My Madder Fatter Diary (2 page)

OK here is the plan for the year 1990.

1) 1990 is literally fraught with looming crises: Health problems reaching a head. What IS wrong with my insides? Will my ovaries ever work? Or have I just got a terrible bloody cancer that no-one has spotted yet?

2) Bloody A levels.

3) Depending on what happens with those leaving Stamford

BLOODY WORRYING

Also . . .

4) Crush (now 5 month crush verging on ridiculous) on Haddock is not actually getting better but steadily worsening. And now there might be some hope that he might like me. In
that
way.

 No Rae. He actually thinks I’m repulsive in
that
way.

5) Trying to appease.

Got BAD January blues. I went too mad over Christmas and there are bloody Brazil nut shells on the landing. I’m not going near the scales. The scales fear me. I fear the scales.

OBJECTIVES

1) Get A levels and get away!

2) Have a bloody good time.

3) Keep cool and calm.

4) Maintain spiritual stability.

5) Try to have some sort of a decent relationship with a real man that exists as a breathing thing.

6) Become a bit of a sex bitch. HA HA HA! Not really. Just a bit.

Anyway here’s to 1990. I can’t believe this diary is going to take me through A levels and Summer holidays and starting uni. Next year I’M 20!! THAT’S SICK!

I need to take this year seriously and concentrate on the things that really matter.

4.24 p.m.

The
Smash Hits Yearbook
is ‘frame that bastard’ EPIC CLASSIC this year. They ask Jon Bon Jovi if he’s ever been sick in his cowboy boots. HA HA HA! Soft rock furry toss ball!

Tuesday 2.1.90

11.46 p.m.

I’ve just been down the pub. The lads were discussing whether or not you should spray deodorant on your cock to be hygienic when you are with ‘a bird’. Haddock was laughing. Haddock does not need Right Guard on his knob. I just know he doesn’t. It’s not a question I would ever ask his girlfriend anyway to be fair.

Haddock was lovely to me but I think he’s forgotten what he did on New Year’s Eve. He only stroked my hair but it wasn’t like me stroking White the cat. It was like . . . a bit sexual. A bit.

Oh perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps he was just being kind. That’s the trouble with Snakebite – it gives you balls but it makes you talk bollocks.

If it does all come to nothing I will just break in two I think. Oh Rae, that’s melodramatic crap. Just masturbate and fuck off. The thing is, it’s not just the shagging with Haddock it’s the mind connection. He just gets it.

It is lots about the sex though as I’m TOTAL HORN.

Wednesday 3.1.90

9.38 p.m.

I’m listening to my Sixties Mania compilation. The Mamas and the Papas are singing something about the worst bit being just before dawn breaks. As if you don’t know if the day is going to dawn at all. IT’S BLOODY DARK let me tell you.

Mum has just been up. Apparently Mama Cass from the Mamas and the Papas choked on a ham sandwich and died in bed. Thanks for that. It felt like she was giving me a ‘Rachel is too fat’ lecture disguised as pop trivia so I said ‘Why don’t you make a public information film about the dangers of eating filled rolls in bed?!’ Mum got really cross and said ‘There’s no need for sarcasm’ and the usual ‘I’m your mother – give me some respect’ shit. I don’t care. She hardly says two words to me these days unless it’s to have a go. It’s ALL about Adnan – the Morrocan bodybuilding boyfriend. It’s ‘Addy – would you like a beef sausage.’ That’s another thing, pork is now banned from this house and beef sausages taste shit. And NO I don’t know what direction Mecca is either!

Thursday 4.1.90

11.22 p.m.

Got pissed tonight and did the following:

1) Told Chelsea Dunn I was totally in love with Haddock. Swore her to secrecy.

2) Told Dobber tonight that I was totally in love with Haddock. Swore her to secrecy.

3) Hid the beef sausages and the bloody couscous. Sick of them.

