Yikes. It is stupidly scary catching my words and pinning them to the web like this. I’m a writer. I agonise.
I am also pathologically British. I don't like talking about myself.
Cue people that have been submitted to my verbal incontinence in person spluttering into their tea /wine/gin.
Seriously people, I’m scared because this is a diary that other people are going to read.
Best way to face your fear – tackle it head on.
Now that’s an idea.
In the spirit of getting into the psyche of my teenage characters I’ve recently re-read the diaries I wrote obsessively when I was thirteen to fifteen. Oh lordy, lordy – I really don’t recommend it.
But you know what? In the spirit of overcoming fears I’m going to post a genuine extract of that diary right here, right now.
Gulp. I chose this extract because it was a momentous day – the day I got my first job aged fourteen. But you wouldn’t know it because I was slightly distracted as you will see below.
February 7th 1991
Today HTIA2 (He That Is Adored 2) was not at school. I couldn’t believe it, I was looking forward to double maths all week and when he wasn’t there I felt sick, actually sick to my stomach. He doesn’t even actually know I exist but when he is not there for one day that day is the slowest day ever and I felt totally miserable. I wish I could just fake being ill for the rest of week. I love him. I LOVE HIM. I’m going to die of it. No one can ever know how this feels. I need to get some new white socks to wear over my black tights. I love my new brown waxy DM’s glad I didn't get cherry reds. I love them! Yeah! I got the job. I start Saturday £12 a day and a girl called Jess works there who knows Gavin.
So that’s it. I’ve done the unthinkable. I’m liberated. Nothing I ever write will be as cringe worthy as that.
I didn't die of love.
I can't remember who HTIA1 was, let alone 2.
I really wish I’d kept those DM’s.
Anyone else keep a teenage diary? Go on share a snippet with me. You know you want to.