Dear Diary, Monday
First day back at the S.A.A, after half term.
I spent the holiday fantasizing about school.
And usually I’d agree it’s a very sad thing to do, but if you were in my shoes, you’d understand.
Well, if you were in my shoes right now, you’d probably take a moment to stop and admire them. They’re lilac with stiletto heels and bows on your toes, I can’t get enough of them.
Anyway… I’m sure you’ll hear more about them sooner or later, but I just wanted to say how utterly terrible these past seven days have been.
Dad’s girlfriend Georgia came to stay. As far as my dad’s girlfriends go, Georgia’s fairly decent. They met on some cheesy show, he was in a grey suit, she was in a sparkly silver thong and bra. But honestly, the other ones he’s brought home…
She’s half his age too, so she’s more like an older sister for me… she’d promised to take me shopping these hols, so I really reckoned for a moment her stay wasn’t going to totally screw up my quality time with my father-then BAM, what do you know? Glizy girl and cradle snatcher have "fantastic news".
You see this happen billions of times in films. The happy couple have their fantastic news, only it doesn’t turn out to be so fantastic after all, and it’s always the same…
Their last bit of fantastic news was pretty lousy too.
Georgia announced she was pregnant. She still is, actually, seven months, a big bulk under her t-shirt, so it was only a matter of time before this cropped up.
"Lola, you’ll never guess what!" Georgia said, a big grin splayed across her face.
Hmmmm…. Bet I can.
"What?" I asked. It’s only polite; they didn’t want my guess anyway.
"We’re getting married!"
"Oh, cool." I muttered.
"Isn’t this great?" She said.
"Yeah, sure." Dad pulls me a face. "Sorry, Lola’s still half asleep. Not really a morning person, right?"
I lick nutella off my fingers smiling sweetly. Dad ignores this and gives Georgia’s tummy a pat.
I haven’t told anyone about this, not even Izzy. I can’t be bothered, and I don’t want to. I’m sure it wont work out anyway, just like with all the other girls.
Aho, Enough about them.
I’m here now.
And I’ve got to get to my first lesson-and change into my uniform in just under 3 minutes…
Hellu Diary, Tuesday
Absolutely exhausted here!
I’ve just had a hot shower (and left Izzy with the cold water), changed into my PJ’s, and now I’m lying across my bed.
I had football this afternoon, and I’ve just got back from the pool. Gazzy tried to drown me, again. But that’s because I hung her bra on the door of the boys changing room… but that was because she attempted to drown me the time before.
We had double maths this morning, what a bloody brilliant way to start. I’m not stupid, I know that 2+2=4, but all those fractions, and letters, why are they letters in maths?
I thought it was all about numbers? It all makes sense to Izzy, that x+yx2x=17, it could just as easily be=umbrella for me.
Our maths teacher is a little old man with NO patients and a dislike towards children. He’s one of those people who went from a foetus to a fully-grown man, skipping the best part of life, child/teen hood. So if Mr Paisley says "23a+2 (4b-3) is twenty three a plus blab la bla" and I ask why, he looks at me as though I’ve just squeezed lemon juice in his eyes and says "it just is, Laura."
And then you want to yell, "Uh, well, thanks you flipping pillock, but you’re supposed to be a teacher." And then, "MY NAME IS NOT LAURA".
It’s Lola. That’s another thing Mr Paisley hates, "silly names".
He’s the only teacher who calls Izzy "Imogene" or Paws "Parker" or Gazzy "Gabrielle." You can’t call Gazzy "Gabrielle"! It’s a pretty name suited for someone cute and little, not Gazzy! She’s 5 foot 9, and there’s a pug look about her with those beady little eyes, small nose and a bit of a jutting jaw. She’s in my swimming group, so yes, I’ve had the misfortune of glimpsing her in a swimming costume.
I could hardly believe it when I found out she was Izzy’s best chum. They’re Izzy Potts and Gazzy Bryton, Timon and Pumba.
It isn’t half scary when Gazzy comes tearing across the football pitch at you, then Izzy, ever so easily takes the ball from her feet… then you’re fine, because you know no one can tackle the ball of Izzy. Not even Pumba.
Anyway, the point is, Mr Paisley is a pain, and I’m lousy at maths.
We’ve been giving two full pages of exercises to do for Wednesday that could be OK for some people- but NOT if you’re in the SAA, especially if your timetable is choc-bloc full already.
I don’t know how if got to be so full. I sort of accidentally signed ku for everything. Mrs Carton, our headmistress called me into her office the second day of school, to point this out.
