My Dating Disasters Diary (22 page)

On the way home from school Liz was on at me about
Jason again. She said, 'Now are you going to admit the
fortune-teller was talking rubbish?'

'Totally not. She said I'd meet someone famous with
the initials PC. And he's definitely famous.'

'She's right,' Stephanie said. 'He isn't Jason but he is
famous.'

'Oh yeah, and how is he going to have a big effect on
your life then?' Liz giggled. 'Maybe he's going to invite
you back to the palace, then send you off to school at
Eton.'

I laughed. 'Eton's just for boys and you have to wear
naff clothes. No thanks. Palace might be OK though.'

Steered the subject away from Jason, but I hadn't given
up hope. Somehow I know deep down that Jason and I
are fated to meet one day. After all, the fortune-teller also
told me that I would find True Love early. And I think I'm
beginning to love Jason more than anyone I've ever
known.

Oh my God. Don't believe it. Smashed are doing a concert
in Glasgow on December 11th. It's fate. I really
am
going
to meet him. Only problem is, tickets are forty pounds
each.

Liz says she can't come as it's too dear, and anyway
Zach is in rehab again and it's rumoured the band are
kicking him out so he probably wouldn't be there, but
Stephanie says she'll come with me. Now all I have to do
is get my parents to fork out the money.

At first Dad said it was too expensive but after I'd
pleaded with him for several hours he gave in.

'OK, love, if it really means that much to you, I'll do it.'

I threw my arms around him. 'Thanks, Dad.'

'Ah, well, eighty pounds is a bit steep to listen to four
eejits singing crap songs and cavorting around on stage
like drunken chimpanzees, but if it makes you happy—'

'It's only forty pounds, Dad. Stephanie will pay for
herself.'

'Aye, well, obviously I'll have to come with you. I'm
not having you and Stephanie on your own at night with
all those dodgy characters around.'

'NO!' I screamed. 'You can't come with me. I'd be a
laughing stock.'

But Dad wouldn't give in. And I refused to go with
him. Hate my dad. How can I ever grow up if he treats me
like a five-year-old?

Mum, thank God, has sided with me. 'For Christ's sake,
she's fifteen, not five. And there's no way you're going to
a boy band concert like some dirty old pervert among all
those young lassies. Now get on that phone after your
dinner and book her a ticket.'

'Thanks, Mum.'

Dad called but all the tickets are gone. The guy said they
sold out in the first hour. Am gutted. But Jason will be in
Glasgow in December. And no matter what, I am totally
determined to find him.

Mrs Conner is definitely organizing an anti-monarchy
protest on the day of Prince Charles's visit. Our head
teacher is fuming but there's nothing he can do as Mrs
Conner is insisting that the right to peaceful protest in a
democracy is sacrosanct.

People have been making placards during English
periods and the head objected to this 'frivolous waste of
teaching time'. But Mrs Conner pointed out that the
purpose of English was to communicate, and what could
be more important than communicating one's disapproval
of the constitutional status quo and the need for
reform. In any case it was far more educational than
scrubbing floors and polishing banisters.

Don't know why anyone bothers to argue with Mrs
Conner. I mean, they've got as much chance of winning
an argument with her as I have of winning a wet T-shirt
contest.

Liz agrees with Mrs Conner and will be joining the
protest. Her placard says DOWN WITH MONARCHY. Gary is
joining for a laugh. His placard is shaped like a guillotine
and says, OFF WITH THEIR HEADS in red letters with blobs
dripping off the end of each word like blood. He was
made to change it to PENSION THEM OFF but told he could
keep the guillotine shape.

Mrs Conner's said,
THE CONCEPT OF MONARCHY IS ARCHAIC IN A MATURE DEMOCRACY AND MUST NOT BE TOLERATED. WE SHOULD ASPIRE TO BE EMPOWERED CITIZENS, NOT SUBJECTS
. I thought it was kind of long for a placard
myself – the writing was so small you could hardly read
it, but whatever.

