DEAR DIARY, at work, we decided to do a Secret Santa. I don't know where this idea came from originally, but a lot of offices do it these days. You pick a name out of a hat and anonymously buy the person whose name appears on the strip of paper a gift with a budget of approximately £5-10.
I picked a name out of the hat and was lucky enough to get the name of someone that I actually like so buying her a gift was easy. She's an iPod fan so I decided to buy her an accessory from the Apple Store.
DEAR DIARY, a friend of mine, let's call her Christine is getting married next February but she said she's not in love with her fiancé. She said it's more of a case that they really get along like two best friends. Christine says that her and her fiancé make a really good team and work together for the greater good of their future. They both sing from the same hymn sheet of life, they hardly ever disagree; they both want the same kind of life-style and have the same family values and background. So as far as she's concerned, they're a perfect match.
DEAR DIARY, about a year ago, I allowed a stupid idiot to slip through the net and hurt my feelings with a severe act of betrayal. It hurt even deeper because I went against my gut feeling of being wary when people appear disingenuous. The lesson I learned is to trust my gut feeling without a shadow of a doubt. But last year, I exposed myself to lies; I was taken advantage of and made a fool out of and I was so incredibly angry, bitter, frustrated and hurt that I needed a private place to cry. I had to be strategic with the time and place because I knew it was going to be a crying session which was going to last all night long.
DEAR DIARY, why on earth do men believe that women are going to dowse themselves in petrol and set themselves on fire or leap off the top of a tall building or women are going to wait outside their house in a black balaclava wielding a machete in order to chop off his head if a man simply says, I like you, but not enough for you to be my girlfriend.
What's so difficult about telling the God's Honest Truth?
DEAR DIARY, I bumped into my neighbour Katie yesterday afternoon. I gave her a lift home because I saw her walking up the steep hill of the high street, carrying heavy shopping bags. I don't know why I mention the heavy shopping bags because I would have stopped to give her lift with or without her bags. I guess I'm just trying to paint a picture.
DEAR DIARY, I sometimes toy with the idea of saying goodbye cruel world. I say this quite nonchalantly because I'm talking about imagining the process and not actually doing anything drastic about it.
I'm definitely not talking about the desperate feeling of being clinically depressed and buying a huge bottle of Paracetamol and some Gin. As for hanging, chances are I'd find a flimsy rope, not hefty enough to carry my weight and the last thing I'd want to do is try to hang myself and then come crashing down on the floor like a sack of potatoes, having made a complete disaster of it with insubstantial rope and ceiling cement all over my dress of death!
DEAR DIARY, at the moment, my home has been over-run with spiders; big ones and little ones, fat ones, skinny ones, brown ones, multi-coloured ones, black ones – just a rainbow coalition of spiders. They're all as ugly as each other. I HATE SPIDERS!
They're some of the ugliest creatures God ever created. I know they're good for something, but quite frankly, I'd have to dig real deep to find out what they're good for.
DEAR DIARY, my friend Jade had her eyebrows threaded and false eyelashes applied. When I saw her, she looked fabulous, like she'd just come from a photo shoot for the cover of a magazine. She then recommended the salon to me because I was so impressed with her new look.
So off I went in search of beauty the very next day.
DEAR DIARY, When I was about 17 or maybe even 18, I fell in love. I fell in love hard, with a no good son of a b*tch but I had no idea that he was going to dish out cruel and unusual punishment. But when we first met, I was naive... I adored him! I thought he adored me. He was handsome, funny and a very bad boy which I found fabulously exciting. I loved the element of danger but obviously, I wasn't dynamic enough for him. He left me for a vision of beauty!
DEAR DIARY, how do I get it over to all the ladies that they need to stop telling each other horsesh*t. Stupid stories about men! You're driving each other nuts and you're driving me nuts too.
And another thing ladies, have some boundaries and stick to them for God's sake! You're making it all too easy for the un-ambitious deadbeats out there.
DEAR DIARY, I've had quite a good friendship with my mate Charlie for many years. He's a good bloke. My group of friends met his group of friends at a barbecue and initially, he wanted a leg over, but I pushed him into the glass case that says Emergency F*** Buddy in Cabinet, Break Glass to Release. Many years have gone by and I've never had the need to use the axe swinging on a chain to break the glass and never will. Charlie strictly belongs in the friend zone but he still insists that he might be in there with a chance one of these days. Well not while I'm conscious and breathing. I just don't see him that way.