"You seem to be taking on rather a lot here." She said peering down at a form on her desk.
"Yes, Miss." I said.
"The average student applies for, lets say, three activities maximum. You’ve written your name down for… five activities."
She has this really annoying middle class accent. She probably was at this same school fifty years ago, applying for crochet, badminton, and horse riding.
"I’m both awe and capable of it." I said in my best middle class tone. Mrs Carton looked at me over the rim of her glasses.
"We shall see how you manage this first week, and then we’ll take things from there."
Well, I’m managing. I haven’t missed a lesson so far, and it’s a great way to meat people, seeing as I’m new.
Izzy hardly gave me a head start. She was a total non-socialize. Mostly she just sat on her bed listening to her I-pod, occasionally watching me, keeping an eye on what I was doing, where I put my things.
"You into football?" Was her first, fully constructed sentence she’s said to me, eyeing my Beckham poster.
"Uh huh. Well, when Man-U play. Or one of the bigger games. "
"Man-U?" She scoffed.
"Uh oh, you’re not for Liverpool are you?"
"So long as my blood runs red." She said, chin held high. I didn’t point out that Man-U are also red.
You’d think after that we would completely avoid each other, but somehow we’re more friends. I suppose all the bickering about football teams led on to bickering over music, that way we learnt a bit more about each other.
The present Izzy is giving me stick about the cold shower now.
I’ll write tomorrow.
Dear Diary, Wednesday
I’m writing during history.
I really need to pee, but Mr McGregor wont let me go until he’s finished his lecture. Urrrr.
And this lecture is going on a bit.
Two cups of coffee for breakfast, and it’s paying off.
It’s really nice weather outside. Its torture being in a stuffy room when the sun’s shining. It just so happens the class window overlooks the school grounds; the green grass of the football pitch, the hills in the distance, the trees swaying gently in the breeze…
It just makes me want to do a Truly Garland (from Wizard of Oz), and burst into song.
Oh gawd, I do really need the loo now.
LET ME PEE!
I peed in the end. I literally sprinted down the corridor to the girls’ bathroom, where I then hopped around in circles with my legs crossed cause all 3 cubicles were occupied. Guess who I walked into on the way out?!!
Oh, my blessed days!
Allow me to introduce Filippo.
Let me fill you in a bit on the opposite sex and me.
I LOVE ‘em.
Ok, so in general, they’re plonkers. But individually… I’ve had more boyfriends then there were dinosaur species, more then Henry VIII had wives, more then Dad had his women.
You wouldn’t expect it from a girl fresh from a convent. But there you go.
I don’t know if your gran’s ever said to you "you’re too young to be thinking about love"?
Quite right too.
Sure, love your family, the dog, the birds and the bees, but there’s no need to get involved in the Romeo and Juliet stuff, that’s for when you’re old and you’ve nothing to do.
Flirting, dating, kissing… it’s just a completely different thing.
Filippo, he’s TOP of my list… Well, may not TOP, third, you need to be Beckham or Eminem standard to be that high up in rank.
"You could have any guy!" Izzy keeps saying. "Any guy you wanted, and you choose those two?"
Yeeeees. I do not know why, but I love short blond hair, and tattoo’s.
Filippo has short blond hair… I’m not sure about tattoos, but I can find out simply enough.
I could write pages and pages on him
"Hi." He said.
I wanted to collapse into his arms there and then, or scream, "Hello there, you hot piece of work!"
Instead I tossed my hair over my shoulder in my well-practised way and said, ever so coolly "Hey."
And walked on.
I turn around and raise my eyebrows. Inside I swear by the bible it felt as though my innards were turning into popcorn.
"You’re new, aren’t you?"
I cock my head and put a hand on hop. This is my "You’re wasting my time" look.
"Um, cool. You’re in the girls football team, right?"
Ooh, he’d noticed me!
"Mm, I thought so. I’m Filippo by the way. You?"
He grinned. My tummy twisted over. "Sorry about that."
"Whatever. It’s Lola."
I took a step backwards, smiling. "See you."
So there you have it. That’s how I first spoke to Filippo.
But what will happen next?
Will the be a next time?
Is this the beginning of a new era of passionate love?
I can’t remember anything that happened after that. My head was all a daze.
Only that Filippo nodded to me at lunch.
He walked past me on the way to the pool.
Izzy recons he’s gross.
Per-lease! A little respect to one of Gods finest creations!
Uh oh, Dad’s phoning…
Dear Diary. Thursday
Today was the first lesson since Mr Mohei fractured his collarbone during a motorbike accident- the first time I met him.
