|Arrows| Emily. Crummy Sorts of Days.

7^th of January. Friday.

10:39am.

I hate holidays. Which is strange as I hate school as well. Can never find a balance.

Hello, it's me again. Just popping by to fill you in on my first week of the New Year. So far, Oscar has pissed on almost every lawn down this street - he's quite determined. Mum has tried throwing him out several times, in hopes that he'll scamper away forever. But no, he whimpers loudly outside the door for ten minutes before she lets him back in.

At least the smell is wearing off.

I've secreted the blasted dress down the bins outside, never to be seen again let's hope.

Alice keeps calling for lunch which I refuse. She wants me to meet 'the new girl'.

I avoid all Bishop's boys by any means necessary. Smug bastards. Wankers, all of them.

And also, a couple of days ago Mother and Father decided to surprise Rhys and I (horrifically) by organising a three day holiday, celebrating Dad’s birthday, to... Wales. For 3 whole days. In minus degree weather. To Wales. With Welsh people. And their accents. On Dad’s birthday. It was fab.

We had to ask the neighbours to mind Oscar. Mum was willing to pay hundreds if they kept him, heartless hag. Oscar and I said goodbye.

I said, "Goodbye, Oscar. We'll be home soon," and Oscar sneezed in my face. Which was his way of being upset.

The drive in was hell. Thankfully Mum wasn't driving. She would get frantic enough in the passenger seat, giving wrong directions and complaining about the bridge toll. Dad was cool beans; I would've gone mad otherwise. He sat at the wheel, cruising along happily. Humming, telling Mum, to "calm down Betty."

Rhys wouldn't speak for most of the time. The whole thing was cracked.

We stayed in Cardiff. Saw castle. Saw arcades. Ate lots of soups. All came home slightly tired and pissed off. Except Dad. He was still humming.

Oscar was ten times as frantic to see us when we returned. He leapt up at us, begging to be pet and adored. I still wonder where this dog came from.

But that's it. Sums up the week I've had. I try not to think about New Years. Frustratingly, it makes me still cringe.

Had a spot of excitement yesterday actually, when Oscar brought a dead mouse into the house. Mum started screaming uncontrollably when we found out the thing was still alive and began to claw itself up to the coffee table, leaving a nice trail of blood along the living room carpet. I let Oscar finish off the poor creature, for decency's sake.

Mum is still pale, but it's not Oscar's fault. The idiot just thinks he's a cat.

8^th of January. Saturday.

11:25am.

Just bit into my headphone wire too hard. The whole right side of my head spasmed and it really hurt.

11:49am.

Mastermind is on. My God, and I thought I was dull. Is this what I'll turn into? Some obese, middle-aged, obviously lonely woman who rubs at her temples whenever answering a simple question? Is that me?

Oh fuck, I have to get myself a life.

2:50pm.

Mum keeps making me water the garden. Why me? It's not my garden. She moans on and on about taking care of Oscar who, apparently without my knowing, is now mine. Yet she just loves flinging her roses down onto me.

Parents. Such hypocrites, all of them. When Rhys used to bunk off in year 12, Mum and Dad would practically have him caned to death, though I know for a fact Mum used to leave school at lunchtime every Wednesday for the midday movie. Don't understand it.

Anyway, I'm watering that stupid bloody garden when a 109 year old pensioner waddles up to the garden gate, leering at my legs. Would've sprayed him if he weren't on a stick.

"Here's one!" he calls to me. "Why do they call them suicide blondes? Hey? Why? Eh? Hmm? Because they die with their own hands!"

He pissed himself laughing as he waddled away.

I don't get it. I'm not blonde.

6:21pm.

I still don't get it.

Mum sent me to Sainsbury's for some vanilla essence. She always loves a good dose of baking, only to realise she's without just one ingredient that, of course, I'm sent for.

I trekked all the way to the other side of town for a teaspoon of liquid in a miniscule, barely visible bottle costing 5 quid.

I got honked at on the way back. Honked. Twice. A load of skinheads, wearing adidas and drinking some corner shop piss.

Why, oh why do I attract the creeps only?

9^th of January, Sunday.

9:56am.

Mum just barged her way in to inform me that school starts again tomorrow. Oh. I'd forgotten completely.

Mum said sarcasm is a lower form of wit. I said at least it was a form of it. She got all miffed again. Bloody hell, I wish the menopause would set in already, tight-knickered bint.

She found me letting down the hems on my dresses as I find they attract the wrong sort of attention. She asked why. Lied and said I didn't like the style. She agreed.

Taking them back up again.

11:43am.

Alice called. She wants to celebrate the last day of these fantastic holidays.

Actually, I think she's getting rather fed up with my constant, unsociable refusals to these types of things. So I said I'd go. And I'll meet the new girl. Hurrah!

Might as well.

8:35pm.

Useless, useless, crummy sort of day. Grey clouds all afternoon and not a drop of any sort of romantic rain. It's like it was teasing us all. The sun was making such an effort to come out but really not succeeding very well.

I should know better than to accept these things.

We'll meet up, hug, go into shops, chatter like the schoolgirls we are, have a coffee, browse the markets, make comments about any 'cute' boys, then hug goodbye in the gardens.

What is all this hugging anyhow? Why the hugging? Can't we just say goodbye like normal beings? Some middle-aged woman scoffed at us hugging which is exactly why I hate doing it. I feel a fool. Among fools.