DEAR DIARY, I met Kevin a couple of years ago. He was a friend of my friend Claudia and he seemed like a nice enough friendly guy. Definitely not dating material or anything of the sort. He had about 100 children for 100 different partners, but fairly personable on our first meeting all the same.
Our first meeting was the last time I ever used the word personable when referring to Kevin. Kevin turned out to be a complete wanker.
DEAR DIARY, August is my favourite month of the year; my celebratory month! August is my namesake for good reason – it's always a special month for me. My parents were married in August 1963. I also came along many Augusts later. My youngest son was born in August and my Godson Trae was also born in August so August is THE BOMB.
DEAR DIARY, my cousin is gay, but for some reason he chose to stay in the closet for over 30 years. I use the term "stayed in the closet" very loosely because it's been quite obvious since he was about seven that he was gay. I'm the type of person who doesn't like stereo typing at all. I believe boys should be allowed to play with dolls and girls should be allowed to play football. I don't mean forced to, but if they so wish. But on this occasion, if there was an archetypal gay black man, LeRoie (pronounced Leroy) would be it. In every way using every cliché.
DEAR DIARY, my mate Heather's off work. Sick to her stomach. Her heart's broken. She found out that her husband's been doing the nasty with another woman. Heather can't get out of bed and everyone at work understands her absence. There's not one woman and maybe a couple of men at the office who hasn't got their own very personal tale of their heart being ripped out of their chest while it was still beating with the news of infidelity.
DEAR DIARY, I'm beginning to understand that if somebody out there doesn't hate your guts, then you're not doing anything worthwhile!
I put some new summery flowers in my flower box on my window sill and my neighbour hates me. She must think I didn't understand the look on her face which said "who the frig does she think she is... that overblown show off bitch. With her damn flowery flowers. Making everyone sneeze and bringing the neighbourhood a whole swarm of bees. Stupid show off bitch"!
DEAR DIARY, I decided to sit in the park yesterday because it was hot, I mean really hot from 8am in the morning until 10pm at night. I had a stack of bits to read so I made some picnic food and grabbed a carton of juice and off I went in search of a quiet place to sit in the common
DEAR DIARY, when I was working late a couple of nights ago, my son called me at work and said he thought he heard a noise in the kitchen. He said it sounded like a mouse because he heard what sounded like claws tapping on the kitchen floor
DEAR DIARY, the worst thing my dad ever did was spoil me. I'm the runt of the litter so it was easy for him to justify me being treated like a fairy princess. He's ruined me and made me unmanageable and not cut out for the real world.
DEAR DIARY, his name is 'Vermilion Red', why? Because he was just like my new can of Vermilion red paint. A fabulous idea at the time. Both him and the paint. A change of colour to liven up a room and my life. I'd have to add some new art-work, a new rug, maybe a new sofa and some expensive curtains. I'll throw out some of the old bits and pieces that would no longer suit the room. I couldn't wait to add some va-va-voom into my magnolia coloured life.
DEAR DIARY, I've been shopping at our local Caribbean market for about 15 years. Occasionally, I see the shop and stall-owner; he's not seen very often because he's got other businesses in the area to oversee. For this reason, when I do actually see him, we never say more than pleasantries like please, thank you, hello and goodbye but he seems friendly enough.
DEAR DIARY, I've been feeling rather overwhelmed recently. I've got too many projects going on and too much to think about and things to do and not enough time. I even schedule my sleep these days. I work shifts so sometimes, I snatch four hours here and two hours there and convince myself that I can stay awake for 24 hours because I'll catch up at some point.
DEAR DIARY, does this statement mean that 18 hours in labour is about to pay off? Instead of my 15 year old saying to me "mother I need your purse; there's a tenner in there with my name on it" he asked me if I could help him to find a job!
My first words were no, my mum and dad didn't help me to get a job, they just made it clear that I was 15 now so it was about time I thought about how I was going to survive the rest of my life without the bank of mum & dad. My father made it clear that I had plenty of "stuff" but if I wanted more "stuff", I'd have to earn my own money in order to get it.