He’s about Dad’s age, Japanese blood, although he’s got a strong Scottish accent.
"Um, hullo, I’m new here." I said.
He sniffed. I was still in my short school skirt and had undone the first two buttons on my blouse. Come on, it was another gorgeous day!
"Are you lost, Blondie?"
Here we go again.
"No, I’ve come to introduce myself. My name’s down for Karate."
His eyebrows shot up.
"Ok then. I’m Alex Mohei, Mr Mohei."
We shook hands.
"Are you English?"
"Half. Half Italian."
He sent me to the changing room and I put on my stiff new kimono. There were only four other girls.
"Karate too?" Gemma, a girl from track, exclaimed. "Looks like you’re about to bight off a bit more then you can chew."
"I have a surprisingly big mouth." I said, grinning.
Now, I can’t pretend I’m completely inexperienced with the marshal arts.
Mr Mohei called me over after an hour.
"I take it you’re no novice."
It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer.
"How long have you been doing karate?"
"Um, about eight years." I said Oh-so-modestly.
Mr Mohei whistled.
I phoned Dad as soon as I got back to my room. He showed the usual lack of interest that he has lately at my "great news" (which is usually a great deal better then his).
"That’s fantastic, Lola." He said.
"One would think as an actor you’d at least try to sound a little more convincing."
"Come now, I really am very pleased for you-"
I hung up.
Hello Diary, Friday
Gazzy attempted revenge for the bra trick.
I must say, it really was a very, ultra pathetic pay back at that.
When we got into English, someone had written ‘I LOVE FORD, BY FRICASSO’ over the whiteboard.
Ford, a burly creepy little guy in out year, who wears shocking yellow lycra tracky bottoms on a daily basis and has greasy dark blond hair and a face full of spots etc etc… Uh, he saw the message and said, "All right there, Lolly?"
He really believes in himself, that one.
I ignored Gazzy who was clearly sniggering behind her grammar book. The class was filling in behind us. Hardly anyone paid the board more then a second glance.
I shrugged my shoulders and her.
"Hey, Lola, I didn’t think Ford was your type." She said in a stage whisper. "Still, if it makes you happy."
I looked up at her and smiled. Izzy was watching me out of the corner of her eyes.
"Didn’t think Frecasso was spelt with an ‘i’. Still, if it makes you happy."
Haha, her face! She’ll get me back better, hopefully, next time. That was a pretty lame trick.
I’m not going home for the weekend…Dad’s in Paris until Monday.
"Pig out." Izzy suggested. "Loads more food and you can lie in. We don’t even have to take it in turns using the hot water."
Izzy’s going home for the weekend. She lives with her dad too, and he has her back every weekend. No trips to Paris with pregnant a fiancé. It’s just quality Dad and Izzy time.
"No biggie. It’s not as though he roles out the red carpet."
"He still wants you back." I said lying back on the sofa. "I’m not bothered."
We got changed into our football gear and make way to the pitch. The year eleven boys were finishing, so we warmed up. I could see Filippo jogging backwards, shirtless.
HOT HOT HOT body.
Stars burst in front of my eyes and I stumbled face forwards into the ground.
Around me people were sniggering. I sat up, spitting grass out; I could taste blood on my lip.
"Oops, sorry Lola." Said Gazzy, reaching a hand towards me. "I didn’t see you there."
I glanced towards the other end of the pitch. Filippo had his back turned, talking to one of his trainers (the guy- not his shoe).
"It’s ok." I said. "Accidents happen."
I was appalled to see Izzy fighting back a grin. How dare she take Gazzy’s side?
I jogged off.
Gazzy deliberately aimed the ball at my head during practise, but I ducked and she hit Morgan, square in the chest.
Izzy passed me the ball once during football, even though she could have scored perfectly herself. I suppose that was her way of saying sorry, so I let her have the first shower when we got back to our room, even though it was my turn to have the hot water.
I’m pretty cold right now.
Dear Diary (Lola age 7)
Saffy ate the hands off Tina today. I’ve hidden all my other Barbie’s in a shoe box in the bathroom.
I still love Saffy. It’s not her fault; she’s only a puppy.
Emily’s scared of dogs. She likes cats and throws cushions at Saffy. I hate Emily. I want Amanda back. I’ve still got the pink streaks in my hair she did. I want to be a hairdresser too, its soooooo cool!!! ☺ ☺ ☺
Love Lola XXX
Hello Diary, Saturday
I couldn’t sleep in despite Izzy’s suggestion.
I woke up with the thought ‘the SAA is mine, all mine for the day.’
