My Madder Fatter Diary Read online

Nearly a year since I had a snog. Total insignificance.

  Thursday 22.2.90

  7.10 p.m.

  It must be significant or I wouldn’t mention it.

  Friday 23.2.90

  10.57 p.m.

  Chelsea was weird down the pub tonight. It’s just the same as Bethany. I always end up with a pretty girl who looks down on me.

  Dear Eleanor Roosevelt. You think no-one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Have you bloody met Chelsea?

  Sometimes I think I might be the problem. Then I think ‘No. I am sick of being the problem. The one that’s nuts. The one in the ward. I can’t be the problem in my problem life all the bloody time.’

  Saturday 24.2.90

  10.14 a.m.

  ‘Got To Have Your Love’ by Mantronix is not just ALL CLASSIC ACE, it’s my Haddock tune right now.

  No Mum. I’m not turning it down. I have a bowel polyp. I need MUSIC.

  Sunday 25.2.90

  2.13 a.m.

  I’ve just returned from a particularly brilliant Gad night. Battered Sausage’s prime concern was slice and nothing else. I think he might have got off with Jasmine. I think he might be sexually frustrated. I hope it’s temporary. I can’t cope with this. The real Battered Sausage is worth his weight in gold. This one is a massive knob.

  Haddock was not out. I might bomb where he works.

  With him not in work obviously!

  Or anyone else. I don’t want people to die for my love needs. I’m not the IRA.

  Monday 26.2.90

  8.31 p.m.

  It’s weird how people have reacted to me being ill. Mum keeps saying I’m not ill which is an interesting way to view a REAL LIFE TUMOUR.

  The thing is I’m not making a big deal of it. I’m just telling everyone I know when the time is right.

  Tuesday 27.2.90

  7.21 p.m.

  We were wetting ourselves in the common room today! Chelsea dumped her long-term boyfriend. BIG shock – but he bought her that shit Michael Bolton record for Valentine’s Day and she said ‘as soon as I saw the cover I knew it was over.’ That is completely fair. You can’t go out with a boy you don’t respect musically. If Haddock liked Bros, New Kids or Shakin’ Stevens (back in the charts – FUCK OFF SHAKEY!) I would not . . . Yes I WOULD fancy him but I’d have to sort him out. HA HA HA! in many ways!!

  Wednesday 28.2.90

  6.24 p.m.

  February, you’ve been a sod! New month new start!

  Who IS Ben Liebrand?! He’s remixing everything to shit.

  Thursday 1.3.90

  7.39 p.m.

  Battered Sausage was meant to come round last night to take me for a drink. Well, I say he was meant to – unless he tells me otherwise he nearly always comes round on a Wednesday. It’s like a tradition. Anyway last night he didn’t. I sat at my desk listening to Bummed getting more and more pissed off. By ‘Brain Dead’ I knew he wasn’t coming. So me and Shaun Ryder spent the evening together. The good thing about Shaun Ryder is he’s not a complete TWAT that is only interested in pulling women and getting his todger out for a laugh in the Vaults beer garden.

  Friday 2.3.90

  5.48 p.m.

  I think I’m being a bit unfair on Battered Sausage. He’s not my husband. I can’t expect him to stop wanting sex just because I’m a bit . . . needy. I AM needy, diary. This is because of SHIT! EVERYTHING!

  11.35 p.m.

  Haddock not out again tonight. According to his girlfriend, the night shift pays more and he is saving up to go away.

  Oh don’t go. Or take me with you. I’d probably be all right if I was with Haddock.

  So Friday night was good but – BLOODY HELL I WISH MRS BARK WOULD CLOSE HER KITCHEN CURTAINS.

  Saturday 3.3.90

  1.10 p.m.

  Well, Battered Sausage has just come over. ‘Can I have my cardigan back? I can’t stop. I’m going to Bedford. Might see you tonight but probably not.’ Why do I love the cocky, womanising twat?! Why have I got a mate that’s a cocky, womanising twat? Why do I get possessive? Why do I get worked up? WHY CAN’T I JUST BE MYSELF?

  Sunday 4.3.90

  8.02 a.m.

  When I was in the pub last night Battered Sausage said hello and then I sort of ignored him and he said something like ‘Fine Rae.’

  Then all night it was about other women. I give up on men – they are either all over you, completely ignoring you or earning £5 an hour stacking shelves.

  Monday 5.3.90

  6.35 p.m.