Now THAT was stupid. Not the sausages or the couscous (hidden behind shitloads of yoghurts) or Dobber (she will take it to the grave) BUT Chelsea is a bit of a shit-stirrer and good mates with Haddock’s girlfriend. I have to remember if this gets out too early, 1) My body won’t be ready and primed for action 2) Haddock’s girlfriend – I can’t even imagine. She will go ballistic. She’s told me EVERYTHING about him. I know stuff that no-one on earth knows. I have a basic blueprint for a completely successful Haddock relationship. I just can’t use it yet. It’s like Churchill sitting on the plans for D-Day. I’ve got to wait for the right conditions.

No. Haddock’s girlfriend is not Hitler. I repeat, she’s gorgeous and sweet and funny. And I feel bad BUT all is fair in love, war and HADDOCK!

I am currently wishing facial hair on someone. That’s not good. Hormones send you mad.

Friday 5.1.90

11.34 p.m.

I have decided Adnan is the Cookie Monster from
Sesame Street
. For a start, he is incapable of using the word ‘I’. He says ‘Me hungry!’ and ‘Me thirsty!’ And he eats like the Cookie Monster too. He shoves it in. YET if I make even a tiny noise when I’m eating Mum calls me ‘cement mixer’. They are so loved up. I hate living here. I’m so sick of being the only person on earth without someone who loves them and I am SO SICK of being in a house that smells permanently of spicy lamb.

Saturday 6.1.90

Late. I don’t care what the time is anyway. What does it matter?!

I know I always get so pissed off in early January and this year is no exception. I feel like a total gooseberry at home. I also feel like a TOTAL liability with my friends as well, like an ugly dog that follows them around. Oh that’s not fair. I am an ungrateful bitch and I’ve got some brilliant mates. What have I actually got to moan about?!

I had a chat with Haddock’s girlfriend tonight. I feel so immensely guilty because she is so lovely. Haddock wanted to talk to me tonight after I got upset in the pub. It was just about the usual stuff. I HATE ME BASICALLY. He said he wanted to make me feel better. Oh bloody hell – it’s so dangerous writing this. I bloody love him but it’s absolutely blatantly obvious that we could never properly get on. His girlfriend says he’s insecure too and is probably ‘insurance salesman material’. Who gives a fuck? He’s FUCKING LOVELY AND GORGEOUS. I don’t want him to be a stuntman or anything dangerous. I just want him to be IN MY LIFE . . . SOMEWHERE.

I ran off tonight. I cried my bloody eyes out. I feel like such a fat loud cow sometimes. I feel really unwanted and totally unloved. I can’t turn off what I feel. When I am loved it’s the wrong type of love – ‘just friends’. I am so sick of ‘just friends’.

At least I don’t fancy Battered Sausage anymore. At least I can just be mates with him like I’m mates with Fig. Every time Fig comes back and sings Showaddywaddy songs I think what a brilliant friend he is.

You deserve an explanation and I’m feeling very honest. I am tortured by this head. I am praying night and day thinking I’m the devil. I’m frightened to death of going to hell.

I wish I was attached to someone. It’s curiosity more than anything. What could I give someone? If anything? I need some music. I need something to take away all this shit in my head I can’t fix. I can’t be Satan. God wouldn’t give Satan an Atlantic Soul box set.

I’m joking because I’m fucked.

I feel better for screaming it all down. I’d be a useless Italian. I only lose my temper here. I put a face on ALL THE TIME. I pretend to be happy. Just sometimes – like tonight – it all gets too much.

Sunday 7.1.90

9.56 p.m.

I jibbed again. I just can’t fake it at the moment. I’d rather stay in my room and listen to T-Rex and David Bowie. Jasmine Bobbs lent me
Diamond Dogs
over Christmas. It’s ace but
Electric Warrior
is better. ‘Get It On’ sounds like sex is happening in an alley and ‘Rip Off’ sums up my life at the moment. A massive swizz with a big intro and then an empty stage full of fuck all.

11.12 p.m.

