Decided to try on my new jeans since I'm planning to wear them for Disha's party on New Year's Eve. It didn't take long to work out why they're called "skinny". I had to lie on the floor to get them on. They got stuck on my thighs. Had to roll across the floor to get my mobe from the bed so I could ring Disha for help. (Sappho may think men are responsible for a lot of truly bad things, but believe me the mobile phone is not one of them. I don't know how anyone survived a day without them.) Disha got them over my hips and closed, and hauled me to my feet. She said this explained why Claudia Schiffer lost a whole dress size so she could wear her skinny jeans. I said I reckoned I just needed to break them in a bit, so D and I went for a walk (v slowly as it isn't easy to walk when you have almost no movement in your thighs). We got as far as the market when I got such cramps I nearly fell over. D said the same thing happened to her mum once when she bought these panties that are meant to give you a flat stomach. D said her mum said she would've thought she was having a heart attack if the pain hadn't been so low down. Managed to get them open so I could make it home, but we had to get the MC to help get me out of them again. The MC wanted to know if I'd finally learned my lesson about fashion. I said, what? That it's trying to KILL ME?
Sometimes I wonder if anybody actually has one of those Christmases you see on TV. You know with everybody so happy to be together and hugging and laughing and kissing and all. Sigmund and Nan and the Vicar and his dog Luke all came round (the vicar always brings champagne, which makes him okay in my book), and ALL the Hotspurs (I can only assume that their mother doesn't like the Deadly Duo any more than I do since they always seem to be with us). It started out all right, but then Sigmund and Nan got into one of their Christmas arguments, and Lucrezia set fire to the table cloth, and - for no apparent reason - Marcella left the table in tears. Then, just when I thought it was all over, Buskin' Bob got out his guitar. Sigmund wanted him to play something by Bob Dylan (of course). I said why didn't he play something by Paul McCartney, you know, just for a change. Buskin' Bob wanted to know why he'd want to do that. I said because he and Paul McCartney have a lot in common. The MC wanted to know if I'd ever met Robert Hotspur. I said, no, really. They both play the guitar and they're both boycotting China (this was a bit of a guess, but since Buskin' Bob boycotts EVERYTHING I reckoned it was a sure thing). Everybody thought I was joking (like they're the only ones who ever read a paper). I said it was true. Paul McCartney's boycotting China because of the way they treat cats. And everybody yelled at ME! They said he should be boycotting China for the way it treats people. I said I was only telling them what I read. The Vicar said he thought it was time to crack open the chocolates and open another bottle of wine. The man is practically a saint.
Sappho, Mags and the Piglet came over for the Winter Solstice/Baby's Birthday supper last night. (They're going to Mags' family for Christmas. Unless she's just given birth, Sappho usually stays away from Christmas like it's a plague. I said what is this a compromise of your principles? She said a compromise is not the same as abandoning your principles, which apparently is what everybody else does!). And anyway they're going to celebrate the Piglet's birthday, it's not her fault that Jesus was born on the same day. Despite the festive occasion, Sappho was in one of her once-more-to-the-barricades moods. (How tres unusual, right? Motherhood's done nothing at all to mellow my aunt. The Piglet's lucky she's got Mags, because if ever a girl needed TWO mothers, she's the one.) Sappho was all wound up about some report that said that a lot of people think that if a girl is raped while she's drunk or not wearing a boiler suit or is being flirty she's pretty much asking for it. She said talk about blaming the victim. She said remember when some bloke suggested we sterilise unwed teenage mothers so they don't re-offend? Sappho said she's never heard anyone suggest sterilising unwed teenage fathers. Buskin' Bob usually agrees with Sappho so I was surprised when he looked up from his environmentally friendly nut cutlet to say that "most people" might have a bit of a point. I saw my mother kick him under the table, but he didn't stop. He said if you're going to dress to attract blokes it would be a good idea to stay in control. He said getting into babe gear and then getting so drunk you don't know what's happening is like smearing yourself with blood and jumping into shark-infested waters. Which was pretty much what he did, if you ask me. (He's been with the MC long enough by now to know better.) Sappho went completely ballistic. She said maybe it was time MEN started taking some responsibility for their behaviour. Maybe they shouldn't get so drunk they go about beating people up and raping the first woman they see who isn't wearing armour. It was the sort of argument that could have gone on for hours, but the Piglet chose that moment to throw her bottle into the mash and distracted them. She's still just a baby but she's definitely got potential.
