Archive for October, 2012

Wednesday, 31st October, 2012

Andrew’s still counting his spoils from last night – it’s amazing how many people actually had “treats” in their houses. I heard Andrew giggling with Darren and Joe about a couple of houses that didn’t so they egged them. Andrew had better hope that mum doesn’t find out, she’ll go mad. She is constantly terrified that we will shame her in front of the neighbours.

Tuesday, 30th October, 2012

Lucky old us were allowed to go to school in costume if we wanted – hurrah and great. . . I can’t believe the idiots who actually did.

Monday, 29th October, 2012

There’s a visible sense of relief at school with half term next week. The last few weeks have really dragged, but hopefully it’ll start speeding up now. That Matt Collins was staring again today, I’ve half a mind to tell him to come over and speak or stop staring – freak.

It’s Halloween on tomorrow, people keep going on and on about it at school, there are a few parties and Andrew is going trick or treating, Christ, it’s so American, I keep expecting people to start going the whole hog and calling it hulloween.

Sunday, 28th October, 2012

Well mum claims to have really enjoyed the pictures, this could be serious.

Saturday, 27th October, 2012

Mum’s going to the pictures tonight with Steven, he’s going to pick her up and then they’re going off, I think it’ll be a bit of a nightmare for mum, she hasn’t been to the pictures in years and doesn’t understand that you can’t watch a film without people talking, eating, rustling and playing with mobiles in the cinema anymore. Mum gets really riled if we talk during one of her favourite programmes, so she’s bound to get irritated in the pictures. She’s not the sort of person to do anything about it though; she’ll just sit there getting grumpier and grumpier.

Claire is going out with one of her mates, so it’s just Andrew and me, he’s talking about having Dazza and Joe round to go on the play station. I’m going to stay upstairs and surf the net.

Friday, 26th October, 2012

If I hear her name whispered furtively one more time I may have to punch someone. Nobody knows anything more than they knew yesterday. Imogen’s phone is not being answered, but still people gossip. Suddenly, she was everyone’s best friend – people are ghouls and I hate them. I would like to have been able to do something, but I never really spoke to her, so it’s a bit much to then send her a card or something – she’d think I was a ghoul.

Thursday, 25th October, 2012

Thank God there’s only another week before half term. I just can’t believe what crap school is at times. The worst thing that happened today was that Imogen was called out of English by the head. The head never calls anyone out of class and immediately there were rumours and

gossiping – not that anyone had anything on Imogen, she never does anything even slightly dodgy. Later, we found out that Imogen’s mum had been killed in a car crash. I couldn’t believe it, it was so sudden and so bad that it was almost as if it couldn’t possibly have happened.

When the head came Imogen looked a bit white, she must have known that something bad had happened, but she couldn’t have thought it was that bad.

Monday, 22nd October, 2012

Almost good to be back at school – out of the constant rumpus of our house at the weekend. Almost –

but not quite. . .

Sunday, 21st October, 2012

Mum’s friend Steven is an arse, he’s one of those people who really doesn’t know how to talk to people younger than 35, so he was trying to be funny all the time and tease us but he’s totally witless. He even ruffled Andrew’s hair – I couldn’t believe it, and neither could Andrew, he flinched noticeably. Not that that embarrassed Steven at all, he followed it up with a pretend punch to the arm, I’m surprised he didn’t ask Andrew to wrestle.

Mum was being all polite and looking daggers at us if we had elbows on the table or talked with our mouths full. Claire was trying to act like she was mum’s sister, but that didn’t last long – Steven really pissed her off by lumping her in with us.

I feel a bit badly about it though, I don’t want mum to be lonely or anything like that, but please – have some taste.

It was really odd, Dad phoned and none of us mentioned Steve, it’s not as if it should be a secret, but we didn’t mention it anyway.

Saturday, 20th October, 2012

Mum’s asked that bloke round for Sunday lunch – the one she went out for a drink with, bit premature if you ask me and anyway, I wanted to go and see Uncle Angus and now I can’t. I’m going to ring him and pop round today, I really need to get out of the house as there’s loads of housework being done for this visit tomorrow and I don’t want to do any of it.

Mum says that she has no idea how she has managed to bring up such lazy children; she really looks surprised by it, and harassed over how much she’s had to do. I managed to walk in on the lecture after seeing Uncle Angus. I tried to skidaddle up the stairs, but there was no escaping it.

We all had to agree to tidy our rooms. . . . bit of a nightmare as my room is a real pigsty, but I can’t see why that’s a problem since I keep the door shut and it’s only ever me who has to go in there – but I’ll tidy as a peace keeping gesture, I think we all got off lightly anyway, Mum could have insisted that we all stayed in and helped her.

