OMG! Is This Actually My Life? Hattie Moore's Unbelievable Year! Read online

  For my Harry.

  For making my day job

  mainly just being silly.

  Hattie Moore’s OFFICIAL SECRETS

  DO NOT READ THIS

  SERIOUSLY

  IT IS NOT A BLOG

  HANDS OFF

  I WILL KNOW IF YOU DO

  YES, NATHAN – IT IS AN OLD-FASHIONED DIARY THING BUT GRAN BOUGHT IT FOR ME FOR CHRISTMAS AND I WANT PEOPLE TO REALIZE JUST HOW CRAPTACULAR YOU ACTUALLY ARE.

  SUNDAY 28TH DECEMBER

  9.23 a.m.

  OMG – I’M IN PRISON!

  It’s actually my bedroom but it might as well be a cell. I’ve seen what prison is like in EastEnders and except for the fact I’m in heart-print Primark pyjamas there’s no difference.

  10.12 a.m.

  Mum just came up – she is the hardest screw ever (that’s what you call prison officers when you’re inside). Apparently I’ve “disgraced myself” and I’m growing up “way too fast”.

  OMG – THIS is from the woman who had her first cigarette at 11. Gran remembers because she made Mum eat it. And because it was one of hers and the last one in the packet. She’s still mental about it now!

  10.32 a.m.

  Gran just rang – she says she feels a bit guilty and it’s basically her fault. I agreed. She is going to talk to Mum.

  10.41 a.m.

  Mum says I cannot blame Gran as I am responsible for my own actions and Gran is a delicate old woman with crippling arthritis. A delicate old woman with crippling arthritis who does Zumba on a Tuesday at the community centre and who asks for a “Britain’s Hottest Firemen” calendar for Christmas EVERY year!

  11.16 a.m.

  Just spoke to Dimple. She was zero help. She agrees with Mum. Plus she said if she’d done what I did her dad would have called the police.

  11.31 a.m.

  Just spoke to Weirdo Jen. She said that she would burn some lavender as it encourages forgiveness in “her wider spiritual world” (?).

  She thinks I should also eat 8 mistletoe berries as they are good for detoxifying mind and body.

  I might as well eat mistletoe. I’m not going to get any action under it this Christmas. AGAIN.

  11.39 a.m.

  Weirdo Jen rang back in a panic. She said I should cancel the mistletoe berries as they are actually deadly poisonous. She meant blueberries.

  Dying might be preferable now though.

  11.54 a.m.

  Rob has been up. He forgives me but he says he needs a new miniature china pagoda and he’s had to flush 2 of his angelfish as they were on their last legs.

  12.12 p.m.

  Mum has been up again. She doesn’t forgive me. When I said, “Why?” she said, “BECAUSE, HATTIE, BEING SICK IN YOUR STEPFATHER’S FISH TANK IS UNFORGIVABLE!”

  So I was sick in a fish tank?! This is not the worst thing that has ever happened. And it IS Gran’s fault. She was the one who said, “Let Hattie have a glass of sherry – it’s Christmas!” Mum said, “No, don’t be silly – she’s under-age.” But I helped myself to one. Then I felt really sick. And then I thought I am actually going to be sick. And the nearest thing to be sick in was Rob’s fish tank.

  I don’t even think it was the sherry that caused it. It was more likely the half a massive tin of Quality Street that I’d eaten before that.

  12.42 p.m.

  It was the sherry.

  2.14 p.m.

  Rob has also now had to flush a Malawi Firefish Peacock and 5 guppies – he says it’s probably the shock.

  I am an alcoholic mass-murderer.

  2.54 p.m.

  Mum just came in and said if she hears that my Facebook status has been changed to Hattie Moore has been sick in a fish tank she will ground me for all next year.

  3.01 p.m.

  Mum has been back in to say, “That goes for chirping too.” I said, “Mum, it’s TWEETING and I am not going to tell anyone because it’s TOTALLY EMBARRASSING. Perhaps it was cool to drink sherry and throw up in a fish tank when you were 13 but not now!” Mum went mental and said she would have never been “like this in her day because people respected aquatic life”.

