Remember
in that ‘mad, undated rant’ post I mentioned a holiday with a mysterious,
seldom used dining room?
That
holiday was in 1997. I would have been 18, almost 19.
In
one of the what feels like 400 notebooks I using to write my novel, I found
this, a letter to my very first boyfriend, who was back at home. I used to keep
copies of letters I’d sent. Trust me, this was tiresome and time consuming, but
I am sort of glad that I did it now.
‘At
the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for
the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred’
Just
kidding – no one died, but names have been changed, if only to spare their
blushes (and my own.)
37
year old thoughts on 18 year old self are in the square brackets and red text.
9
August, 1997
Dear
X,
Here
we are at last and what a place. Firstly, it smells of damp. Even the cups. [it
smelled like ALL holiday places smell!] There was a cleaner here spraying the
windows and she showed us around.
‘This
be the dining room,’ she said in an ominous, dark voice.
‘Hardly
anybody goes in thaaaar’ [she was obviously a pirate by night.] and I’m not
surprised. The floorboards are painted black and there’s a six inch layer of
dust on everything. And it's spooky, hence when I retire to bed I cannot sleep.
[for some reason I elected to sleep in that creepy ass room, probably to avoid
sharing with my siblings.] So I think I’ll listen to my Walkman [Walkmans!! I
wish I’d kept it, I could listen to all my Taping Off the Radio Top 40 tapes
again.] only the fuckin’ batteries don’t work.
I
lie in the dark (very dark) and imagine all kinds of horrible things coming to
get me. (Damien, Freddy, Grant Mitchell….) fumble to get the light, turn it on and scream
when a bug flies into my hair.
T [my sister’s boyfriend at the time] runs in.
T:
are you alright? We heard this yelp. (demonstrates spooky aforesaid high
pitched yelp.)
Me:
(slightly hysterical) a BUG flew into my hair. I can’t sleep in here!
T:
I couldn’t, I shit myself! Come and sleep in our room!
So
I do. I know. It’s pathetic.
W2:
What the fuckin’ hell are you doing?
T:
she’s sleeping in here
Me:
(I put blankets down on the floor. The light goes on and off about 4 times
before I’m happy.)
T:
(in the darkness) that bloke died in here, you know
W2:
Yes, but he died in your bed
W3:
(to me) Why ARE you in here, exactly?
Me:
My excuse is I’ve got so used to sleeping with someone else [in the bed] that
when you have to sleep alone it’s really odd. And the dining room’s spooky. [It’s
funny, 20 years on, I can’t stand sharing a bed with someone else, unless it’s
a massive one that feels more like two beds. Oooh, I’m a bit like Christian
Grey, aren’t I? 'I don’t sleep with
anyone, Aaaaanaaaahhh’]
W2:
How did that bloke die?
(Lots
of jokes about shagging sheep, Noel [Gallagher] being God and defeating Damien,
what a wimp I am follow. Finally everyone seems to start to sleep. After a
while, in total darkness -)
T:
OK, so who’s thinking about The Omen?
I
sleep for about a minute. Wake up. Just how [can’t read my own writing] is this
room? Fall asleep. Wake up and everyone is rushing about & highly amused to
find me ‘asleep’ on the floor. Think it’s funny I couldn’t even stay awake
without freaking out in the dining room [me neither…]
On
Sunday, we go to Bamborough Beach and it’s lovely. All white sands and blue sea
[Ugh, I’ve turned into EL James, what else is a beach going to be apart from
sand and sea??]
Eat
sarnies, get sand in my face due to W1 shaking his sock in the wind. Get an
ice-cream, walk on some rocks, get tea in an Olde Worlde Teae Shoppe (or
something) [uck, you again, James, you nefarious cretin.] come back. Have a
shower. Put on my Mrs Jaffar T-shirt [I had this t-shirt from the H & M
kids section, it was blue with pink sleeves and had a bejewelled face on it,
which, thinking back on it, was probably Krishna, but was referred to by the
family as ‘Mrs Jaffar’] and sit down to write this. My face itches and it is
impossible to shave your legs in the shower.
Miss
you lots, love from
The
Dormouse [because of my teenage habit of generally being
able to fall asleep anywhere, for long periods of time]
Thoughts:
- Note how I do not ask how my boyfriend is, or what he has been up to.
- I think this holiday was probably in Wales, as I remember it rained a lot, especially on the day we decided to walk up Mount Snowdon.
- I got irritated with T because there was a programme on t’telly about Oasis, but he wanted to watch something else, and as he was ‘a guest’ he won.
- I was an incredibly immature 18-year old.