Uncle Angus was a bit upset about Aunt Evelyn, technically, Uncle Angus is not my uncle at all, he’s my fathers’ uncle by marriage. Uncle Angus married my dad’s aunt Evelyn, who was a bit of an outcast from the family because of her political views. She was a staunch feminist and protested all over the country. Actually, when I say Uncle Angus is an uncle by marriage that’s not true, the family always say they were married, but he and Aunt Evelyn never married, neither of them believed in it, but they loved each over very much and lived together for thirty five years. She died about ten years ago. I have vague memories of her; strangely, I have more of a memory about the change in Uncle Angus after she died. You know I hate clichés, but it really was as if the sun stopped shining for him when she died, he hasn’t been the same since.

I knew as soon as I saw him that he wasn’t feeling very happy, he was nursing a bottle of whisky, insisted on playing a game of scrabble and struggled to beat me, normally I haven’t got a hope in hell.

Thursday, 18th October, 2012

I had to see Willa Cotton today, I had had a really boring day at school, even more boring than usual – as if I could ever have conceived that was possible. Anyway, I had to get the bus to Willa’s place, mum said that she’d pick me up but she couldn’t take me there because she was working. She acted as if I should be grateful for the lift home instead of complaining about having to get there on my own. I couldn’t understand why I should be grateful for anything to do with being forced to visit these idiots all the time. Mum was scandalised when I said this, she said I should be grateful that she worried enough about me to organise some help for me. I am not grateful that I have a mother who has no conception of what goes on in my head and apart from that, I couldn’t understand why she was scandalised – she’s heard me moan about all of them, Sally, Samuel and now Willa – so why she’s surprised is anyone’s guess. Another episode of my mouth talking and her ears closing.

Anyway, Willa was actually alright – we just chatted about stuff really, she didn’t patronise me or act like a therapist, or anything like that, she didn’t even try and get me to talk about stuff, she just asked how I was getting on and laughed at some of the stuff I said – which wasn’t particularly witty. It was weird because the time went really quickly and then it was time to go. I didn’t feel as if she’d ripped information out of me that I didn’t want to give, I used to feel that with Samuel and Sally, it was like being invaded. Also, she talked about herself too, so it was actually a conversation. She’s not married, she lives on her own, she likes paintings and goes to the galleries quite a lot and she does her own painting, which I like doing too, so we spoke about that a bit. She wasn’t wearing a kaftan, but she was wearing a long skirt and lots of silver jewellery – an ex-hippy gone professional.

Wednesday, 17th October, 2012

My spot throbbed itself into a massive head by last night and exploded with a satisfying splat on the bathroom mirror when I squeezed it. It wasn’t that much of a release though since I have the beginnings of a throbber on my chin and one of those annoying, under the skin, headless spots on the side of my nose. There was a bloke staring at me today and I don’t think it was because of the spots. I think his name is Matt Collins, he’s in the sixth form, but has only been at school for a few months, he’s only just moved here. He’s not exactly good looking, but there’s something about him, something different, maybe even a little bit dangerous, you can tell that he doesn’t give a toss. He’s the new boy, but he acts as if he’s been here for years. I don’t know why he was staring at me; I caught him doing it, but looked away. When I looked again he was still staring, but he didn’t smile or anything, I couldn’t read his expression. Normally when people stare it really pisses me off and I glare at them until they stop. Matt Collins made me nervous with his staring so I looked away and ignored him.