  Mum is acting even weirder than normal. She keeps disappearing down the phone box all the time. Now the rumour is that two women are running some sort of helpline for lesbians from 63401. That might just be a totally made-up rumour because Stamford is shit BUT has my mum gone to work for them? She’s not a lesbian.

  FUCK!

  No. My mum is not a lesbian. My head is spiralling out of control. Her second husband is gay but that does not make her one. Now she is coming back. I can see her charging up the road.

  The thing is, nothing would surprise me anymore.

  Tuesday 6.3.90

  9.13 p.m.

  I cornered Mum tonight and asked her if anything was going on. She said ‘Rachel, I’ve got a few things to tell you. I’m trying to get Adnan over permanently so we can get married (I totally knew this already). Also I’ve had a tattoo of him done on my bottom.’

  She then said ‘Woo-hoo!’ and pulled down her trousers slightly and yes there now is a drawing of a black bodybuilder in red pants on her buttock.

  And I’m meant to go to school tomorrow and write an essay about Chaucer.

  She said ‘What do you think?’. I said truly and honestly that I thought it looked bloody awful. Then she said ‘Oh it’s a bit of fun.’ No Mum – Alton Towers is a bit of fun. Permanently scarring your body with a six-inch picture of a bloke in tight pants ON YOUR ARSE is . . . WHAT IF I DID THAT?!

  I’m sitting here listening to ‘Closest Thing to Heaven’ by The Kane Gang. It’s beautiful and tender and gentle – it’s everything a massive bum tattoo isn’t.

  Sometimes I feel like a mad rare flower in a field full of weeds and nutters.

  No I’m a weed – but a good weird weed.

  No Mum, I do not want a fucking Ovaltine. That does not make up for you acting like a child.

  Wednesday 7.3.90

  8.35 p.m.

  I’m sitting here with a candle.

  I had a huge debate at school today about tattoos. People actually think they want one. Mia has already planned a seahorse on her tummy. Yes she is gorgeous now but what about when she has a baby or something. I pointed out that my mum’s tattoo probably wobbles like jelly when she walks.

  I’m never having one. I don’t like my body and I’m not buggering it up more with scribbles.

  Thursday 8.3.90

  10.35 p.m.

  What gets to me is I’m expected to be sensible even though Mum acts like she is actually 12. And she’s been doing ridiculous stuff for years!

  1) Went punk in about 1980. Blue hair, red hair, green hair. When we lived in Rutland Road! RUTLAND ROAD!! We were still going to church every week at this point.

  2) Married a Latin teacher from a posh school. A LATIN TEACHER?!

  3) We went to Izmir, Turkey for holidays because second husband went to teach English there. We ended up up a mountain with a Kurdish family slaughtering a goat.

  4) I LIVE IN A COUNCIL ESTATE AND I WAS UP A MOUNTAIN HAVING SALADS AND ROASTED-OVER-A-SPIT GOAT WITH PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN CAVES. It’s like David Attenborough not real life!

  5) We went to Izmir zoo. A keeper was playing with a lion cub outside the cage. The lion cub attacked my ankle. My mum didn’t help – SHE JUST TOOK A PHOTO. Yes it was just like a big kitten and playing but IT WOULDN’T LET GO.

  6) THEN second husband moved to Casablanca and we went there.

  7) He ran off with a man because he is GAY. Mum met a Moroccan champion bodybuilder and two minutes later they are going
to get married.

  HOW IS ANY OF THAT NORMAL?!

  Then at other times she just sits in the chair looking as miserable as sin and any noise I make is a DISASTER.

  Friday 9.3.90

  6.32 p.m.

  Well fact-fans, the reason why my mum decided to tell me about the tattoo now is that one of the people that looked after her in hospital described her in a letter as a ‘tattooed, obese woman’. She is angry and wants me (as I am the ‘educated one’) to write a letter complaining. She says though it’s factually accurate that she is obese, her tattoo has nothing to do with her ‘ladies reconstruction’.

  I told her I was going down the pub. Which I am! Goodbye!

  Saturday 10.3.90

  1.04 a.m.

  No Haddock tonight but Haddock TOMORROW apparently. Me and Dobber had a great night. Even though tonight she admitted that Rod Stewart ‘had something’. Yes Dobber he has something – rickets and dentures. Snog him and you’ll suck his teeth out. Battered Sausage loved this and said I was ‘fucking funny Big Razza’. I am occasionally very funny but sadly also permanently fat as a house. The Elephant Man got more action.

  Sunday 11.3.90

  2.34 a.m.

