You may think that I still look 100% fat and at least 90% mad but LOADS of good things have happened over the last few weeks. No one burnt me at the stake when I told them about the psych ward, the weather's finally turned hot and I may finally have a love interest who's not gay! If it wasn't for college looming on the horizon, life would be the best it's ever been...
Sadly for me, Chloe's perfect good looks and sexual magnetism have not magically disappeared over the summer which means I'll be entering college in my usual role of “the fat one”. If we hadn't been best friends for longer than 90210's been on telly, I'd have killed her out of jealousy by now.
The most mouth-watering sex god in the whole of southern Lincolnshire with a face so delicious it makes my lady-parts well up just thinking about it. Have been living in a state of agonised lust ever since he suggested he liked me (!!!) by writing THAT THING on my back...
Former object of my all-consuming but tragically unrequited love, he has now stepped in to the new but no-less-important role of “Secretly Gay Best Friend”. A musical genius, he can turn a hip-hop classic into an acoustic explosion of pant-wetting coolness like no one who's ever existed.
Chop's new relationship with Izzy doesn't seem to have mellowed him, which is good because it means I still have someone to drink thirty gallons of Snakebite with, but is bad because we still have to listen to jokes about his penis 24 hours a day.
Never the brightest bulb in the chandelier, Izzy's brain seems to have been further pickled by the sickly-sweet juice of her and Chop's love. It's a good job we're friends with her for her unstoppable loveliness rather than her ability to count upwards in threes.
Mum has finally entered full-on midlife crisis mode by marrying her illegal immigrant boyfriend and crying whenever a mistreated animal comes on the telly. I don't know what this means for me, but I'm going to put all the chocolate in the house in a safe place in case the menopause causes her to lose it completely and eat it all.
Still confined to the psychiatric ward, Danny's obsession with headwear shows no sign of slowing. I don't see him as much since I left, but I guess that's the inevitable consequence of getting better. Maybe some friendships are confined to the ward too.
New recruit to Kester's band of fuck-ups and misfits, he somehow manages to make being mental look cool. Hates college with a passion and loves to eat multiple packs of sausage rolls in one sitting which, let's face it, makes him the male version of me.
My therapist continues to veer between being the most irritating person ever and the best thing that's happened to me. I read somewhere that only truly mental people become therapists, but I'd much rather divulge my innermost secrets to someone I've literally had to pick up off the floor than someone who has never cried alone in their pants.
Diary,
Only days out of the mad house and already I'm being plagued by feverish Archie-related dreams. One of them involved me jumping his bones so hard he turned into ACTUAL SEX DUST. Worryingly, all of the rest featured me kidnapping him in a variety of ways and forcing him to be my sex-slave. Diary, you can never accuse me of under-sharing. Climb into my mind and be glad you don't have eyes, for the heat of my lust would undoubtedly melt your retinas.
1) I'm lurking high up in a tree with an Archie-sized net. Just as he comes into range my branch emits an ominous creak and all 25 stone of us comes crashing down onto Archie's head. He dies, horribly.
2) By way of a trap I have ordered a life-size cut-out of Pamela Anderson and am hiding behind it in the leisure centre car park, waiting for Archie to come out. One look at her boobs and he comes running over, only to be taken out by a speeding van. He dies, messily.
3) I am inexplicably dressed as a panda, the least sexually vivacious animal on Earth. Archie stops to ask me why I'm dressed as panda when, out of nowhere, a real bear comes charging down Stamford high street and mauls him. He dies, painfully and more than a little confused.
I'm not great at interpreting dreams but it seems that any attempt to take Archie out by force will only result in his untimely destruction. Perhaps I should stick to more legal methods of seduction.
Diary,
I've been masturbating for a full nine-and-a-half hours now and no sign of stopping. Think I've got that repetitive strain thing in my wrist and my fingers are wrinkled like prunes. It's BRILLIANT. I feel on top of the world. I feel like I could do anything.
I feel like Noel Gallagher must've felt when he finally decked Liam with that cricket bat. Okay, there was one hairy moment when Karim came downstairs for a glass of water at 3am (WHY?) and saw me watching a VHS of "The Lovers Guide" but I told him it was a type of traditional British dance and he seemed to accept it.
God knows what they get up to in Tunisia. Feel much better about Archie since I've passed through the orgasm gateway. All the BEST WOMEN have had their tongue inside a gay man. Accidentally flicked on to some dodgy satellite channel at one point and saw a bloke sticking a cucumber up another bloke's anus.