Tuesday, 16th October, 2012

I woke up this morning and felt a terrible throbbing on my cheek, a look in the mirror revealed of course, a huge, ugly spot. I think it’s from a blackhead that I tried to squeeze yesterday but couldn’t get out. I have loads of blackheads; luckily, I am not alone, school is filled with spotty, blackheaded souls, greasing their way from corridor to classroom. All that is, except Imogen Markham, she doesn’t slink around with her head bowed, she glides along like an angel. She leads a charmed life; she is the most beautiful person at school, typically beautiful with long blonde hair, big blue eyes and little pink lips. Her blonde is not out of a bottle so it doesn’t turn nicotine yellow, or look like straw at the ends and a barrel of oil at the parting the day after it has been washed. Nor does she get the telltale roots which look pitch black. Imogen Markham looks as if she’s in a shampoo or hairspray advert, her hair is thick and glossy and pure light blonde, it sways when she moves and ruffles in the breeze. The thing about her is that she’s not just beautiful; she’s also very, very nice. People say, “Oh, she’s lovely,” every time her name is mentioned and the funny thing is that her looks and her niceness do make her lovely, but things always have a price and this is Imogen’s – people say all this stuff about her, but they don’t really like her, she doesn’t seem normal. Nobody ever gets close to her, her perfection creates a bubble of personal space around her, she’s like a celebrity or someone who is very rich, people clamour round her wanting to get some of her attention, but it’s not because of who she is, it’s because of what she is, a person apart from the herd. Although she is “lovely”, although she is nice, although she has real kindness and generosity of spirit that shines through and lights up her face, although everything, she’s hated. Not openly, that would be inexplicable and mean, but underneath, people hate her, they’re jealous, why should she have so much when others are fat or spotty or just plain ugly? Also, they mistrust her, it’s not normal to be so nice, it’s not normal to ignore the bitching and gossiping and refuse to get involved, it makes people question their own actions and they don’t like it. But of course you could say it’s easier for her, she doesn’t have to fight for her place by getting over her fatness. Do you know the odd thing about Imogen? She has no idea what conflict she creates wherever she goes. She assumes that because she has good thoughts everyone else does too, she assumes that people are fundamentally nice. I wonder when her world will crumble around her, I wonder when she’ll realise that on the whole, people are shit.

Monday, 15th October, 2012

All blown over, Andrew’s back in the park playing football with Darren and Joe, they tried to make him go in goal, but he refused, trust him to only stand up for himself about that, anyway, it seemed to work. He doesn’t seem to bear them any grudge at all. Mum went out with that bloke again; this time she’d made a Shepherd’s pie, which just had to be put in the oven. Even so, Claire acted as if she was Russell Crowe in Gladiator

Sunday, 14th October, 2012

Officially, I

hate Sundays

This one was even worse than usual because mum had a “quiet word” with dad about the Andrew business and then he told Andrew to “just ignore them”. Andrew was not pleased.

Saturday, 13th October, 2012

Mum’s really worried about Andrew, yesterday she wanted to go up to the school about it all and complain about him being picked on but he wouldn’t let her. Today he just isn’t talking to any of us, which isn’t like him at all. Mum said that if it didn’t stop she would go to the school whether he liked it or not. I know mum – she’ll go up

and have a “quiet word” at school and hope he doesn’t find out.

Friday, 12th October, 2012

Andrew is still being picked on and he thinks it’s my fault; he came home with a big bruise on his face. He is very upset. People are saying that he’s gay, and it’s upset him. He thinks it’s all my fault because they think he’s a weirdo because I am, and they think he’s gay because I’m a lesbian (For God’s sake). When he was going on yesterday I just laughed and wouldn’t discuss it with him, but it’s different today because he’s been in a fight and he’s really upset, he’s saying that he’ll never go to school again. I told him to just ignore them and he said I sounded like Dad – “I don’t think so.” I said, “they’re just idiots, if you let them get on with it they’ll get bored soon

and move on to someone else.” He said I sounded even more like Dad. I asked him if he wanted me to go and sort them out, but he said if I did he’d kill himself and then me!! The “them” that are picking on Andrew are a couple of boys from his year called Darren (Dazza – very original) and Joe. They’re just a pair of stupider than average boys who talk about football and who’s hard and who’s not. They used to not mind Andrew and he used to play football with them in the park, but for some reason they’ve changed their minds about him at the moment. I think it’s because they’ve realised that he’s got more brains than them. I told that to Andrew but it didn’t seem to give him much comfort. He says that if I were more “normal” he wouldn’t be getting grief.

Thursday, 11th October, 2012

Apparently people are even more bored than I thought – Andrew is being picked


Wednesday, 10th October, 2012

People are very bored at school at the moment, it’s not close enough to half term, the weather is dull and cold and rainy and there’s not

found a good website

much happening, so rumours are the only outlet for over active brains – did I just say that? It must be getting to me too.

Tuesday, 9th October, 2012

You wouldn’t believe the rumours that are going around school at the moment, I can’t believe the dull lives people must lead, they spend their time reading rubbish papers and magazines which are full of boring trivia about Z-List celebrities lives (and why does everyone on MTV’s cribs show you what’s in their fridge?) Anyway – because everyone is so interested in this crap they turn their own lives into mini dramas. I don’t get told the gossip, because I’m not interested and nobody talks to me anyway. But you can tell when there’s gossip going on as groups of people just suddenly go off into a huddle and talk really excitedly for ages getting more and more carried away, they look like a bunch of chattering baboons, except that baboons have more brains. It’s a real laugh, because they think they’re being subtle and then they all turn round at once and really stare at people, which is about as subtle as hiring a plane and spraying the gossip into the sky in smoke. These are the rumours that I have overheard when I really haven’t been trying and the gossipers haven’t wanted me to hear.