DEAR DIARY, my neighbour across the way's kids were locked out of their house one day last week. At first, I saw them standing on their doorstep and then I saw the older one knocking on their front door, pressing the doorbell and then looking through the window with cupped hands.
After about 20 minutes of spying on their fidgeting, I made a decision. I put my flip-flops on, went outside and called across the road to them. I asked if they were locked out and the older boy said yes. I asked him if they wanted to come inside to call his parents and wait and he said yes please, so in they came .
DEAR DIARY, when I was younger, I think was in secondary school, I met for the first time and most certainly not the last, a young man. He was around 18 years old. His name was Kirk. He was a good friend of two members of my close-knit extended family; Mike and Rayon. He then grew close to other members of the family like parents, other siblings, cousins etc and soon he was a regular face in and out of our lives and houses.
DEAR DIARY, Trevor who lives next door to my parents says he would NEVER ever date a black woman because they're awful. He said they're always angry and they go to sleep with their fists balled up and when they wake up, they do three finger snaps in the air like divas. "Black women turn my stomach" said Trevor! "I cross the road when I see a bunch of them laughing and screeching like hyena's in their too-tight jeans and sh*t hair do's". "They smell of chicken grease and cocoa butter. They're always broke, breed like rabbits and normally have three different baby-fathers for their brood of pickaninnies" and he's convinced that black women are "unmanageable and unmarriageable"!
DEAR DIARY, I guess it's true that I have a few single female friends. Apparently it's modern and kitsch to do the "Freemale" thing these days... you know, when a woman's a happy singleton. I've heard them say a Freemale is a woman who's RELIEVED to be single and not disgruntled at all. She doesn't feel like a shrivelled up old spinster, she's not lonely, used up, worn out, bitter, tired, or needy. Just happy... content... and wouldn't have it any other way! In fact she'd rather stick needles in her eyes than have a man come into her well organised life and complicate it beyond recognition and give her something else to think about other than getting her hair did, her nails did and her Margarita down her throat and an occasional "rabbit hunt". There are loads and loads of Freemales around. They're as fashionable as Lipstick Lesbians and Metrosexual dudes.
DEAR DIARY, I've been friends with Melvin for about 25 years. We get on like a house on fire because we've established our boundaries. He knows I'm not his emergency sex friend and for that reason, he can be totally honest and open with me and I can do the same and we're not going to fall out because of complex sexual bullsh*t. In fact, I love him like a brother and if he were to catch a bout of madness and decide to try it on with me, I'd slap his face and tell him to pull himself together, this isn't The Ricky Lake show and I don't do incest! A swift open-handed slap in the mouth is just the right kind of shock to make a man remember his place. That's what my gran used to say anyway.
DEAR DIARY, as Valentine's Day is quickly approaching, I made a conscious decision not to be sad about it. I use the word sad because I'm single and single people are supposed to be bitter and close to suicide when Valentine's Day appears. All this love and romance and flowers and chocolate and love being in the air and cupid and all sorts can be a bit trying; but this year, I'm single and cool about it!!
DEAR DIARY, I bumped into an old friend of mine in Pizza Express on Saturday. Brenda and me met at circuit training class when we were about 19 and we ended up becoming friends and as luck would have it, she moved in two doors away from me so she also became my neighbour for about three years. Her boyfriend was a DJ and her brother was an A&R Man at BMG Records so we spent a lot of our time raving & recovering with bouts of Circuit Training in between. You can punish your body like that when you're young and fresh!
DEAR DIARY, an unusual event has stayed with me since I was about five. It was when Mark stole my ribbon. He stole my white and blue ribbon; snatched it from my hair! I was running in the school playground when this weird transgression happened and it just didn't make sense to me. One pull and it was gone. In a split second I thought what does a boy want with my ribbon? Why would a strange boy who I don't know from Adam come so close to me and put his grubby hands in the hair my mum plaited this morning? This was my first encounter with blatant theft – yes I was robbed and I was only five!
DEAR DIARY, names are very interesting; first names, middle names, why some people have two surnames and why different countries have their reasons and methods of naming. As much as it's everything to do with the parent who named you, the name you're stuck with defines who you are for the rest of your life and it then becomes nothing much to do with your parents but everything to do with you. It would be nearly impossible to see me as anything other than August but if I had my way, August wouldn't be my name. I'd call myself Lola Cinnamon. Maybe we should have the option to take part in a re-naming ceremony at age 25 to give ourselves a name which we think best suits us.