The smell of breakfast was wafting threw the grounds from the kitchens.
The canteen was empty; I grabbed a tray and ran to the counter to pile it high.
"You’re an early bird!" Said one of the dinner ladies. Mara Davies it read on the badge pinned to her breast. She gave me two sausages fresh from there greasy jacuzzi in the frying pan. I took a boiled egg, a bowl of cornflakes and a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table nearest the counter.
"You’ll wanna watch your figure, miss!" Miss Davies said, pointing a skewered sausage at me.
"No thanks, I’ll eat to my hearts contempt and burn off the calories during the week."
Dinner ladies are great. People classify them as minors, under the teachers, and head teachers, lawyers, politicians…
Their food is amazing… on one hand, there’s your parents fussing over your diet, then there are the Dinner Ladies who make the best unhealthy food ever. Beats McDonalds.
It turns out I’m not the only person who boards during weekends.
Carlos and his friend come down ten minutes later, then more people.
I wasn’t going to bother myself with homework, even though I have a load of algebra exercises for Monday.
So I walked around a bit, plugged into my i-pod enjoying the last of the sunny weather.
I don’t like being on my own for long. It gets a bit boring. I though about giving Sophie a call, or Bek, or one of my friends from the past, or Izzy, or Thea, our dog sitter, to check up on the 3.
We have three amazing dogs. Two are mine, one’s dads.
Muffy’s my baby, she’s still a puppy. I got her from Georgia’s parents, my to-be-grandparents; their dog Elisabeth (how can you call a dog after an old English queen?) had puppies, so Georgia gave Muffy to me as a sorry-I-stole-your-dad present. Fair enough. A dog for my Dad.
I’ve had Saffy (Sapphire Gem Ruby Star) since my seventh birthday (hence, the name). She wasn’t aloud to come with me to the convent, so Dad let her sleep on my bed when I was gone, and when I came back, she’d sleep with me. Poor Saffy’s dead jealous of Muffy; suddenly she had to share my attention, have only half my bed.
There was always Bagel, Dad’s dog. He’s been around since before I was, Dad’s graduating present, actually. He’s a dog de Bordeaux, an old, ugly thing. I love him dearly, of course, and Dad loves the old thing more then anything else in the world. Even me. He won’t admit it; it’s soft to love animals, according to him. But once Bagel had a minor heart attack, and Dad almost had one himself. He was prepared to give him the kiss of life and everything, but Bagel came round.
Maybe that’s why Dad sent me to the convent in the first place. He thought that day God had brought Bagel back to life, so in return sent his only child away to become a nun.
An unsuccessful exchange.
I lay back, and was just dropping off when someone said "Hi".
It was a boy. He obviously hadn’t noticed my closed eyes with my sunglasses on.
"Lola, isn’t it? I’m Ben."
Why, He-lo Ben. He was wearing a washed our pink t-shirt so I could see his arms, which showed signs of hours in the gym. I smiled and nodded.
So guess what? I spent lunch with Ben. I didn’t wolf down my food like I would have liked to, I ate daintily, privately despising him for shovelling his food down without a care in the world. He said I looked like a cute blond squirrel nibbling my food.
Us girls have to make some sacrifices in life.
I found out Ben’s a year eleven, he’s a Liverpool fan (points docked), he’s in the school rugby team, does swimming and spends lots of time in the gym (point for me!).
I couldn’t stop wishing privately he were Filippo, walking next to me, talking, calling me silly little names, and taking my hand in his.
Oh, what the hell, I thought, he’s not here, I’m Filippoless until Monday. So I threw my hair back in the well practised way, pushing Filippo to one side of my mind, stood to face him, and waited for him to grip my waist, then lent up and kissed him.
Not a bad kisser, another point to me, first guy at the SAA and not even too bad.
Right now I’m lying across my bed, wandering weather I should take advantage of the hot water, or go and play pool with some of the others…
First pool, and then water.
Lola MUAH xx
I gave my algebra homework a shot… no use, it doesn’t make sense.
Dad called. He said he missed me lots, and asked what I was doing this Sunday morning.
"Algebra homework." I said.
"But you hate maths."
"That’s not a valid excuse for not doing it."
There was a pause. I woke up in this morning; it’s probably due to the now grizzly weather.
"The dogs are all right." I told him. "Thea said Muffy ate my hairbrush."
"I’ll buy you a new one sweaty. It was nice of you to ring old Thea."
I could hear the accusing note. I had phoned the dog sitter but not him.
He said the shooting was going well, he was cast for a minor role in an Italian television series, set in Paris.