The only support from other staff has come from our modern
studies teacher and Mr Stewart, the physics teacher, who always wears a kilt
and sporran to work. He believes in monarchy but says the Queen isn't the
rightful heir to the throne. He says he's traced the line from Mary Queen
of Scots to the present day and the real Queen is a chiropodist in Govan called
Fiona. His placard reads:
IMPOSTERS OUT
!

Emailed Jason. Surely if the interfering web manager sees
the kind of people I associate with, he'll realize I'm not an
ordinary fan and make sure Jason gets this.

To: Jason
From: Kelly Ann
Subject: Prince Charles

Hi Jason

How are things? Hope you're having a great time in
LA this weekend.

Anyway, just to let you know I'll be meeting up with
Charles next week. Of course I mean Prince Charles
(heir to the throne). We'll probably chat a bit about the
environment 'cos, like you, we're both kinda keen on
it. Just wondered if there's anything you'd like me to
bring up while we're on the subject?

Gotta go now.

Bye!

Love Kelly Ann xxxxxxx

Am starting to feel a bit nervous about meeting Prince
Charles. He really is a Very Important Person after all.
OK, I know Mrs Conner doesn't think so, but I've never
met anyone so famous. I mean, he's been on TV loads of
times and his mum's face is on stamps and money. You
can't get much more famous than that.

At least Stephanie and Chris will be with me.
Stephanie was picked because of her posh voice and
Chris because Mr Menzies asked Stephanie to
recommend a boy in our year and she chose him. Mr
Menzies seems to think Stephanie is totally responsible
just because her parents have got money. Just shows how
wrong a person can be.

Chris and Stephanie aren't that keen on being part of
the welcome group but they don't seem at all worried.

Unlike Mr Menzies, who's really freaking out about
Prince Charles's visit. He's had all the corridor floors not
just brushed and mopped but polished as well. They're
now so shiny Terry Docherty says you can see girls'
knickers reflected in them (which you
so
cannot, but some
idiot girls are walking around with their knees squeezed
together anyway), and Miss McElwee slipped and hurt
her hip. Mr Menzies wasn't very sympathetic, even
though she had to go to hospital for an X-Ray. Just asked
her if she'd still be able to do the cucumber sandwiches
and vol au vents for the Prince's visit.

Mr Menzies has also had all the windows washed,
walls repainted and fake grass put on the football pitch,
which he said was too muddy. But the most stupid thing
was the toilets.

Went in at break today and they were lovely –
sparkling clean, jasmine scented and, best of all, every
cubicle had fat rolls of three-ply ultra-soft toilet paper.
However, before I could use our new luxury facilities we
were ordered out and the janitor locked the doors. He
told us we wouldn't be able to use them again until after
the Prince's visit in case we messed them up.

Tried to argue with him. I mean, Prince Charles wasn't
likely to want to use or inspect the girls' toilets, but he
wouldn't budge. Said he'd got his orders from the head
teacher and that was that.

Of course he also locked the boys' toilets but had to
reopen them when the boys threatened to pee in the
glossy corridors if he didn't. They weren't allowed to use
the cubicles though.

By home time I was bursting and wasn't sure I would
make it to my house. Liz suggested I go behind some
bushes in the park – she would keep a lookout for me. But
I was too scared someone would see me, especially as it
was winter and most of the bushes didn't have leaves.

'Did you know,' Liz said, 'that a pregnant woman is
allowed to pee anywhere she likes in the UK? Even in a
policeman's helmet? It's the law.'

'Well, um, right, Liz, thanks, but I think it might be
quicker for me to just hurry home to my own toilet than
get myself pregnant and ask for a policeman's helmet.'

'Good point,' Liz said and laughed.

Which made me laugh too. Unfortunately.

Am really nervous about meeting the Prince. What if I say
or do something wrong? Our head teacher will go mental.
Hardly slept last night thinking about it.

Called Chris, who said not to worry, I'd be fine, and in
any case there would be so many people we would have
hardly any time to say anything.

That's true at least. As well as the three of us, there's a
fifth-year swot who plays the violin and goes to spelling
tournaments, the head girl and boy, and two other sixth
years. Anyway, the Prince will probably spend most of
the time talking to our head teacher and Mr Smith.