How the HELL does Sinead O’Connor be sexy with no bloody hair? She’s MORE bald than Battered Sausage yet she is GORGEOUS. How do these women happen?! Where does their confidence come from?! The only time I had short hair I looked like a bloke with tits. Mum MADE me cut it because I was chewing it and she was worried about fur balls.

A cat does live in this house so it’s easy to get mixed up, Mum. We are both white!

If I shaved my head I would just look like Buddha and people would rub me for luck.

Perhaps I DO need to shave. HA HA HA!

Monday 8.1.90

4.13 p.m.

Back to school tomorrow. I have A level mock exams and I have done no revision whatsoever.

I just need to be in love.

By February it will have been a year since I’ve had a snog. It’s insignificant.

5.49 p.m.

No it’s not. It’s BLOODY SIGNIFICANT. I’M FULL OF CHOCOLATE BUT SEX STARVED.

11.12 p.m.

Dear Adnan – Please stop singing to Radio 1 in your wailing Arabic way. For all you know I could be trying to do school work.

Bloody hell, if John Peel heard what was currently happening to his show I think he’d die. It should be against the law to fuck up The Fall with shit singing.

Tuesday 9.1.90

7.12 p.m.

BACK TO SCHOOL!

The following things happened today:

1) Everyone is going on about exams like they are life and death. They are slightly life and death but it’s DULL to talk about revision timetables!

2) Daisy has dyno-printed some of her revision timetable in her pencil tin. It’s replaced her ‘Work Hard Play hard’ sticker.

3) Some people are actually using study periods to revise rather than talking shit and having a laugh in the common room.

4) People got CARS for Christmas. CARS. I got the
Smash Hits Yearbook
and two selection packs. You cannot drive to the Showcase cinema in a Curly Wurly.

5) RANK! Daisy went to eat an apple. It looked fine on the outside but when she bit into it . . . it was ROTTEN to the core with maggoty shit in it. Those of us who saw that apple will never get over it. Daisy was nearly sick. Say what you like about Creme Eggs but they don’t try to kill you.

Adnan goes back tomorrow. I am hiding upstairs. Menopausal love affairs are not a spectator sport.

10.13 p.m.

Yes I’m a jealous cow. Why shouldn’t Mum be happy? She was married to my dad who was married to cricket and beer and then she was married to a man who wanted to be married to other men! HA HA HA! She deserves a break. I just wish she wasn’t doing it in my actual A level year.

Wednesday 10.1.90

6.12 p.m.

After a hard day of studying Stanislavski’s acting theory and Philip II of Spain I DO NOT want to come back to a woman of nearly 50 sitting in a chair looking miserable as shit listening to soppy songs. I can never listen to those songs again without thinking of Mum in relationships. They are DESTROYED.

8.22 p.m.

OH NO YOU DON’T. Mum is listening to ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. That’s one of my Haddock songs. She’s not hijacking that.

9.24 p.m.

Mum and me have just had a massive row.

ME: Please can you turn that off. I’m trying to revise (I wasn’t but that’s not the point).

MUM: No. I want to listen to it.

ME: Can you put some headphones on then?

MUM: No. Not with my tinnitus.

ME: Well if I fail my A levels we’ll know why.

MUM: If you fail it will be because you haven’t done enough work and you keep going out with your mates and . . .

I walked off at this point and she turned it off! Always use the ‘you are going to mess up my exams’ tactic as it works every time. I have saved myself and Sinead O’Connor from death by middle-aged crap soppy romance shit.

Thursday 11.1.90

5.13 p.m.

Another pregnancy scare at school. CONTRACEPTION – IT’S NOT DIFFICULT. I’m an expert. Take the pill everyday. If you have antibiotics for your zits use johnnies too. Johnnies split. Get the morning after pill if you’re worried. If your doctor thinks you’re a slag, who gives a shit – at least you’re not up the duff! Shame all this knowledge is wasted. I have a great contraceptive device with a 100% success rate – it’s called being really fat. No side effects – except complete strangers taking the piss and every time you go to the corner shop gangs of lads chanting ‘walrus’ at you. Apart from that – fine!