  3.26 p.m.

  Just rang Gran. She said when Mum was 7 she went through 2 pet goldfish in a month. ANOTHER MUM LIE TOTALLY EXPOSED.

  5.32 p.m.

  The verdict is in. I’m grounded for a week BUT I still have to take Gran sales shopping on Tuesday. Gran the TOTAL mental who ALWAYS finds the most disgusting item of clothing in ANY shop she visits. No Gran – you cannot wear neon green – you are 67.

  That really is the bum cherry on my crapcake of a day.

  MONDAY 29TH DECEMBER

  8.12 a.m.

  Why do these diaries start a week before they are meant to anyway? It’s like they want you to remember just how bad the year before was!

  9.37 a.m.

  My brother is threatening to spread it about the fish tank. He says if I iron his shirt on a Saturday for the next 3 weeks he will keep it quiet. I can’t risk Miss Gorgeous Knickers at school knowing about this. She had a Sex and the City cocktail party 2 months ago and is well known for being able to drink loads and still look like Carrie Bradshaw.

  10.12 a.m.

  Carrie Bradshaw when she was 13. Not like she is now – someone’s mum!

  4.55 p.m.

  I’ve decided because of yesterday I need to examine my life fully. Why am I turning to sherry and Quality Street? Especially the purple ones with the hazelnut. Why do I keep messing up?

  6.01 p.m.

  Asked Gran about why I keep messing up. Gran says I have to stop “bloody navel-gazing” and help her plan which bus we are getting tomorrow. She doesn’t want to walk too far because she’s wearing her FOUL white stilettos. It’s so she can dig her high pointy heel into the feet of anyone who tries to buy anything she wants. She nearly put someone in hospital over a bag once!

  TUESDAY 30TH DECEMBER

  7.15 p.m.

  That is the last time I EVER go shopping with my gran.

  In the Debenhams changing room she told one woman trying on a Lipsy dress that she looked like a sausage about to burst. THEN she tried on a pair of FOUL skinny jeans (4 sizes too small!) and BROKE THE ZIP!!! Instead of saying sorry she told the assistant “when things say they should stretch THEY SHOULD STRETCH” and that she “wasn’t going to pay for them as they already inflated the prices to allow for retail wastage”.

  Yet she thinks all shoplifters and burglars should be sent to Siberia with just a pack of sandwiches and a winter coat.

  8.23 p.m.

  I have nicked my mum’s Dr Phil book. He’ll know exactly what’s wrong with me. Bet even he can’t help Gran though.

  9.17 p.m.

  Flicked through the book. Basically I need to fully examine everyone in my life and ask myself, WHERE AM I NOW? Only through doing this can I truly understand my “life strategy” – because if it’s happening NOW we are going to deal with it NOW.

  HATTIE NOW:

  14 in 6 weeks. OFFICIAL YAY!

  I am a 32 AA. BOO. But I am POSITIVE-THINKING my breasts bigger.

  My mum is generally annoying and takes bad-mood tablets daily. I put this mainly down to the fact that she stares at bread for most of the day, has to make builders’ fry-ups, never wears make-up and always smells of bacon. The woman needs a GLAM-INJECTION.

  My stepdad, Rob, is a geek from the planet Doofus who likes car boot sales and calls me “Bones” – but he’s actually all right.

  My brother is the devil and must die.

  My gran is a mental but I LOVE her. And at 67 she still has her hair
done 3 times a week.

  No boyfriend as have no breasts.

  BUT Dimple and Weirdo Jen, my best friends, are TOTES excellent.

  And Goose next door who I have known FOR EVER is a MASSIVE dork but sweet really. Plus he’s pretty much lent me his iPod for good.

  School is DULLSTER VON DULLSTER.

  Likes – my friends, getting gorgeoused-up, dancing my brain out of my head, LOUD music, BIG lattes.