Disha and I went to finish her Christmas shopping this afternoon. Everybody's getting a cup from my pottery class from me this year, which meant I had some money to spend on ME (maybe this anti-materialism things isn't all bad!). By the time I finally found something I really loved (these excruciatingly gorgeous skinny jeans) I was too tired to try them on (and also I didn't feel like going through all the hassle of taking off my boots) so I held them up to me and since they looked perfect I bought them.
On the way home, D picked up a leaflet at the tube station called Tube Tips for Women. We reckoned it might have some useful information like where you're likely to lose reception on your mobe or how you can spot the difference between the bloke with the backpack that's got a bomb in it and the twenty other blokes in the carriage with backpacks that don't, but no chance. What it says is that you should report suspicious bags to a member of staff (gosh, why didn't I think of that?). And it tells you to carry a snack like a cereal bar with you. I said why would you want to do that? We're not lads. They're the ones who have to be fed at regular intervals. Disha said for when you get stuck in a tunnel for an hour probably. And, in case you didn't know this, it says that twisted ankles can be a real pain (tell me about it!), so you should mind your step, especially if you're wearing your "party shoes". Also there's lots of advice for pregnant tube travellers. You can even get a badge that says Baby on Board so you don't have to embarrass yourself by asking someone to give up a seat for you, you can just be humiliated by wearing a badge like a little kid. (Whoever wrote this never met my aunt.) Disha said the worse part of the leaflet is that it makes it pretty clear that all of us who thought people would stop treating us like children when we came of age were wrong.
Even though they were here last weekend, the Deadly Duo were back again last night. Apparently the MC and Buskin' Bob were meant to take them to the West End to buy a Christmas present for their mother and step-father. (We don't get real presents here in Camp Save the World, of course. Buskin' Bob agrees with Sappho that Christmas is nothing more than a consumer bloodbath, so we have to make our own presents and eat lentils and give all the money we would have squandered on too much nice food and things nobody needs to the billions of people who are starving to death. But the mother and step-father are normal. They're not about to be satisfied with something made from a cereal packet and a couple of buttons so they give the Deadly Duo dosh to buy them real gifts.) Only some time during the night Buskin' Bob came down with a DEATHLY AND MYSTERIOUS illness and couldn't get out of bed. Naturally, because she's so self-sacrificing and kind, the MC insisted on staying home to nurse him (which if you recall is more than she did for ME when I was so sick last month!). So guess who got volunteered to take them instead? I said, pardon me, but though you may be unaware of it I am doing my A-levels and have a lot of schoolwork to do this weekend. The MC said to pull the other one. Disha was busy so rang Marcus and asked him to come with us. Marcus hasn't noticed that Lucrezia is completely insane and Marcella is terminally boring, so he said he'd love to. You should've seen the crowds! You'd think they were giving things away instead of charging a fortune for them. We battled our way down Oxford Street without finding anything good enough for the ex-Mrs Hotspur and her new husband (who are tres rich and don't mind who knows it apparently). Marcus suggested Liberty's, so we trudged on to Regent's St. The lights seemed to be these prehistoric animals dancing in snowflakes. Marcus wanted to know what they had to do with the birth of Jesus Christ. Marcella said nothing. They're from some film that's opening in the new year. I was terrified that Lucrezia was going to make one of her scenes in Liberty's but we found these ridiculously expensive cups that Marcella said were perfect and she paid for them and everything without an incident. Lucrezia waited till we got back on the street. Then she dropped her purse (don't ask) and her money went all over the place. Apparently she had fifteen pounds in small change and we only recovered twelve pounds and fifty pee so she went into meltdown. Had to WALK all the way home because she was screaming so much there wasn't a bus driver in London would let us on (not even one who wasn't going where we wanted to go). Am shattered. 