DEAR DIARY, one of the gifts I received as a Christmas present last month was a new mobile phone. I was very happy to receive a new phone because it meant more to me than just a prettier looking, funkier, modern gadget. It meant a new phone number – I've decided to abandon the old one. Out with the old and in with the new. A new number gives me the opportunity to sweep out some of the cobwebs of my life. I no longer have the need or hunger to entertain anyone or anything that means me no good. Raj Crown Indian Restaurant included. They gave me the food poisoning of my life back in June.
DEAR DIARY, if you don't go, everyone thinks you're a stuck up b*tch with a pole up your jacksy and if you do go, it's quite likely you're gonna get smashed and wish you were never born.
I was leaning towards not going. There are always people in attendance that you can't stomach and you might have to sit next to them for a whole boring hour chewing on Brussel sprouts and dry turkey with lumpy gravy.
DEAR DIARY, I like my neighbours. I'm very lucky because they're all quite nice. It didn't used to be that way, one of my neighbours was a miserable old trog but she's gone now thank God. Having said that, I also like my neighbours to keep their nose out of my business and I don't like too many frequent visits for no good reason. I don't like the idea of needy neighbours popping over to watch DVD's until late into the night while sipping my red wine, talking over the sound of my telly while eating my Dorito's. No, that doesn't suit me at all.
DEAR DIARY, why do people ... I ought to rephrase that; why do I insist on asking for opinions, only to be saddened by the response? There's a 50/50 chance that I'm going to hear something I really would rather not hear so I'm better off not asking and trusting my own judgement.
DEAR DIARY, I'm going to live in the Bahamas! I'm not happy about this credit crunch business, the cold weather, the expensive cost of living and the fast pace of life. I've always dreamt about living in the Caribbean and the dream just might materialise – but that's a big fat MIGHT.
DEAR DIARY, I work unsociable hours which means I'm often at work when the cleaners come and go. I always try to make a point of saying hello to them all. I think it's just common courtesy really. We all work in the same place. In fact, I say hello to everyone at work because I find that people are generally receptive when you make the effort to say hello, good morning, good afternoon or good evening and have a little chat to pass the time.
DEAR DIARY, my friend Jade wants us to sign up with dating website together. Why God, why? I'm not keen at all, whereas she can't wait! I can't think of anything worse right now. She can see the nightmare look in my eyes but she's choosing not to recognise the pure unadulterated fear in me. I mean ... why is she asking me of all people? I'm happy hiding behind juggling work and devotion to my children. To be honest, the whole dating game frightens me. Hell, if I was any good at it, I wouldn't be on the market now would I? Just the idea of putting myself out there, all vulnerable and spelling it out ... it makes me want to vomit!!
DEAR DIARY, Tracey who lives up the road has been selling Avon products for about 13 years but she gave up about a year ago.
She wanted to give me two boxes of products that she no longer needed and I was a very happy recipient. She had nail polish, lipstick, body lotion, bubble bath, shower gels and mini samples.
DEAR DIARY, my friend Paul has emigrated to Australia. Booooo!!
We've been friends for about five years, but when we first met, because of what we'd heard about each other, we took an instant dislike to one another.
DEAR DIARY, my Godmother must be a fairy Godmother. D'you know why? No, of course you don't. Well I'll tell you why - she gave me a gift which was a voucher to be redeemed at La Senza!
DEAR DIARY, what the hell kinda day am I having when I see the man of my dreams on a "dress-down" day... and what am I wearing? Horror No. 1: Manky, unkempt ballet pumps that Amy Winehouse would be so proud of. Horror No. 2: No lip-gloss. Horror No. 3: Grey jogging bottoms; not my colour, not my size. Horror No. 4: A crumpled Mac.
DEAR DIARY, it's been alleged that a millionaire, Christopher Foster killed his wife, his teenaged daughter and the family's horses and dogs at their £1.4 million mansion in Maesbrook, Shropshire recently. Why? Because he was facing financial ruin.
