Be Your Own Hero: 1987

More of my diaries have turned up in a box that was being stored at Dad's. Last night I read through 1987, in which year I appeared to develop an interesting new vocabulary, where the word bod denoted an aesthetically pleasing gentleman; the adjective bastardy was applied to things that did not please me; and the word waffle, as both noun and verb, was used far too much.

Aged sixteen, I consider starting smoking just because I can [still seven years before I actually smoked my first, second, third, and last cigarette], and several of my short stories are rejected by various teen magazines. The only copy of the best fiction I've ever written is eaten by my friend's dog.

At one stage, my own amateur tarot card readings inform my every decision.

My academic career knows no limits, and I try my hand at amateur drama, co-directing my english class's production of Julius Caesar. Even now, if you start me off with one of the roman soldier's lines in the market place, I could probably recite the whole play. Following a trip to Stratford, I assert that the RSC production of JC, with Derek Jacobi as Caesar, is as good as our O-Level version in many ways.

But it's not all new Springsteen albums and getting into over-18s concerts at Nottingham Rock City... 18 months after my parents' divorce, I'm still expecting to wake up from a bad dream, and have been introduced to both my future step-parents. The Witch imposes upon us her insistence on being "personally effective," and I am unimpressed in the extreme by my mum's new boyfriend.

By the end of the year I have my first boyfriend. Some readers may be interested to learn that he was younger than me, and lived 123 miles away. Others will find this information both tedious and trivial.

I leave you with what I consider to be the two most important notes of the year:

26th July 1987
Beat Nick at monopoly.

21st August 1987
I've got nine O-levels!