I'm going to have to plan to move to a tropical climate as soon as I'm done with my education. I think I may have pneumonia. I've been sneezing all day and I'm certain I've got a temperature. But if you think I'm getting any sympathy from my family you can think again. No hot cups of tea or soothing words for me. The Mad Cow says it's my own fault for wearing outfits that look as if the seamstress ran out of material halfway through making them. I said I know she's old, but it's called FASHION. Everybody's wearing short skirts, high boots and bare midriffs. She said not when it's so cold the robin's skating on the birdbath they don't. So she's not just old, she's blind as well.
Spent Saturday at Disha's to avoid the Hotspur spawn because if I'm in the house I always get stuck with them. Missed another Bandry Family Drama! Apparently Nan and Jerym decided to celebrate Human Rights Day by going down to Parliament Square and reading out the names of all the British soldiers who've died in Iraq. They got arrested. Got home in time to see Nan on the news saying that she reckoned if Jesus turned up in Whitehall they'd arrest Him as a terrorist, too. Anyway, I came home because a bunch of us were going out and I had to get ready. I explained to Marcella (who had temporarily stopped crying) and Lucrezia (who was speaking again) that I needed to use the bathroom for an hour or so and didn't want to be disturbed and that I wouldn't be responsible for my actions if they barged in on me. They both said they understood but I could tell that they were lying. So I lugged the telly and the armchair from the living room in with me and barricaded the door. You should've heard the brouhaha over that when the Mad Cow realized what I'd done (because Lucrezia went mental that she needed the loo and was going to wet herself and die). A truce was declared at approximately six-fifteen, and the lock was back on by six-thirty. Another triumph for the little person against the tyranny and oppression of the ruling class.
I used to really look forward to weekends. Almost two whole days to laze about and do nothing but shop and hang out and maybe go to a party (you can't count Sunday night, of course, since that's when the homework has to be done). But not any more. Now every other weekend brings not joy and gladness but Marcella and Lucrezia Hotspur. It's enough to make me wish I went to boarding school (I did ask. The MC wanted to know if I was on drugs. Sigmund said even if he had the money it's against his principles, which means he must have got a few off Buskin' Bob because he never had any of those before!) So they arrived last night like clockwork (it's just about the only thing you can depend on in this house - and yet another good reason why Justin should stay in Mexico or they'd be sleeping in with ME). Lucrezia wasn't speaking, which is always a blessing, and Marcella was in tears. Apparently she's been crying on and off for weeks now. The MC said I should talk to her. I said what about? She said I must remember what it was like when I was Marcella's age and that I should try and cheer her up. I said I had absolutely no memory of being thirteen, but as I am an agony aunt and in tune with the suffering of humanity I'd give it a go. Marcella was lying on the sofa, in full throttle. I asked her what was wrong. She said life stinks and she wishes she was dead. I told her to get over it. I said wait till she's seventeen, that's when your problems really begin.