Money shows it's ugly side yet again; on this occasion, determining whether a family will live or die and we're not talking about poverty. It's not lack of food and dying of hunger or lack of heat and dying of hypothermia. Nor is it lack of money for healthcare and dying because you can't get your hands on the right medication. The Foster family died because of fear – the fear of facing debt, bankruptcy and the shame of it ...
DEAR DIARY, my son Daniel had his first interview for a part time job and he was excited, nervous and apprehensive. I said to him, son it's 50/50 when you go for an interview. It doesn't always depend on your performance as an interviewee whether or not you get the job, but do your very best and the rest will fall into place. I said to him not to be devastated if he didn't actually get the job and once the interview is over, to put it out of his mind instead of going over and over it in his head about what he could have done and what he should have done and whether or not he'll get it.
DEAR DIARY, I met my friend Shona for cocktails and spicy food at the Satay Bar in South London for a very belated celebration of my birthday. We couldn't meet earlier because Shona was in hospital having a bum operation. Yes, poor thing had to have the surgeon's knife on her batty. She had a complaint like piles or something I normally associate with old people. Knowing the very up-market Shona, she was probably having cosmetic surgery to make her what's it look pretty! Anyway, we met to celebrate; catch up; do the taste-test on several cocktails and fill our bellies with some of the finest Far Eastern cuisine in Brixton.
DEAR DIARY, what happens to people when they get behind the wheel of a car? As soon as someone gets into the driving seat, they think it's their cue to go crazy. People want to murder you just to get two cars in front. What's this thing about having to get ahead of someone when that someone got ahead of you and then you in turn spend half of your journey racing to make sure you get in front of them again! It's really juvenile.
DEAR DIARY, a middle aged woman was having a meal in a restaurant with what appeared to be her elderly parents this afternoon. She kept looking over towards me and my friend while we were having lunch and chatting away. My friend Sabrina often has strangers staring at her because she's quite stunning; next to her, I look like a Troll doll. Anyway, I just assumed she was being stared at because she looked particularly radiant today ...
DEAR DIARY, if I saw my son with a bandana tied around his face in a balaclava type manner, I'd punish him in a way that he'd never forget. There's no good reason to dress like that; we're not in the Wild, Wild West. If I saw my son, posing with a gun or a knife in a photo or on a website, again, I'd punish him in a way that he'd never do that again. And guess what DEAR DIARY; Social Services would come for my black arse if I man-handled him and grabbed him by the lapels and shook him all over the house until he was sick ...
DEAR DIARY, if you don't tell your wife I will are the last words a cheating husband wants to hear from his lover, but these are the words Melanie said to her lover all the same. Melanie's a friend of a friend and for the last eight months she's been having an affair. The person who mentioned it to me broke his silence because he no longer respects Melanie because Melanie's turning into a spiteful witch because she's hell-bent on causing her lover's wife maximum pain. She thinks if the wife hears all the gory details of her husband's affair, she'll get out of the picture and then Melanie can have Mr Married all to herself without the distraction of a wife.
DEAR DIARY, I can't remember if it was the book The Secret or Oprah or both, but between them, mention was made of a Gratitude Journal. It encourages me to write down all the things I'm grateful for during the course of my day. Don't feel like I'm cheating on you Diary, the Gratitude Journal is an addendum, not a replacement.
DEAR DIARY, my friend Lorna told me today that her relationship of five years is over. I can't tell you how shocked I was. Lorna and her boyfriend seemed so happy, visually and on paper. I mean they both seemed to be working in the right direction and doing the right thing in the right order.
DEAR DIARY, I sent my children to buy some clothes for my cousin's christening. I hate shopping and normally buy my clothes on line so the thought of shopping with two teenaged boys made me feel quite ill so I gave them the money and sent them on their way. They're normally quite good when it comes to selecting what they need but that's when it's casual clothes. I was a little nervous because they had to purchase smart items, but I was still unwilling to accompany them thinking they're old enough to buy a shirt and a pair of trousers that don't have a sport logo on it.
DEAR DIARY, I hate interviews, the chances are someone is going to tell you no, that's if they can be bothered to get back to you at all. Most of the interviews I've been invited to, I've not been offered the job. The worst thing is not being given a reason why you've not been selected because you're then left thinking about all the reasons why you've been turned down.