"I get killed in episode two." He explains. "That’s why I’m back so soon, then you can come home, spend the weekend with me."
"And Georgia?" I asked.
He was sighing. I know he was. "Yes, and Georgia."
This relationship with Georgia was too serious for my liking. Maybe they really will get married…
And then I’ll have a sister!
UUUUuuuuh *wail of exasperation*
What am I going to do with a baby? Hell knows I’m useless when it comes to them. Human ones anyway.
I’m going to play tennis with Megan and Laura now.
Izzy saved my bacon and let me copy her algebra answers.
She arrived yesterday evening.
I love the fact that she’s so tactful. She could have bragged and bragged about her weekend, like I probably would have done, instead she simply said it was nice seeing her dad, and handed me a bar of Cadbury’s.
I simply couldn’t deny that.
I basically ate the bar in one.
"Have you not eaten anything the whole weekend?" Izzy asked looking amused.
"I missed lunch." I said, then I told Izzy about Ben. She looked slightly taken back. "And what? You go into Ramadan when you’re going out with someone?"
Izzy really knows nowt about flirting.
I didn’t have to point out who Ben was for her, he leapt on me the moment we entered the breakfast hall.
"Uh, Ben O’Connor?" Izzy hissed. "He’s Lauren’s ex!"
I gagged on my coffee. I never go out with my friends ex boyfriends.
Not if I can help it.
I scanned the sea of heads for Lauren’s. Izzy assured me she couldn’t come before our first lesson, so I still had time to get rid of Ben.
It was all done quickly enough. I even caught up with Lauren as she came threw the hall with her bag, and said hi without feeling too guilty.
I impress myself sometimes, I really do.
Got to get ready for football now…
Dear Diary (age 7)
Dad wants me to be a nun.
That means I have to go to a nun school, like church, and I love my school here and I don’t want to leave. Ella’s my new best friend. She has brown skin and hair, but she’s English, and has earrings. I want my ears pierced but Dad says I’m too little. It’s not fair. Mindy has her nose pierced. Dad says that’s because she’s Indian.
Ella thinks my dads crazy. She says nuns shave their hair off!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Noooooooooo!!!!
Love Lola XXX
Dear Diary, Thursday
If my writings weird it’s because my nails are still wet.
Izzy’s at footy so I’ve got the room to myself and I’m listing to my music at full blast.
Carlos and I had an arm wrestle over Paws’s portable DVD player. He won (I know, what a surprise), and I sprained my wrist for nothing. Now I can’t watch a film tonight, and he already got it last night.
God is soooooooo sexist-making men stronger then women.
It’s funny, you know, all that time at the convent and I never believed. I sat down on my knees and held m hands together in prayer like Mother Josie told us to do, but generally I was using that time to think about lunch, new ways to break into the callers and drink the wine (which we managed to do on in my third year).
Now I’m out, I talk to God, without even being awe of it.
Like right now, I picture this Santa like man, big white beard and twinkling eyes, in a toga with a satellite dish like halo sprouting from his head, stretched out on a cloud listing to harps.
And I have his answers ready, looking down at me with the exasperated look Father John used to give me.
"Look here, child, there are people praying for safety, sick people behind bars asking me to make them good, children begging me to save their parents from death, scared of growing up alone, people supplicating me to bring back the lives of their beloved departed ones, and all you can do is waist my time, questioning my work, calling your life unfair because some boys is paying you the required attention."
It’s true. I know.
But it’s dads fault for sending me to a convent in the first places. Blame him.
Filippo isn’t paying me the required attention. I could hardly believe it when I saw him walking down the corridor hand in hand with some blond girl.
"Look on the bright side." He said. "He likes blonds."
I don’t care. The point is- that girl wasn’t me.
Filippo looked right at me. I held my chin high and puffed out my chest until the buttons almost popped.
Boys’ minds work like girls’ at the end of the day. He obviously was trying to make me jealous.
Good work, mate, but I ain’t going to cry over you.
That’s another thing. I don’t cry. It’s not that I’m all brave and think tears are a weakness. No, how I long for a good weep! To let rip all that emotion that’s bottled up inside me, to just have a good old howl and then feel better.
I can’t. I don’t know how to. Either I let it pass right over my head, or I scream and stamp my feat.
I screamed and stamped my feat now, as soon as I got back into the room
I’m going to take it out on someone in karate now. I can feel it.
I’ll have Mr Mohei down too if I’m not careful.
