It’s only mocks. All the people who are going to apply to Oxford and Cambridge (aka not me) seem to think their lives will end if their predicted grades aren’t any good. Mort is applying to Cambridge. I hope she gets in – but what if this changes her, and changes our friendship? I hope not. They say people who go to Cambridge come out arrogant.

  Bloody minestrone main meal for lunch. Don’t know what it’s meant to be but it’s slop in a bowl. Everyone comparing diets too. Daisy is on one peanut-butter roll a day because she thinks she has a fat backside. It’s not big – just big compared to the rest of her.

  Had more chats with Bethany about men and sex. My worst fear is recognised. Well, not my worst probably, but on its way. Apparently boys find ME intimidating! I overpower them. According to Bethany I am too much. Can’t be fagged to write any more. All shit.

  Wednesday 19.4.89

  6.20 p.m.

  TODAY AT SCHOOL WE HAD to watch the spectacle of Daisy eating her one roll a day in the common room. First she licked the peanut butter off bit by bit. Then she dabbed her finger and got the flour off the cob. Then she basically ate the bread crumb by crumb. It was pathetic and watching her put me off food. Georgia Manton kept wafting a packet of barbecue beef Hula Hoops in front of her face, which was a bit cruel. Daisy was saying stuff like, ‘Honestly I am not hungry’ – but with a waft of roast beef from the canteen you could see her drooling big time.

  I don’t think I could ever diet. I can’t imagine life without crisps, roasts, chocolate and Primula cheese.

  Thursday 20.4.89

  LISTENING TO ‘BAT OUT OF HELL’ by Meat Loaf. That song was written for poor sods everywhere like me who are stuck in crap little towns. A town that you are desperate to get out of – even if it means dying in the process.

  Actually I am not that desperate now but there are times when I have been.

  Daisy gave in today and ended up eating two helpings of angel whip – the school’s cheap version of Angel Delight. It seemed bizarre as it’s actually total crap and not worth having a big arse for.

  Tomorrow is Friday, believe it or not, fact fans, and I feel there may be a distinct possibility of seeing a lesser spotted Luke if one goes to the regular jaunts – i.e. the Vaults or the Hole in the Wall – over the weekend. Then again, maybe at the next major party. Why on earth didn’t I confront my distinct fancy for Luke at the onset?

  Well, I would say there is as much chance of me getting off with Luke as there is of Arthur Scargill getting off with Margaret Thatcher. Nil.

  Friday 21.4.89

  6.47 p.m.

  IHAVE MOVED ON THIS YEAR. Things HAVE changed. So, romance-wise, ladies and gentlemen, what have I learnt so far this year?

  1) Be ‘fertive’ – entails everything from mild conversation to caressing of legs, arms, knees, necks, ears, etc.

  2) French kissing is the widely acceptable getting of a kiss, and not as previously thought restricted to married couples of over 50 years. (Call me old-fashioned..

  3) Men don’t like to be overpowered or intimidated.

  4) Men don’t like it when you tell them you’d like to marry them.

  5) I am capable of mild romance.

  6) Infatuation on an individual basis is not a good idea.

  However, key dates where love action MAY be the order of the day:

  7 May – big gig at the Scotgate pub with the bloke from Stamford School who thinks he is Howard Jones. Crap music but everyone is going, and apparently a two-year-old could get served in the Scotgate.

  12 May – party. May not get invite, though – depends on various connections.

  Luke, it is speculated, will attend both. Bethany is here now so I’m buggering off – might be back later. She sounds chesty. Too many fags. She reckons they keep her thin.

  I need love like LL Cool J!

  What that has got to do with Bethany sounding chesty I don’t know.

  Saturday 22.4.89

  JUMBLE SALE AT SCHOOL RAISED about £500 for Blue Peter or someone. Everyone was doing it for their Duke of Edinburgh Award because it counts towards the Bronze. No, it doesn’t mean anything to me either. The best thing is, I got this fantastic tweed jacket. Smells a bit fusty but after a couple of days in the chest of drawers with lavender bags it will be fine.

  Went pub tonight. Started off in the Hole in the Wall and SAW LUKE. Stuck my tongue out at him and he stuck it back. I HAD HOPE! Luke then was seen ‘fertively’ caressing his girlfriend’s back as he led her out.