DEAR DIARY, Debbie at work offered me some jelly babies today; sweets I hadn't eaten in years, but it reminded me of when my youngest son was three and he decided that he would become a thief. Oh the shame of it. I couldn't be more horrified. Up until that point, he'd been an angel, a blessing, a joy to behold and then he turned into a common criminal before you could say 999!
DEAR DIARY, there are some men out there who complain about their women. She's too fat, she moans too much, she's stupid, she's always on the phone, she doesn't talk dirty to me anymore, she wears too much makeup, she's a gossip, she puts her friends and the kids before me, she's always running to her mother, she makes me sick, I wish she looked like my brother's girlfriend, she can't cook, she never wants to make love to me, we don't talk, I hate her hair, I hate when she inhales/exhales, I hate her! This is the same man who used to suck your toes. In the complex game of relationship chess, you were once his best friend and now you're a repulsive sight to behold.
DEAR DIARY, this is the 6th month that I've been clean! I'm so happy that I've finally stopped smoking and I use the word stopped cautiously. I've stopped smoking in the past, but so far this has been my longest and happiest time without killer cravings.
DEAR DIARY, I've made a decision. When I receive my £5m cheque (I'll explain some other time) I'm going to employ a personal fitness trainer. I want to improve the way my body looks but I don't want plastic surgery for two reasons; Michael Jackson and Jocelyn Wildenstein. I don't want a boob job or liposuction either. I've had two caesareans and quite frankly, I'd rather chop off my left foot than volunteer my body for the operating theatre if a baby's not coming out of it. What I do want is a washboard stomach with a four pack like Dame Kelly Holmes and I know yoga or Pilates is not going to achieve that.
DEAR DIARY, my friend Mavis is having to make life changing decisions at the moment. The four very important corners of her life need a new broom to sweep clean and we were talking about making a choice to do one thing or another.
Mavis said one of the most profound things to me in that three hour conversation. She said being in a position to make a decision to make a change is a luxury.
DEAR DIARY, I'm wearing my bright pink bottom-hugging jeans today for the express purpose of enhancing the shape, definition and curves of my behind! The term BOOTYLICIOUS is a positive word! Destiny's Child did curvy women a massive favour by creating such a wonderfully expressive term! According to Beyoncé, the definition of the word bootylicious is beautiful, bountiful and bouncible. How fab!
DEAR DIARY, for the first time in my life I was offered cocaine yesterday at an exclusive nightclub. It was after the sit-down part of my work Christmas party and I can't tell you how shocked I was. Firstly, I didn't know Charlie was a druggie and secondly, he's in a senior position at work and I thought a move like that to the wrong person would jeopardise his job. It also made me think why me? But the whys and wherefores are not all that important. I just made sure I said nope and kept my distance for the remainder of the night.
DEAR DIARY, I had a fruit salad this afternoon and it reminded me of when I first started primary school in the 70's, if you lived close enough to school, you could go home for lunch which is something I used to do.
When my mum returned to work, I had to have school dinners. I was outraged. Initially, I ate like a sparrow. One green pea, one nugget of beef from the stake and kidney pie, a spoon full of jelly and a sip of water but I soon had a fight with hunger pangs and it won so decided to eat and resign from my unofficial hunger strike.
DEAR DIARY, my favourite birthday present of all time is a packet of fruit polo's. My sister Sheba bought me fruit polo's for my 6th birthday. I have no recollection of anything else on that day; I can't remember what my parents bought me; I can't remember anyone else being around so I don't think I had a party nor can I remember my birthday cake.
DEAR DIARY, I met this girl many, many years ago but I remember the day like yesterday. She had the saddest eyes I've ever seen. I couldn't help myself, I said to her, why such sad eyes? She said to me, who me, my eyes aren't sad. I said I'm looking right at you and your eyes are sad, so yes you, why so sad? She said I don't know what makes you say that, maybe you're tapping into something deep down inside. I said take a seat, talk, tell me what makes your beautiful eyes so sad? She said life I guess. I said what about life? How old are you for life to have made you so unhappy already? She said I'm 22 and I guess a lot of little things have happened and I don't think I deserve them although I think somehow I've been instrumental in it happening to me.