First the ones about me.

Last week I tried to kill myself, there are two versions of this, one is that I stole my mum’s valium (like mum would ever take that kind of stuff) and took an overdose.

I am a lesbian. (The evidence for this is apparently because I have been seen staring at Jade, I think people are mistaking my look of astonishment at her hideousness for lust).

Then the one’s about Brian, who is a bit of a cool dude (how can you be cool with a name like Brian?) and Tammy, who is also a bit of a dude. Apparently, they have sex in the bushes outside Tammy’s house every Friday night. (I expect this rumour is about as true as the ones about me)

Oh, and there is a long list of girls who are supposed to be pregnant. . . .

Just get back to your magazines about where to buy the best thongs.

Monday, 8th October, 2012

Mum went out for a drink after work tonight, it was a bit odd because sometimes she does go out with “the girls” but normally we hear about it for days in advance and it’s on the calendar in the kitchen. Today, she phoned up Claire and asked if she’d cook us something to eat. Claire tried to get all grown up and in charge about it, and tried to order Andrew and I to peel potatoes and lay the table, but we just wandered off. I don’t think she really wanted the help; she just wanted to make it clear how much she was doing for us. The dinner was terrible, Claire is a crap cook, but anyone would think she’s Jamie Oliver the way she carries

on. When Mum came home she was pink in the cheeks and a bit giggly, Claire asked her who was leaving or whose birthday it was (that’s normally why she goes out), but mum said that she went out for a drink with her colleague Steven. We’ve never even heard of him. God, I hope she doesn’t get into having boyfriends and stuff; it would be a real nightmare. Even Claire paled a bit, she would be mortified if Mum got a boyfriend and she didn’t have one.

Sunday, 7th October, 2012

I went to see Uncle Angus today; we had lunch at his local Tandoori restaurant, which was great, having curry on a Sunday. Mum would have preferred it if he had come to us for Sunday lunch, but Uncle Angus said he didn’t want to. Which is quite rude, but then, he is rude. It’s partly why I like him; he just says what he thinks. Anyway, nobody else wanted to go and see him, so it was just us two, which I like. We drank beer at lunch, well, larger really, I don’t really like the taste, but it’s nice to drink it. Uncle Angus told me some excellent stories about his travels, he was telling me how someone tried to drug him and steal his stuff in Thailand. Uncle Angus does forget things though, he veers off when he’s talking and sometimes it’s difficult to hear the end of a story. He treats me as if I’m a grown up, he never asks me the usual questions, in fact, he never asks me anything – maybe he’s not interested. But he does laugh if I’m cutting about things and sometimes says stuff like. “Ignore that jibbering idiot”, or “what a blunderer, do what you think, his brain is incapable”. Uncle Angus has never done what he’s been told to do – it’s a religion with him. Back to him forgetting stuff, he forgot his wallet and didn’t have any money to pay for our meal. Luckily, he’s a regular there and the waiter said that they’d put it on his bill – apparently, he does it quite often. I’d better not

mention that to mum, she’ll start worrying about whether he’s coping or not and go round and hassle him. When I got home mum said that I’d missed Dad’s phone call and that she’d asked him to phone back later – luckily he didn’t bother.

Saturday, 6th October, 2012

Stop the press, shock statement. Mum got a letter today saying that Samuel is moving practices and that he’s referred me to one of his colleagues. I am really furious, he must have known that he was going and he didn’t even bother to say anything. Also, and I never thought that I’d say this: I would quite like to have carried on our conversation from last week. I don’t know why, it’s just that it’s been playing on my mind. What an idiot he

is. Anyway, his colleagues name is Willa Cotton, what kind of a name is that? I just know she’ll be a hippy, I bet she’ll be wearing a poncho and a caftan. (Mum’s got pictures of her older sister in a caftan, they are really bad news.)

Friday, 5th October, 2012

I’ve had three really dull days, as if everything is in slow motion, the same time to get up for school etc, the same dull tea when I get home, with the same boring conversation round the table. I have had too much dwelling time and can still see Samuel’s face looming up at me. I am not supposed to see him until next week, which is at least something. I’m a bit worried that Samuel may have a point; it does really annoy me that people interfere. But I’m beginning to realise that people ignore me full stop.

Thursday, 4th October, 2012

Samuel was on top form this afternoon, I normally see him on a Monday, but he had to change it to today. No explanation of course. I think that he’s been reading up on the notes he made while I was away because he decided to try a completely different tack. The old, let’s get aggressive and see what happens routine.