Have made a mental note to tell Archie when the time feels right. Might even tell him about my voyage down the river of feminine discovery. There's nothing to be ashamed of; I am proud to be one of those women who KNOWS HER OWN BODY. If anyone reads this, however, I will KILL MYSELF out of embarrassment. For real this time.
Diary,
In Year 5 Mrs Dent asked us to draw our "perfect friend" on a piece of paper. I drew a fat blob with four sticks for arms and legs, barely visible beneath the blob. Mrs Dent said that was wrong. She said you can't draw your perfect friend because you should like people for what's inside, not outside of them. But she was talking shit.
Because every girl that's ever been mean to me was skinny. Hop aboard the shame train, diary. We're about to travel back in time. First stop, 1989. We're learning about weapons of mass destruction in school. Sinead Peters says in the event of a nuclear disaster she'd hide behind me because not even sub-atomic particles could possibly penetrate my blubber.
Everybody finds this hilarious. Next stop, 1993. It's fancy dress day at school but predictably, I've forgotten. I turn up in my own clothes and in front of all the boys Hannah Matthew asks me if I've come as Robbie Coltrane. It doesn't even matter that nobody watches Cracker, she still gets a laugh. Thanks for that Hannah. Oh look! Finally we've come full circle to our last stop, 1996.
Yesterday. And it's all still happening. I'm still getting tormented by people who weigh less than 9 stone. I wish my shame train could mow them all down. It wouldn't take much, they snap easily.
Diary,
You have joined me at a momentous time. This time last night I had an ACTUAL piece of boy-flesh in my bed. Okay, so I didn't tell Finn I liked him, and his grandmother had just died so he wasn't feeling horny, but he still ended up LICKING-DISTANCE from my FACE. Finally proof that I'm not wholly repellent to men!
So get ready diary, because you're about to be hit by Rae Earl's top three pieces of seduction information. Prepare to be floored, you're about to descend into a sex-advice coma.
1) Never accept dating advice from Danny Two Hats. The man wears two hats. This should tell you all you need to know.
2) All hugs can be turned into sexy hugs. Even sympathy ones. The person you're hugging doesn't have to know you've turned it into a sexy hug. But you have.
3) Family bereavements, whilst tragic, are the perfect excuse for a sympathy hug. And that's never a bad thing; see above.
My first task as goddess of horn is to KEEP FINN AWAY from Chloe's manicured harpy claws.
Diary,
Some bad stuff has happened and I don't feel like writing today. So I'm going to let Mandela the Bird do all the talking. Over to you Mandela: Hi there, I'm Mandela the Bird. Please forgive any mistakes; I've never written a diary before because I am a bird. What's going on in my life? Not much because I am a bird. I'm stuck in the dump that is Lincolnshire, but I don't mind because I am a bird and I don't know I'm destined for wider horizons. In fact, I don't mind much at all, being a bird. I wouldn't mind if my mum was getting married to a French-speaking body-building Tunisian she hardy knew because I am a bird. I wouldn't mind if my suck-ass hypocritical therapist expected me to unload all my embarrassing baggage but won't open up himself, because I am a bird.
I wouldn't mind if my infinitely more attractive friend got off with the ONLY boy EVER in the WORLD for me, because I am a fucking bird. I wouldn't mind if I betrayed my only true friend by forgetting my dinner-date with her and making her EVEN MORE sick than she already is because I AM A FUCKING CANARY! A CANARY!!! I'M A CANARY!!
Diary, it's Rae back again. I'm not sure I like Mandela the Bird. He seems full of viciousness and hate. He certainly won't be invited back for another guest slot any time soon. Maybe he should see a bloody therapist.
Diary,
I've got a bit of a treat in store for you today. This treat comes in the form of a "Big Fuck You" and the "Big Fuck You" is dedicated to the women in the "Before and After" section of Slimming World circa 1995. Let me give you some background. About eighteen months ago Mum went through this bat-shit phase of cutting out all the "Amazing Transformation" parts of her diet mags and plastering them over anything delicious in the house. Looking at those women with their razor hipbones and sparkling new jawlines made it easier for Mum to lose weight. It made me want to sit in a vat of butter and eat fourteen pies. But a lot has changed in the last few months, diary, and now Rae Earl wishes to smack you round the face with her very own "Before and After" section:
|
| Six Weeks Ago |
Now |
Yep, well observed. I'm still fat. I'm still mad. But I survived. PLUS I made friends, got drunk, got seduced by a gay man in a swimming pool, went to a rave, got hit by a car and spent 30 seconds in a cupboard with the MOST HEAVENLY MAN ON EARTH.
And that has to count for something. Diary, I think I'm improving.
Episode 1
Series 1