Dear Diary (age 7)
Emily called Saffy a really bad word today, so I told her to shut up and called her the same bad word. ☹
You know what she called me? A spoilt little brat, and I was jealous because he loved her. I said Dad says he loves all his girls but I’m always the most special to him, SO THERE you SMELLY COW. ☺
She told on me to dad. I’m not a tale tit. I said yes when Dad asked if it was true.
I’m punished now. I can’t have dinner.
Love Lola XXX
Dear Diary, Friday
Dad’s promised to come and collect me tomorrow morning. I told him I’ve signed up for the extra hour and a half of track Saturdays from 9:00-10:00 am.
I’ll pack my bags.
X L X
Dear Diary, Saturday
I have amazing balance after all those years of ballet and wearing high heels, but when dad got out of the car to hug me, I almost feel toppled over.
"Wops! Take care of those shoes, they cost a fortune!" He said pulling me close. I was wearing my lovely lilac ones again, but at that moment I could have just broken Cinderella’s glass slippers and I couldn’t have noticed. I was staring in horror at dad’s upper lip.
"What is that?"
"What’s what?" He said in that really stupid way when he knows exactly what you’re going on about, but he wants to set the scene. I guess that’s what you get from being an actor.
"It’s a moustache! Doesn’t it look sexy?"
It was hideous. SO unsexy I could have barfed. A blond sliver over his top lip.
I pushed him back into the car before anyone could see. Dad chuckled as I climbed in next to him.
I shot him evil looks the whole way back home. Dad even tried talking Italian to me. I stuck my fingers in my ears. He always tries to win me over by speaking Italian. It’s such a beautiful language. I refused to speak to him the whole journey, even when he stuck the Boticelli and sang along.
Before we got out of the car though, turned to face him with my most stern face on. "Michelo Frecasso. You will shave it off the moment we get in, or I’m signing myself up for adoptions, do you hear me?"
"Georgia likes it." He said defensively.
To my delight though, Dad skulked into the bathroom during lunch, which Georgia had prepared with all her heart on my behalf.
"Looking gorgeous!" She said. "You’ve lost wait!"
"You’ve gained it!" I retorted.
Georgia beamed. Her breasts and tummy had swollen considerably.
Muffy and Saffy licked my face clean of foundation and nuzzled my hair and clothes for the unfamiliar smells. And last, out trotted Bagel and slobbered all over my top, just jowls quivering with excitement.
We had pasta with leaks.
I stripped my room clean. This isn’t going to be my room anymore, my room’s with Izzy, at the SAA.
I’m used to moving. I’ve moved so many times by now that it’s like when your dad says, "Oh, it’s a sunny day!" and you hardly react, you just agree. Well, that’s what it’s like here, Dad wakes up one morning and "Lola, we’re moving." "OK, Dad." End of story.
My mum moves a lot too; we hardly ever see each other. Neither of us are particularly bothered, we have our own lives to get on with. To me, she’s just like another one of Dad’s many girlfriends. He loved my mum, but when she had me, she threatened to put me into care, saying she was too young busy to be lumbered with a baby. One may ask why she got pregnant in the first place? Mum obviously didn’t, so Dad looked after me, he had pretty much just left collage and was living by himself (and Bagel) in a cosy apartment in London. When he wasn’t at home the old lady from upstairs would take care of me, or he’d leave me in my cot with Bagel as guard dog. Responsible parenting, I know, from both their behalf. Imagine if the social services dropped by one day?
Dad met Mum again for a film. I was three then. She cried when she saw me and admitted she was proud of Dad for bringing me up and how she longed for a little girl like me. But did she take me home with her?
Nope. Thank goodness.
Dad says I look like her.
Mum’s chestnut brow.
I’m light honey blond.
Mum had silvery blue eyes.
Mine are azure.
I’m Dad all over, so when he calls me his blond beauty or his Picture of Perfection, he’s actually paying himself a compliment.
Which wouldn’t be entirely ironic for him.
He’s my Vision of Vanity.
Dear Diary, Wednesday
I hate it when it rains on a Sunday. I mean, it’s Sunday, SUNday, doesn’t that mean anything?
Before it started raining I managed to take the dogs out for a walk. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried walking three once. Especially my three. Muffy still being in puppy hood bounces about, never walking in a straight line, turning around to play tug of war with her lead. Saffy is eager to get o the park, so she pulls and strains, urging me to run, which I would happily do, but poor Bagel has arthritis in his front paw, and lips almost like an old man, trying with all his dear old heart to keep up with the other two.
I let them off in the park. Muffy and Safy head straight for the duck pond, chasing the ducks away and eat their bread crusts. Bagel sets about marking his territory, cocking his leg at all the bushes.