Giselle is cool. I like Giselle. The new girl. She's of Russian decent, but moved here from somewhere near Bristol. She's small in stature, petite even, and has this shy sort of smile. But wow, is she a powerhouse!

We were all walking by Debenhams at one point, when a thick yob yells "Nice tits!" to one of us. She yelled back, "Go fuck yourself, nobody else will you thick yob." And she did it without any hesitance or regret.

Could have applauded her. Put him in his ruddy place. Stupid git.

9:44pm.

But the thing I really hate about going out in big groups is that I stick apart. Horribly. Like a sore, throbbing thumb with a big booboo. 

I'm always having to bend my head to hear what's being said, or tangling my legs in the shopping bags. I feel ugly next to them. Not normal. Away from the swim.

When I'm by myself though, I just bounce along, almost singing "Yes I'm tall and bloody big-boned."

It's just comparisons. They're odious. Pretty friends make me feel shit. End of.

Boys won't even consider me next to Alice.

Oh! And how could I forget this? My absolute favourite part of the day was the coffee shop incident. We were all sat by the window in Punch Tavern on High street. I was looking out the window at various things; young Mums pushing their newborns, old men wandering vaguely, boys and girls holding hands etc, etc.

We were talking about trips and Liza said to me, "Oh, yeah, how was Wales?"

I opened my mouth to give my honest, brutal recount of the miserable journey when Giselle talked right across me.

"There is a strange boy winking at me," she glared across the room.

We all turned to see, like conspicuous budgeree girls. He was at a table by the wall with a friend, smiling and winking at Giselle. Obviously already keen. Then I saw who he actually was. And then he saw me as well.

He started really grinning.

"What the hell is he up to?" I heard Liza mumbling behind me.

He called to me, rather cheerfully, "Hello Grandma! Where's the dress? Where's the dog?"

"What the hell is he talking about?" Liza mumbled behind me again, as I slid down into my seat slowly, ashamedly.

He started waving happily. I just sat, watching in complete horror and shock.

"Should I smack him one?" Giselle suggested to us all. "He looks like a prick. OI!"

She bellowed it across the coffee shop, so loud and so threatening it could strip the fur off a live badger. She was already rising out of her seat angrily. I had to catch her arm and force her to sit again.

"What?" she was saying loudly. "He's being a prick!"

"Giselle, please, I know. Just please, let's be quiet," I was begging and she did remain quiet, though was deadly and on the lookout until the Bishop's lads trooped out soon after. The prick was still smiling. Unfazed. The friend gave me an apologetic look as they went. The friend was very tall.

But anyway, it was awful. Awful, awful, awful. I'm fine with being embarrassed, but when it's in front of people I know, friends or whatnot, then it just gets so fucking humiliating.

All-round entertainment for them, today was.

I feel like a loser. I need my dog with me.

11:59pm.

Ding dong goes this wasted freedom.

10^th of January. Monday.

4:13pm.

Oh, school! How we've all missed the dusty chalkboards, the batty teachers still sour as ever, the smell of mothballs, the supply cupboards stocking all the hundred year old cracked rulers and projector sheets.

Still got Fopp for R.E. and she still seems to hate me. I would be bothered by this is I had any respect for the silly bint, but luckily that dissolved years ago. So I can freely hate her back.

We got the usual drill - third semester of our Lower Sixth Form, possibly the greatest hurdle of our lives etc, etc. A load of information on the strenuous, never-ending exams they'll dump onto us in May, the skills we shall have to adopt to organise it all, ways to reduce stress (yeah, I'm frantic) and what we'll be studying etc, etc. It's all very tedious.

And I thought last semester was possibly the greatest hurdle of our lives? Education, so hit and miss!

Anyway, the only relief is lunch when they release us for an hour in town. I have my own private place. It's a small mossy alcove by the canal. I love it. I get a Snickers and enjoy the peace. Though sometimes Alice spoils the fun and brings 'the gang' to sit with me.

Today I got to be alone.

Unfortunately, two buggering Bishop's boys invaded my privacy. Most of the were young'uns, so I wasn't able to tell them to shove off. Not that I would anyway.

Walked back to school with Giselle. I saw her alone near the King's Arms, so I decided to be sociable. She's nice. Unguarded today. She told me at home they call her Giz. I said that was unfortunate.

When I got home, Oscar leapt on me. I like how excited he gets. He'll poke his head around the kitchen door, staring curiously with those huge eyes, and come bounding. We have routine.

Dad thinks we should take him to the vet.

"There's nothing wrong with him," I said.

"That's what you think, Emily," he said adjusting his tie. "He could have something lurking beneath."

"What, like crabs?"

"No not like crabs!" he yelled.

So unreasonable. I think he's trying to quit smoking. Under Mum's influence, no doubt.

10:22pm.

Oscar is an English cocker spaniel crossed with some other spaniel. Explaining the lack of floppy ears on the mite. He's 3 years old, apparently, still growing. He's completely normal. Though I don't know how the vet managed to say that after Oscar sprang from the table, onto the counter spilling various medicines and slipping into the sink.

The water just thrilled him further and he was rampantly swishing and gargling before I had to fish him out..

"See Dad," I said, as we drove home with Oscar doing his berserk, happy yapping out the window. "No crabs."

He just pointed to Oscar, "Shut his window, that old woman almost had a heart attack back there."

Why did I call him Oscar, anyway?

Dad dropped me off at Woolworth's for some new school books, leaving me to walk home. Saw St. Bishop's boys. Cringed like they knew me.

I'm not as weak as all this. I'm not.

I'm too tall to be weak.