  I don’t know what shelf stacking does to a man or if it’s just because I haven’t seen him for yonks but Haddock – OH I WANT YOU TO SEE HIM. He is BEYOND IT ALL and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Battered Sausage had told him about my mum’s tattoo. In fact when Battered Sausage picked me up tonight he asked to see my mum’s tattoo. She didn’t show him but I suppose it’s only a matter of time. Perhaps she’ll put a shot in the Mercury.

  Anyway Haddock thinks tattoos are a waste of money.

  I KNOW, he sounds very middle-aged doesn’t he sometimes?! BUT he’s not. He’s just HIM – he doesn’t really seem to give a fuck what other people think AT ALL. He’s like me but with a knob and a six-pack.

  He’s not like me – I do give a fuck what people think ALL the time and whether they like me or not. I need Haddock ‘don’t give a shit’ lessons.

  I’m listening to The Beloved’s ‘The Sun Rising’. It’s not. It’s pitch black but it’s just brilliant.

  6.23 p.m.

  I have written Mum’s letter. I am particularly proud of ‘The reference to my tattoo bears no relevance to my medical condition. The presence of a bodybuilder on my buttock would not affect my urinary tract.’

  Mum can’t decide whether to send it or not. I don’t care – she’s buying me a single as payment.

  Oh Haddock. You’re in my head a lot. Even when I’m writing letters about my mum’s bladder.

  Monday 12.3.90

  6.13 p.m.

  Mum had no luck buying my single today from Woolworths. This was because she was asking for a single by Rogan Josh. Rogan Josh is a curry not a musician. I wanted ‘Infinity’ by GURU Josh. She’s now given me £2 as it’s too embarrassing for her to go back.

  It’s too embarrassing to go in Woolies but apparently fine that the whole of Lincolnshire knows she’s got a permanent picture of a bodybuilder on her bum.

  The fair is coming soon. Perhaps Mum can be the tattooed lady on a stall and make some money. It can’t be any worse than Rhona the old girl who has a stand every year that is actually just a fat woman sitting in a sawdust pit with a load of terrified mice. HA HA HA!!

  Tuesday 13.3.90

  Naomi failed her driving test again today. She stalled on St Peter’s Hill AGAIN. She was in tears in the common room. I told her not to worry – she can always take the test in Peterborough! This didn’t cheer her up much.

  Some people need to count their blessings and be a bit less melodramatic. At least she has parents who can afford a car AND lessons. My mum is currently claiming that my Guru Josh record has left her ‘short’.

  Wednesday 14.3.90

  5.38 p.m.

  Shellboss attacked me today. Not verbally but with a piece of stuffing from the chair in a comedy way! Then we had a MASSIVE cushion fight till Mr Mills reminded us we have A levels in 3 months. WE BLOODY KNOW. We need to let off some pressure, man!

  Thursday 15.3.90

  I’ve got a period coming. I can tell this because a) I’m in AGONY b) Today I cried at ‘Uptown, Uptempo Woman’ by Randy Edelman – which is actually just a piece of soppy Yank shit.

  Periods hurt but at least they prove the girl in me is still alive and not killed by crisps.

  Friday 16.3.90

  7.32 p.m.

  I can’t go down the pub tonight. I can barely move. I’ve got 2 hot water bottles and I’m sandwiched between them.

  Ponstan tablets are shit. Libra regular towels are shit. Morrissey is not shit.

  Please, please, please let me get what I want. I can tell you what in living memory it WILL be the bloody first time EVER.

  Saturday 17.3.90

  11.35 p.m.

  Perhaps my period is making me hypersensitive but Battered Sausage was ALL OVER Jasmine Bobbs tonight like a rash. Now I feel weird about this because . . . I don’t know. When Battered Sausage gets a piece all he cares about is slice and I completely go out the window. I don’t need that right now. Dobber said he is totally sharking round Jasmine and when we all sang ‘Sausage Techniques’ to the Pearl and Dean theme tune WHICH WE ALWAYS DO WHEN HE’S ON THE PULL he looked angry. Which means it’s serious.

  I just know everyone is going to end up married and I am going to end up talking to the grannies table at the wedding doing the conga and pretending everything is OK when it is NOT.

  Sunday 18.3.90

  9.34 p.m.

  Rang Mort and talked for ages. She totally thinks Battered Sausage is after Jasmine. The thing is Jasmine is LOVELY. You can’t hate women like this. She is beautiful but great to be with too. And she’s always listening to David Bowie. She was the one that told me that on ‘Starman’ he doesn’t sing ‘picking my bum on Channel 2’ but ‘pick him up on Channel 2’. She knows LYRICS too – how can I compete?!