If you ask me, when a girl becomes a teenager instead of her card saying Happy Birthday Thirteen, it should say WELCOME TO HELL! And instead of some dumb rhyme inside there should be a government warning: You are about to enter a period of INCREDIBLE EMOTIONAL TENSION. You'll be afraid to look in the mirror in the morning in case your hair has done something unspeakable or you got a zit in the night. Boys will drive you mad (if you don't have one you'll become obsessed with why not - and if you do have one you'll spend most of your time trying to work out what he's on about). You will be criticized, ridiculed, nagged, laughed at, publicly humiliated, corrected, ignored, misunderstood, told off, lied to and let down on an exhaustingly regular basis. EVERYONE from the Prime Minister to strangers on buses will tell you what to do. Everybody will expect you to act like an adult (as though that's a good thing, right? - I mean, really, look at the way they act!) whilst treating you like a child. Your father will have a midlife crisis that involves either a flashy car or another woman. Your mother will go insane. Anyway, I pretty much thought I'd seen it all. I mean, let's face it, I've had my share of trials and tribulations and somebody else's! Lust, adultery, betrayal, dysfunctional children, sex-mad dachshunds, lesbians, feminists, hard-core anarchists, eco-warriors, syndromes, grey love, atheists, genetic throwbacks, religious fanatics, divorce, childbirth, political activists, violent criminals out for blood and one neurotic shrink - and that's just my family. But this time my mother has really gone too far. Can you believe it? The Mad Cow actually took the lock off the bathroom door! They're going to have to put her away for her own good, I swear. She even made a sign that says Occupied on one side and Vacant on the other so you can let everyone know when you're in there. She can't be serious. Lucrezia and Marcella spend every other weekend with us. FACT: Neither of them pay any attention to anything but themselves. Does she seriously think they're going to pay any attention to a cardboard sign? And let's not forget that my brother will be coming back home eventually (unless we get ASTOUNDINGLY lucky). Like I'd trust him not to flip the sign round or even WALK IN THE BATHROOM ON ME! Let's not forget the bra incident. He's capable of anything (not in a someday he could win the Nobel Peace Prize sort of way, of course). And the eco-warrior may remember every subsidiary of every major evil company in the universe, but I wouldn't count on him remembering to flip the sign to OCCUPIED every time he goes in to use the loo (and that is definitely one sight I do not want to see!). I went to school with only one eye done today because I was rushing to put my make-up on before someone barged in. I'm afraid to take a bath. And you can forget waxing my legs or anything else that takes a bit of time and concentration. I might as well be living on the street (I'm certainly going to smell like I live on the street before long)! I'll have to drop out of school if this keeps up.
Because this has been a tres busy and interesting year I've decided to send out one of those This Is What I Did This Year letters to all my friends that I never see any more because after we did our exams we all started on the separate paths to the uncertain future. (It really makes you reflect on LIFE, doesn't it? I mean, for all those years these people were practically my entire world and now they're just people I used to know. I'm certain Shakespeare must have had something to say about this - he had something to say about everything else - but I can't remember what.) Anyway, it took me all day to write it. Which, sadly, meant that I couldn't go man the peace vigil with my nan and the vicar. [Note to self: Before she fell for Jerym, Nan was an eye-for-an-eye sort of Christian. Before my mum fell for Buskin' Bob we didn't boycott every major company in the world or drive round for months with a boot full of bottles for the recycling. Before Disha fell for Eden she was sane. Do men change like that, or is it genetic?]. See what you think about my letter.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
Is it me? Or does everyone think that for the first twelve or so years of a person's life nothing much really happens? I mean, what I remember from when I was little are things like birthday parties (mainly the one where I fell into the cake whilst blowing out the candles) and Christmases (mainly the one where my dad fell into the tree whilst trying to dance to Bob Dylan). Otherwise it was just the same old same old, wasn't it? School, friends, fighting with your brother, getting a new pair of shoes, falling off the swing in the park because your father was neglecting you as usual... But then you hit your teens and it's all systems go, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. So much has happened in this last year that I hardly know where to begin.
First, let's get the boring bit over with. My family's pretty much as insane and impossible as ever. My dad, Sigmund, is still living in Kilburn, but he doesn't seem to have a girlfriend so perhaps he's learned his lesson and given up women (or maybe they've learned their lesson and have given up him!). My mother's still with Buskin' Bob, the eco-warrior, folk singer and the only penniless lawyer in the history of the world. (And also the father of the Deadly Duo, Lucrezia and Marcella, who, unfortunately, are not two of those sad, disadvantaged children who never see their male parent.) My brother Justin went to Mexico for a few months and is still there! (Talk about a dream come true - somebody pinch me so I know I'm really awake!). Apparently he's helping some really poor Indians get electricity or water or something like that to their village (which is pretty amazing considering how you can't even get him to bring a carton of milk into Chez Bandry). My Nan's been dating a vicar for the last year. Jerym isn't one of those vicar's who just sticks to telling you what to do on Sunday and passing the collection plate, he believes in getting out there and doing as Christ would do, which seems to mean getting arrested on a fairly regular basis for demonstrating for peace. Oh, yeah, and last Christmas, my Aunt Sappho (you remember her, the radical, anarchist, lesbian feminist) gave birth in our flat to my niece, the Piglet (I was there, and it was seriously gross).