Then the rain started, and by the time I got home I stank of wet dog. I had a long soak (in the rain-and bath), used a few of Georgia’s beauty products and came across chocolate flavoured body cream (no, I didn’t use it). Uh, if I had chocolate flavoured body cream, and put it to Georgia’s use, which was probably a nighttimes surprise for Dad, I’d be locked up, wearing an iron mask like Hannibal Lector.
Izzy’s going to let me copy her algebra homework tonight. Two hours avec the much-loved Mr Paisley tomorrow.
NO idea how I’m going to get threw my GCSE’s next year!!
I have to go over my French verbs now.
A bien tot!
Dear Diary (age 7)
Do you know what I did yesterday?
I cut my hair. It was growing really long, but I wanted to see Amanda really badly, so I took my scissors and cut a big amount off.
Dad went bananas when he saw. He tried to get Emily to sort it out, but I wouldn’t let her touch me.
Amanda did it. Dad took me to the hair studio and asked her for a small favour. She said he had to pay just like everyone else.
I told her about Emily and Amanda called her a bloody swine and laughed when I said I called her a . . . . . ☺
She has a new boyfriend now so she can’t look after me.
Love Lola XXX
Dear Diary, Tuesday
School-lunch-school-spot-homework-sleep. That’s my regime.
In my free time, which can I just point out, is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y limited, I chill in the library with Izzy and the others or I’m prowling around the school with Melanie and Lauren, spying on Filippo.
They like him to, which isn’t an unbelievable coincidence, because a hot guy like him only deserves to be appreciated by girls.
We’ve already found out:
1) He sleeps 3 rooms down from Carlos, so suddenly there are lots of nighttimes visits to Carlos and his roommate, for mobile chargers, loopaper, and toothpaste…
2) You can just see his window if you lean out of Melanie and Lauren’s. We’ve seen him hanging our of his window smoking.
Mrs Laurence had us all in stitches in drama. We had to pair up and improvise a romantic scene between two people of the same sex. I was paired up with Lauren. I had to declare my "feeling" towards her, and she could choose either to react as a lesbian with the same feelings towards me, or the opposite… you can kind of imagine!
I’ve always been able to remain serious while I act, it must be in my jeans, and Lauren’s quite a good partner, but when it got to some of the boys…! They were leaping in each other’s arms, getting on their hands and knees… you get the picture?
We had to do all this in the canteen, moving aside some tables seeing as the school theatre is being redecorated. The dinner ladies found this quite hysterical and were falling about with tears streaming down their cheeks.
Haha. I Can’t wait for our next lesson.
XX Lola XX
Dear Diary, Thursday
I have a cold.
I really, really hate colds.
My eyes water so my mascara runs and my nose goes red and my lips chap and my bodies all week and my hair goes limp and I can’t taste anything and I get spots blooming over my face…
I look a fright state. Izzy keeps her distance, not wanting to catch anything for the upcoming match. I’m missing out on today’s extra practise. Instead, I’m lying on the bed feeling sorry for myself.
Karate was pretty terrible. Mr Mohei pared me up with another blue belt girl, who took was showing off like mad. I didn’t feel like putting up much of a fight. To be tackled to the floor was a pleasure, like being tackled onto a soft mattress when you’re exhausted, or thrown into a swimming pool after having run a marathon. The padded floor of the gym was very welcoming to my poor frail snotty self. But this girl really hurt me. She would pin my arm back until I gave a little gasp, it was like Gazzy had just joined us. Only she had long ginger hair and so many freckles you went cross-eyed just looking at her. She was a fair amount thinner then Gazzy too, but dense as led.
"Cud you stop hurtin me, please?" I hissed.
"I’m not! Honestly, are you sure you’ve done these exercises before? I mean, this is quite easy."
Uh-ho, brag, why don’t you?
I had enough. This time I resisted the floor. I bend my knees, took a side step, taking her by surprise, she stumbled into the wall. You would have hoped everyone would clap, but Mr Mohei told me to calm down and do the exercise properly.
"Can’t ‘elp bein a nasty show off." I snapped, trying to use as much venom as I could muster, but my nose was all blocked so it sounded pretty comic. I picked up my bag and stomped off.
I’ll skip ballet.
Colds are truly horrible.
Lola x x x
Dear Diary, (age 7)
I packed my clothes. I’m not aloud to bring Saffy. ☹ She’s going to get so lonely without me.
I’m taking E.T.
Dad’s taking me tomorrow morning and I said bye to my friends. Ella’s mum said I can come around their house in the half term.