Still, there's bound to be photographs – maybe even
for the papers – so I need to look good. Don't want Jason
to find some awful picture of me with spots, greasy hair
and crumpled clothes.

Have ironed my skirt and polished my shoes like
Angela would and laid everything out for tomorrow.
Have also asked Mum to wake me early so I've plenty of
time to get ready. Can't wait for tomorrow to be over.

Mum woke me at seven but I was tired as I'd taken ages to get to sleep last
night; I decided to just go back to sleep for half an hour.

Oh God – ten past nine already! I'm late. I've missed
registration, obviously, but if I get a move on I might
possibly make the meeting with Prince Charles. Just as
well I got my stuff ready last night.

Scrambled into my clothes, snatched up my bag and
ran out. Damn. Forgot shoes and had to run back in.
Found a polo mint in my blazer pocket and crunched it.
Not much of a breakfast but at least it would stop my
breath smelling as I hadn't had time to do my teeth.

Jogged all the way. Knocked over a toddler which was
attached to its mum with reins so they both went down.
Felt bad but there was no time to waste. Outside the post
office I also barged into a pensioner who was a lot sprier
than he looked and managed to whack me with his walking
stick as I ran off.

Finally got to the school gates, where a small crowd of
protestors (including Liz and Mrs Conner) were gathered
with their placards. Also saw that – oh my God – it was
him
on the steps leading to the main school entrance.
Prince Charles was already there, chatting to Mr Menzies,
whose head was tilted to the side, nodding like he'd
broken his neck and couldn't control it.

Liz spotted me and shrieked, 'Kelly Ann. No! Go back
home!'

I ignored her and ran towards the steps and right up to
the welcome group. The head teacher didn't see me at
first, though the others, including Chris, stared at me
open-mouthed and eyes wide like they'd just seen a yeti
or something.

Honestly. Couldn't they be a bit more discreet? I was
only a minute late after all. Chances were the Prince
wouldn't realize if they'd just stop gawping at me.

Mr Menzies hadn't noticed as he was totally involved
in grovelling to the Prince, his balding head bobbing up
and down, body bent so low he looked like he planned to
kiss Prince Charles's feet any moment.

I sidled along behind them and stood at the end of the
queue beside Chris, who annoyed me by shoving me
away and sort of pointing with his eyes for me to leave.
Everyone else seemed to be doing the same, especially
Stephanie.

No way. I was going to stay here and talk to Prince
Charles like I was supposed to. Anyway, it would look
really rude if I just went off now, like I'd got bored waiting
or something.

Mr Menzies was saying, 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I
couldn't agree more, sir.'

Then the Prince turned to Mr Smith, who was next in
line. I'd thought Mr Menzies hadn't noticed me coming
late but he must have realized now, because when he saw
me his humble smile vanished and he looked so furious I
thought he was going to have a heart attack. His whole
face went a purply red and the veins on his bald head
stood out like climbing ropes and started pulsing. Oh
God, I would be in trouble after this. Wish I hadn't been
late, but it was only a few minutes after all.

Anyway, if the Prince noticed, he didn't let on,
just continued to move down the line, smiling and
talking to people. Obviously he had the good
manners to overlook small stuff like this. Unlike our
head, who was showing up his commoner background.

The Prince made his way down the line until he came
to Chris. 'So, young man, you intend to do medicine.
Excellent. Marvellous. Tell me, what are your views on
homeopathy?'

'Um, well, it has its place, sir.'

'Indeed, yes. Wonderful.'

Couldn't help smiling at that as Chris has always said
it's superstitious crap.

Then it was my turn. At first I nearly clammed up completely.
Well, I've never talked to anyone famous or with
such a posh voice before. But Prince Charles was great.
Really dead nice and not nearly as stuck up as I'd
expected. From a royal person anyway. He asked how I
was doing at school (not all that great actually, but he
admitted he was pretty duff at some subjects too), what
my hobbies were (not polo) and other stuff, so I was soon
gabbing away, feeling totally at ease about the whole
thing. Kind of hoped if the Prince liked me then the head
would forget to be annoyed later. Finally Prince Charles
asked if I was looking forward to using the new science
and technology centre.