As for me, well it's been non-stop, hasn't it? I thought the GSCEs were pretty demanding, but they were like micro-waving an egg next to A-Levels. (I don't know why the papers are always banging on about slipping standards in our schools, because I'm made to work so hard you'd think the whole future of the world depends on how well I understand Jane Austen.) Besides my absolutely exhausting and all-consuming course work, I'm still writing my advice column for the school magazine (only my true identity is a secret - so don't tell anyone), and, even if I have to say so myself, it has been tres successful. Old Gumshoes, our head, got a bit fretful last Spring when I got quoted in one of the dailies under the heading IS THIS WHAT OUR TEENAGERS REALLY THINK?, but aside from that I've had nothing but praise (except for that one girl who said I'd ruined her life). Disha Paski (having recovered from being in love) is still more like the sister my parents never bothered to have than my very best friend, so all's well there. As you probably know, I started going out with Marcus last Christmas, which means we'd be coming up to our first anniversary if we were still together. We got on pretty well considering that we come from two completely different species (male and female, not English and Jamaican), but then last summer we went away together for two weeks and our relationship never really recovered. Naturally, I wanted to go somewhere like Greece or Spain, like a normal person, but Buskin' Bob got to Marcus first and convinced him that it was better to visit our own country on a train than somebody else's tourist trap in a plane. So we went to Scotland because Marcus said painters, poets and people of that ilk have always found it v inspirational. I can't say it inspired ME. It was cold and it rained, but Marcus is very outdoorsy for an artist so that didn't stop him from dragging me through the water-logged heather every day. Then I sprained my ankle climbing a rock (that's what you do in Scotland, climb rocks - unlike in Greece, where you lie on a beach because: a. they have beaches; and b. it isn't pissing down all the time). Actually the ankle spraining thing wasn't so bad, because not only did it mean that I didn't have to climb any more rocks, but Marcus carried me all the way back to the B&B, which was tres romantic. It wasn't a bad sprain, but I had to spend a day in the B&B while Marcus went off looking for ruins and Celtic crosses. I got to talking to the owner, Mrs Mason, and I just happened to mention to her that Marcus has this big phobia about the word "porridge". He really hates it. He hates it so much that I had to swear I would never ever say the word out loud, not even if he asked me what I'd had for breakfast and that was what I'd had. So the next morning Mrs Mason came skipping into the dining room and announced that she'd made porridge for breakfast. "Marcus," she kept saying, "wouldn't you like some porridge?" You should've seen the look on his face. Me and Mrs Mason cracked up. And can you believe it? Marcus got mad at ME! (I know it seems really unlikely, but it's possible that Sappho is actually right about men. I mean, they're tres unreasonable and illogical, aren't they?) He said I had a bigger mouth than the Thames River and he was never going to tell me a secret again. I said he was being ridiculous. It wasn't like I'd betrayed some major trust. I mean, PORRIDGE? He said if he were a superhero I'd tell everybody his weakness. That cracked me up even more than Mrs Mason saying Porridge. He got all sulky and wouldn't speak to me for the rest of the day. That was when I realized I'd had a narrow escape. I mean, what if the relationship lasted and we eventually wound up living together or spawning or something and then one day I accidentally mentioned to someone that you couldn't say the word porridge in front of him and they did and he went off and left me with the mortgage and all these children with only one eyebrow? Then what? So I broke it off. I said I felt that he's too emotionally volatile and unreliable. But we're still friends of course, and sometimes I think we should get back together, but I'm not going to be the one to say sorry. I don't want to start a bad precedent. Oh yeah, and the other thing that happened this year was I almost learned to drive!!!
I have to say that I'm really looking forward to another new year of challenges, growth and being one step closer to moving out and getting my own flat so I don't have to listen to my mother and the eco-warrior sing "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" every time they have a bottle of wine.
HAVE A BRILLIANT NEW YEAR!!
Love, Janet
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Thursday 29th December 2005 
Monday 26th December 2005