It’s the first football match of the season tomorrow; our boys playing saint Bartholomew.
Izzy says they’re a really posh privet school. I can just imagine them jogging in with their socks pulled up high, ditto their shorts, spanking white, chests and noses held high.
"They’re a bloody good team, though." Carlos said.
"Yes, but so are you lot." Izzy said confidently. "And you’re a great player."
If boys blushed in the same way girls did, it would be so much easier. Carlos quickly pretended to scratch his nose and looked away.
We’ve sent the boys to bed now. Early night.
When I got back to our room I found a piece of paper wedged into our door. There was a letter L on it. I unfolded it and inside was a heart with a question mark inside.
Aw, so sweet.
I’m going to have an early night too, beat off the rest of my cold.
Dear Diary, Saturday
But it was a good game.
They didn’t look exactly how I pictured them- they were in yellow and brown stripes. Their crest was a fist clutching a four-leaf clover. Our school crest is a cricket back crossed with a paintbrush. It’s a bit lame, but it stands for Sports and Arts. And our colours are tad bit better. Maroon. It may not be my favourite colour, but yellow and brown vertical stripes don’t do anything for me.
It was raining too. Only slightly. Lots of people came to watch. Not only students and teachers, but parents and little brothers etc…
We scored first goal. Ian was our champ for the next fifteen minutes then the SB’s scored.
"Oh, top hole!" I yelled.
"Yes, absolutely spiffing!" Melanie added.
We all laughed as one of the boys made a rude gesture to us.
They scored a second goal not long after. The SB’s who had come to watch cheered like idiots and started chanting a very sad team anthem they’d made up.
"Shameful." Izzy muttered. "I’m embarrassed for them."
A boy called Luke scored for us. Carlos picked him up and kissed his wet head. We all laughed.
Finally the SB got a penalty when Eddie punched somebody in the stomach. They scored. Big cheer.
They ran around the pitched with their arms held up in victory.
"Careful not to slip on the wet grass now, our lad!" I said, as the boy who had scored their winning goal jogged passed.
"Especially after the glorious victory, Old bean!" Said Izzy.
"Off to the changing rooms, there’s a good chap, before one gets a bit too big headed." Gazzy concluded. "Go on, piss off!"
We went to console our team. They were all lined up on the bench with their head in their hands. Connor, the team captain, was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.
"Come on guys, had you got a penalty, you could have done it." Izzy said.
"I agree." I said. "It’s not like they’re better players, I mean, they just got lucky."
"Eddie you Doofus!" Gazzy said. But as a sign of how much we despise the SB chaps, we all gave Eddie a pat on the shoulder.
Dad picked me up. Georgia’s staying with her parents this weekend, so it’s just Dad and Lola again.
Love Lola xxx
Dear Diary, (age 7)
Mother Josie is in charge of us. She’s an old, fat nun. I couldn’t see if she had any hair because she was wearing one of those black veil things of her head. I met the priest; we have to call him father John. He gave me a necklace with a wooden cross. All the girls wear one, and we have to ear a white painting apron-cloak thing with a pink frilly collar that’s really itchy.
We have bunk beds! How cool?! I’m on top bunk. This girl Lana sleeps under me.
Dear Diary, Sunday
I wanted to order pizza, but Dad says it’s shameful to eat "this English muck they call pizza".
So I cooked. Surprisingly it’s not a massive risk asking me to cook. Dad can’t cook to save his life, so it’s up to his girls. We have lots of things like sweet corn, pees, tuna and salads; because all you need to do is crack open a tin or a packet, not cooking involved. I made a tuna salad with pickled peppers and gherkins for dinner and put some chips in the oven.
We sat on the sofa with the dogs and watched Dr Who and Dad did Dalek impressions. I reckon he’d he much better off playing a Dalek then the guys he plays in his Italian movies.
Oh yeah, dad doesn’t have a moustache anymore ☺☺☺. He shaved it off just for me. HA, see? I come first girls. ME. His daughter. Just after his dog.
Today Dad’s best mate Jay came round. He took us out for a pub lunch (Ooh, how I love them!) and ice creams.
It’s my birthday next week!! 15 years young ☺.
Dad said I could throw a party at our place. We could have a barbeque on the terrace, or we could rent somewhere and go wild, only I know we’re slightly strapped for cash at the moment, paying all the bills, and Dad was minimally paid for this last film he did.
So I said a bbq party was fine.
But there’s that new disco in town…
No, make it simple. I can go there whenever.
I’m going to bed now…
Xxx Lola xxX
Dear Diary, Monday