  Dislikes – eggs.

  LIFE STRATEGY:

  I need to read the rest of Dr Phil’s book before I can truly say what it is.

  WEDNESDAY 31ST DECEMBER

  11.35 a.m.

  Weirdo Jen just invited me to her mum and dad’s New Year party. No point even asking Mum if I can go. I’m still getting the semi-silent treatment. Mainly because the fish tank snails have now also died.

  2.43 p.m.

  Dr Phil’s book is big on families and people being GOOD PARENTS (my mum definitely has NOT read this book!). The fact is, I don’t even know who my actual real DAD is! No one will talk about him and all I ever get from Mum is: “Rob has been around since you were 6 months, Hattie. That’s what a REAL father does.” And then I have to stop asking because Mum starts welling up. BUT I NEED to know. What about family diseases and conditions that can be passed down, Mum?! And how big were my other grandma’s breasts? And will mine ever get that big? VITAL QUESTIONS!

  8.05 p.m.

  Just asked Mum what my real dad’s surname is. She said, “Hattie, honestly… I don’t think it’s the right time to be discussing this.” When I said, “WHEN will be the RIGHT time?” she YELLED, “Well NEVER during Casualty for a start!”

  9.27 p.m.

  Casualty has finished and it’s STILL not the right time apparently. I’m not stupid. I know why. It’s because Mum thinks if she gives me his surname I can find him in a SECOND on Google. She’d never say that though. But it’s true.

  Bet it’s a better name than “Moore”. I have had to endure so many craptacular Moore jokes through my mum giving me HER surname. Jack Pearson and his posse of pukesters once sang Britney Spears’ “Gimme More” at me for an entire lunch break. Only they sang “Gimme More – NOT!”

  10.32 p.m.

  It’s 10.32 p.m. and everyone in this house is in bed. It’s NEW YEAR’S EVE. This family is a miracle as it is both dysfunctional AND DULL.

  11.12 p.m.

  Gran just rang. She’s at an over-60s party. She’s on vodka jellies because they are “easy to handle at her age”. I asked her who was bringing her home. She said she hadn’t decided yet but “not to worry as she’s put her name and address on her dentures if she gets lost”.

  All I want is someone who isn’t mental who gets ME!

  Dad, come and save me!!!

  THURSDAY 1ST JANUARY

  11.01 a.m.

  NEW YEAR. NEW LIFE. NEW HATTIE MOORE.

  HATTIE MOORE OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:

  THIS YEAR I AM GOING TO FIND MY REAL DAD. I DESERVE THE TRUTH. I NEED TO FIND HIM. I know he will get me like no one else on Earth. I can just feel it. I WILL FIND HIM.

  Also THIS YEAR…

  1. I will become a TOTAL HOTNESS GODDESS.

  2. I will.

  3. Actually I think that’s it really.

  4. Except for: I will generally be lovely to everyone. Unless they are a known force of evil.

  5. Known forces of evil – my brother, Miss Gorgeous Knickers at school, the chav-mongous dog 3 doors away.

  6. I would probably even be nice to the dog as I’m sure he only barks because he’s forced to wear a fake Burberry collar.

  Might start by going to Pets ’R’ Us and buying the dog a decent collar.

  I’ll get Goose to put it on him though.

  2.56 p.m.

  Just spoke to Goose next door. He thinks finding my real dad will be mahoosively hard. He also thinks I should probably wait as I need help from my family and currently none of them are talking to me as I am the “aquarium assassin”.

  He’s right.

  And as for putting anything on the dog 3 doors away, he said it would be a TOTAL suicide mission and no way is he doing it.

  He’s right about that too.

  3.01 p.m.

  I didn’t ask him about how to become a Total Hotness Goddess as Goose is a boy and therefore clueless.

  3.23 p.m.

  Just thought – Gran is still speaking to me! I’ll ask her about my dad.

  3.40 p.m.

  Just remembered Gran has been on the vodka jellies. She won’t make any sense for about a month.

  6.12 p.m.