Dull, dull, dull, Samuel.

A quick list of what Samuel does to piss me off before

I go on; actually, it’s a list of what Samuel’s beard does to piss me off.

Samuels beard:

Often has bits in it, not necessarily food, sometimes it’s just flakes of skin or tobacco.
It furs out at his neck, goes all soft instead of wiry.
It has some ginger hairs in it – no ging on his head, but a few sprouts in the beard.
It seems in continual need of rubbing; Samuel can’t keep his hands off it.
It is a disguise for the fact he has no chin.
Samuel is not in ZZ Top, he is not Santa Claus, but I suppose he would not be the persona he is without his chin rug.
I am focusing on the beard because when Samuel decided to adopt aggressive tactics he loomed at me. Looming with beard is not a good thing; it gives you too much information about the state of the beard.

Samuel wanted to know why I craved so much attention (good old simpering Sally tried that one).

“Samuel,” I said tiredly, “I don’t want attention, I don’t want yours I don’t want mums, I just want to be left alone.”

“Left alone for what?” He asked, and again he seemed to be overly eager, as if he’d stumbled on to something.

“Just left alone,” I said. “I don’t want to be part of what’s going on, all the crap.” (I don’t know why I suddenly lose the ability to express myself when it’s important.)

“What don’t you like?” He asked.

Now that’s a good question, easier to answer what I do like though, I think.

“People expect you to be the same as everyone else.” I said,

“I don’t want to be a big sap interested in clothes and make up. I don’t want to watch telly and believe the people on it are real. I don’t want to have boring conversations about nothing just to make people feel better. I don’t want to be part of a group of people who all behave exactly the same way and think you’re a nutter if you don’t. I want to just be the way I want to be and for people to leave me to it. I am not mad or disturbed, I just want to make my own choices.”

(It was embarrassing, suddenly all these words were falling out of my mouth, I’d gone a bit red in the face and even started to lose my breath, I don’t know why, I’d had this conversation a thousand times in my head, perhaps Samuel was right, perhaps I wanted the attention of having him listen to me. The trouble is, I was living my life the way I wanted to, that made it important, I found myself wanted him to know why it was important, I even managed to ignore the beard for a few minutes).

He had stopped being aggressive, and moved back a little – he de-loomed.

Then he said. “I understand what you’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to make you very happy.”

“You’ve missed the point,” I said. “It does make me happy, the problem is that it doesn’t make other people happy, they start interfering and then I have to go and see people like you. It’s the interference that makes me unhappy.”

Samuel chose to ignore the point I was trying to make. He loomed back, (only this time more kindly).

“People only interfere because they love you.” He said. “They worry about you.”

That really annoyed me. “That’s not love,” I said. “It’s control. If people really loved me then they’d take the time to try and understand what I want instead of trying to make me do what they want.”

Samuel was blinking at me, and then he did what he always does when he doesn’t want to discuss things anymore, he got out his cheery voice and said. “Well that’s us finished for another session.”

Wednesday, 3rd October, 2012

It’s all exams, exams, exams at school today, dire warnings about working for mocks and getting heads down for the GCSE exams. I should be able to get some decent grades, I don’t mind doing the work at school. Some of it is a load of arse, but the point is, there’s no reason to go through all these years of agony if

you don’t get something out of it. Mind you, I don’t have to live up to much, Claire only just managed to get the required 5 C grades to do some AS levels, she didn’t really know what she wanted to do so has decided to do that, but now she keeps going on about wishing that she was doing a beauticians course – get my gun.

There was loads of tension at home today, Claire’s in a bad mood because she’s “on”, I don’t know why she has to announce it to us every time. She acts as if she’s proud of it, and she uses it as an excuse for getting out of doing the washing up or being bad tempered. Andrew always hears her announcement with a studied nonchalance, but you can tell he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to know the workings of her body. Even mum doesn’t know what to say and manages a breezy “oh dear” trying desperately to convey that the conversation is over. Mum tries to be hip and trendy, but really she’s old fashioned and prudish and gets embarrassed if there’s snogging or sex on the telly, which there always is, even if you’re watching Countdown. Anyway, when there is stuff like that on, mum fixes her eyes on the screen and goes all stiff, pretending that it’s nothing embarrassing and that she’s fine with us watching it. Still, at least Andrew has given up giggling and blushing and making fake snogging sounds.

Monday, 1st October, 2012

Ah, the delights of school, normally my peers don’t bother talking to me, but today about 10 said,

“oh you haven’t got much of a tan.” I thought, no and I haven’t got skin cancer either.