  Monday 19.3.90

  8.12 p.m.

  I’m listening to Dollar. Oh I don’t bloody CARE. I love ‘Hand Held in Black and White’. It’s a great song.

  Jasmine Bobbs in the common room today started going on about how funny Battered Sausage was. Oh yes HILARIOUS. Except when you’ve heard him ask for a bit of battered flange in Des’s Superchip for the millionth time and then it’s actually not funny AT ALL.

  Ignore me I’m jealous. It’s my Scorpio moon it makes me nuts.

  Tuesday 20.3.90

  11.22 p.m.

  Sod off everything basically.

  Wednesday 21.3.90

  10.32 p.m.

  Me and Battered Sausage have just been down the Vaults. Oh the big prick does make me laugh. I wish he didn’t but he does. Tonight he was singing ‘Love Shack’ by The B-52’s and shouting ‘LOVE SHACK BABY’ at me! I think you had to be there.

  Thursday 22.3.90

  5.13 p.m.

  Mrs Bark caught me checking the door again and again today. She muttered something so I said ‘It has a habit of unlocking itself.’ No it doesn’t. I just have it in my head that I’ve left it open when I know I haven’t.

  I’m not taking any shit from a family called Bark who called their son Mark.

  That’s not fair. They are all right.

  I’m having the heaviest period ever.

  Friday 23.3.90

  11.29 p.m.

  Oh Haddock, you must be a multimillionaire by now the amount you are working. WILL YOU JUST COME OUT AND BE ALL FITNESS?! When his girlfriend tells me he’s not coming out I try to look not bothered but I think I fail.

  Saturday 24.3.90

  11.56 p.m.

  Dear Saturday night. You were a bit of a twat.

  1) Battered Sausage all over Jasmine Bobbs again.

  2) Battered Sausage singing Candy Flip’s ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ as ‘Strawberry Ice Cream Forever’ was funny at 7.30 p.m. but NOT by 8 p.m. and CERTAINLY NOT by 10.30 p.m.

  3) Ryan Bates kep
t putting ‘Birdhouse In Your Soul’ by They Might Be Giants on the jukebox and asking me what I thought of it. Not content with the answers ‘utter shit’, ‘total bollocks’ and ‘twee indie shit’ he asked me again and I snapped at him ‘just fuck off.’

  4) Then I felt bad and guilty but he’d left the pub so I couldn’t apologise.

  5) NO HADDOCK AGAIN.

  6) Had 3 bags of beef and mustard crisps, 2 pints of cider (which according to Naomi at school are ‘cream cakes in a glass’) and then some chips. Can’t stop eating. Don’t want to stop. Empty and full all at the same time. Usual, usual. Never gets better.

  7) Cleaned the heads of my cassette player with toilet paper. Got loads of gunk off it but then got a big bit of Andrex jammed in the machinery. I need to get some tweezers.

  I’m going to see the fair being put up with Dobber tomorrow. It’s something to do and she’s lovely.

  Sunday 25.3.90

  10.28 a.m.

  Asked Mum for some tweezers. She said ‘Oh, are you doing your eyebrows?’ I said ‘No – I’m doing my cassette heads.’ She looked a bit disappointed. She probably thought I was finally changing into a real woman.

  I’m not.

  7.48 p.m.

  We went down the fair. Usual rides. Big Wheel, Noah’s Ark, Tip Top, Mexican Hat, Hook-a-Duck and the women who runs the cake walk is STILL there. Me and Dobber agree – she must be over 80. Just RETIRE WOMAN! Anyway, Dobber and me are going again tomorrow.

  I can’t wait to retire. I know I haven’t started work yet but I just want no pressure, to live in Edmonds Close and walk in fields.

  Monday 26.3.90

  9.36 p.m.

  I nearly killed someone tonight.

  Dobber and me went to the fair. It was a laugh – it always is with her. We went on the usuals but then we went down Bath Row and on this new ride called the Zodiac. It’s like this massive round disc with a seat all the way round it and it bounces you around. We went on it, they were playing ‘Soul Finger’ by The Bar-Kays and it went CRAZY. It was throwing people around everywhere and it threw me on to this middle-aged beardy bloke. He took it really well but I think I broke his wrist. Imagine if I’d fallen on to a townie twat. Everyone was already laughing. Why do I do this SHIT? I had the same thing at Alton Towers. Situations where I stick out are not good situations. Theme parks and fairs, pubs, school – actually everywhere except my bedroom!