  Gran just called me. She got home safely. I was going to ask her about my dad but I didn’t as I thought she’d clearly had a few too many drinks.

  You can’t have a chat about your family tree with an old lady who answers every question you ask by singing “Yellow Submarine”.

  FRIDAY 2ND JANUARY

  7.20 p.m.

  Nothing happened today except I grew more spots. My brother now calls me “Zit Farm” and says by the time I’m 20, face transplants (which they currently only give to people who have been attacked by a rogue Labrador) will be a normal everyday operation.

  9.35 p.m.

  Told my mum about my brother calling me “Zit Farm”. She just said, “It’s teasing Hattie, and you give as good as you get.” In what way is calling someone a TOTAL no-hoper-craptacular-thon as bad as calling someone a zit farm?! My brother’s rubbish life is his fault – I cannot help my actual face.

  Yet another example of everyone ganging up on me in this house. EVERYONE is either Team Nathan or Team Mum. NO ONE is Team Hattie.

  Can’t wait to start the hunt for Dad once the fish are forgotten.

  SATURDAY 3RD JANUARY

  2.19 a.m.

  18 minutes ago Gran called my mob. Conversation as follows…

  Gran: Hattie, it’s your gran – can you help me?

  Me: Are you OK?! (Thinking, oh my God, she might be having a heart attack or something.)

  Gran: Yes. I’ve accidentally texted a … rude joke to my dentist.

  Me: What?

  Gran: I’ve texted a rude joke to my dentist and I need to un-send it. I meant it to go to my friend Denise but I got the wrong name on my address list thing – the dentist was the next one down.

  Me: You can’t do it, Gran. Once the message has gone it’s gone.

  Gran: Well, what can I do?

  Me: Nothing, Gran. What was the joke about?

  (PAUSE)

  Gran: Old ladies’ boobs.

  Me: Why is your dentist’s number in your phone anyway?

  Gran: When you’ve got gums like mine, Hattie, you need a hotline.

  Me: Sorry, Gran, there’s nothing you can do… Got to go. Love you. (I say that just in case she dies in her sleep).

  Bye.

  At that point Mum storms into my bedroom (KNOCK FIRST PERHAPS?!), going mad. She blahhed at TOP volume: “Hattie, who is calling you? I’m going to take that phone off you.” (Yeah, Mum, of course you are. Life is actually not safe without a mobile.) “I’ve got to be in the shop in 5 hours for a delivery.”

  I didn’t get a chance to say, “Actually, WOMAN, I was trying to stop YOUR MUM DISTRIBUTING ACTUAL PORN.” It’s just so typically NOT ON. I know she works hard and everything – but she never actually listens to the REASONS why things happen.

  7.36 a.m.

  Why has my gran got a mobile anyway? She gets confused by her hand-held blender, and that’s only got one button!

  7.45 a.m.

  Thinking about it, Dimple’s granny just sits there watching Indian soaps on telly and growing facial hair. WHY do I get lumped with the mental?

  8.49 a.m.

  AND lack of sleep gives you wrinkles.

  7.15 p.m.

  My STUPID brother is going out tonight so I have to iron his STUPID shirt so he doesn’t spread the story about the fish tank. So tempted to pin a sign to the back saying,

  NATHAN MOORE C
RIED AT THE END OF THE LION KING

  but the information he has on me could actually end my life. Miss Gorgeous Knickers and her gang hunt for stuff like that. They had T-shirts printed once with a photo of Dibbo Hannah from school dressed as a squirrel. She was 5 at the time – but Miss Gorgeous Knickers doesn’t care.

  SUNDAY 4TH JANUARY

  11.15 a.m.

  Mum in such a major mood this morning. It only stopped when Golden Boy got up. I don’t know what it is with my older brother but in my mum’s eyes he can’t do a thing wrong, despite being Mr AS Level dropout. My stepdad Rob thinks my brother is just someone who’ll take more time in life to “find his way”.

  Rob forgets that my brother washed his face in puddles up to Year 8.