DEAR DIARY, my mate Susan at work was describing her dodgy date. Well he cancelled their actual dinner date due to lack of funds. He then said he'd still love to see her but he had no where to take her. He suggested just popping around to hers for a quick drink. He didn't bring a drink, I guess that was covered when he said he didn't have any money. The guy turned the date into a late night visit when he appeared on her doorstep at 10.30pm. She said throughout the evening, he was kissing her and managed to stick his tongue down her throat several times, he squeezed her bosoms and was vigorously rubbing his hands up and down her thighs and trying to undo her buttons. That to me was "I wanna sex you up" not a date. It got me thinking, I hate dates; they're rubbish and I've got a few complaints to make. For instance...
DEAR DIARY, I think I'm God fearing because there are certain things I won't do because I wonder what them up there in the heavens would think of me. I find that I make a lot of decisions based on my day of judgement. I really don't see why I should burn in hell for eternity if there's another option.
DEAR DIARY, I have a lump in my breast. The last time I had it checked out at the hospital it was a cyst thank God. But here it is again making me feel sad, confused and paranoid. So today I went to the surgery; the doctor's going to have a feel, rest me assured that it may be nothing to worry about and then tell me that there'll be an appointment made for me at the hospital. Yes I'm scared but I can't predict what the outcome will be so until such time, I'll do the right thing and get it checked out. But while I was sitting in the waiting room, I allowed my mind to wonder in day-dream fashion. I didn't have my own magazine and didn't really want to read the Christmas edition of Good Housekeeping or a two month old Sunday supplement so off I went into my own world of over-imagination.
DEAR DIARY, I've been single for a year – hip-hip hooray!! I got over the "break up" without cutting my own throat. There were times when I thought I should end it all, but my family would never get over it. They would be so angry with me that they'd resuscitate me and kill me again for putting them through hell. Plus all I have in terms of drugs are laxatives in the bathroom cabinet or Omega 3 in the kitchen cupboard. So I'd either shit myself to death or overdose on fish oils.
DEAR DIARY, I've just got back from Andrea's house. The last few days have been a bit of a rollercoaster for her. I've known Andrea all my life. We were next door neighbours as babies and went to Primary school together.
Recently, Andrea has had an awful time of it relationship-wise. Her boyfriend Peter attempted suicide while they were on holiday together in Greece. This kind of drama normally happens in films! When they happen to ordinary people you know, it's all a bit unbelievable.
DEAR DIARY, I laughed at a helpless man falling down the stairs and every time I think about it, instead of feeling ashamed of myself, I laugh again!
I went out to dinner with some friends and one of them brought along her new husband. He was a cold fish and seemed only to give one word answers when spoken to. My friend Eve and I decided that he was a dreadful specimen so we gave up on making an effort. On the way out of the restaurant, he fell down the stairs; it was a big, loud Hollywood stuntman fall. What made matters worse is he had one leg shorter than the other so it really wasn't the done thing to laugh ...
DEAR DIARY, I stooped to a level I'm not proud of, but I was provoked.
I had to write to Alison next door because she's gotten on my last nerve. Since she moved in at the beginning of the year, all she's done is moan. If it crosses her path, she moans about it. She complained that our trees hang over her fence. She complained that our satellite dish is interfering with hers. She moaned about some of our cherries falling onto her side of the fence. She said that the pond in the back garden is making her garden over-run with frogs. I haven't even got a pond! She says we make too much noise with our music. She said the kids are too loud. I bet she cusses the birds because they sing to loud too. I bet she shouts at the traffic because it doesn't creep quietly enough past her door. I bet she tip-toes around her house just in case her own size nine Sasquatch feet make too much noise on the parquet floor.
DEAR DIARY, I saw Andy Armstrong today. He dumped me when we were teenagers. It wasn't so much the fact that he dumped me that was awful, it was the fact that his friend James was in the background laughing his head off. I couldn't even cry to my mum and dad because they didn't know Andy existed.
DEAR DIARY, women can be as cold as a witch in winter. Recently I've heard one too many stories about women being mean to one another for no good reason. I think I ought to offer every woman a dose of Evening Primrose and Star Flower Oil to take the edge off premenstrual tension because I'm sure being pre-menstrual has something to do with women being horrible to other women for no apparent reason whatsoever
If you don't already have it installed (although 95% of you already do!), you'll need this ...