  Pain. Agony. Heartbreak.

  Then went to the Vaults. Usual crowd in there including Dobber, Fig, Haddock and Battered Sausage. Battered Sausage has started calling me ‘Slug’. He claims it’s nothing to do with my weight but it makes the other lads laugh and it makes Dobber scowl. I went in a bit of a stomp and Haddock of all people told Battered Sausage to stop it. He is an arrogant prick but he has his moments. He then went off and argued with his girlfriend all night. It’s all they seem to do. Luke came in later with his girlfriend and they sat there looking at each other. All bloody night.

  Came home a bit pissed and a bit pissed off. I hate fancying people who don’t fancy me back – i.e. everybody. And I fancy Luke even more now. IT’S NOT FAIR.

  Sunday 23.4.89

  10.45 p.m.

  IDID FEEL EXTREMELY PISSED OFF today. Eventually went to Film Society at the boys’ school. Watched The Blues Brothers, which was aceamay. Cheered up immensely with sighting of Luke. Conversation went like this:

  ME: Luke, you floozy!

  LUKE (acknowledgement of greeting): Hello, Rae, pregnant with promise! (This relates to a joke that we have about a Cardinal Wolsey A-level question.)

  ME (then I got nervous and said something that defies sense): Have you got a safety pin? My trousers are falling down.

  LUKE: No, sorry, dear, I haven’t.

  WHY DID I SAY THAT???

  Anyway, later down the pub Bethany said to Luke, ‘Do you like Rae?’ Then he said, ‘We have a laugh, but I’m going out with someone else.’

  Typical!!

  I can’t expect wonders, I know.

  Off to London tomorrow for A-level politics trip to see Tony Benn, Paddy Ashdown, Norman Tebbit and David Owen. Should be interesting.

  Monday 24.4.89

  10.46 p.m.

  B RILLIANT DAY. ME, MORT AND everyone got the back seat – I know it’s like we are 12 but it’s a tradition. We ate our lunch stupidly early, so we were starving by th
e time we got to London, even though Jessica Dunford had bought 27 bags of sweets. When we got into the place we were the only ones with bloody school uniform on, and MISS STALIN DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS BYRON had come on the other bus so we had to sit there like something out of Enid Blyton. The thing itself was brilliant except for hundreds of public schoolboys with fat wedge haircuts jeering Tony Benn. It was great, though, when someone yelled from the back of the auditorium, ‘TWAT!’ when John Selwyn Gummer was talking. I could see Miss Byron grimacing during Tony Benn. You don’t get to be headmistress of a private school and not be a Thatcher love-child. She wants to try two weeks in a shitty council house and then see who she supports. Thank God for Ben Elton opening my eyes to it all. My mum votes Conservative – FUCK knows why. It’s almost like habit.

  Wonder if I should consider politics? ‘Now here’s a broadcast by the Fat and Needs a Snog Party!’ My manifesto would be ‘If you take the piss out of a fat person you should be force-fed until you are a whale, and then see how you like it.’

  Tuesday 25.4.89

  5.58 p.m.

  CAREERS DAY AT SCHOOL TODAY. Everyone trotting back to the sixth-form block with prospectuses and brochures and HOPE. I go along there. Teacher asks me what I would like to do. I say children’s TV presenter, like Caron Keating (funny and pretty). She looks bemused, then says, ‘Well, go to university and get a degree – that’s a good start.’ (WHY???!!!)

  Then she suggests I think about GOING INTO THE ARMY!!

  WHY? WHY? WHY?

  I HATE getting up early, I HATE being yelled at, and I HATE short hair. Do these people KNOW me? DO THEY CARE?!

  Wednesday 26.4.89

  9.20 p.m.

  UNBELIEVABLY MUM AGREES THE ARMY would be good for me. PARDON??? For fuck’s sake! Is that all I am good for? Marching in a scratchy jumper? I’ve been with all girls for the past six years – why would they want to put me in ANOTHER lesbo atmosphere? I don’t want it. I am just written off constantly because I am fat, skint, mad and loud. For all these people know, somewhere in my brain could be the cure for cancer. But OH NO – I have just got to wear navy blue all my life and do what other people say.