Verbal diary-eah

Since the age of 8 or so I have always, to a greater or lesser extent, kept a diary.  I'm not quite sure what spurred me on to do so, but from it being somewhat of a chore aged 9 or 10 ("Boring day. Me and Jennie played on the computer."), age 12 or so it became something of an obsession.  My diary would be carried to school with me in the inner top pocket of my blazer, and at lunchbreaks, I would write my worldly observations, whilst looking condescendingly at the 12 year olds in the classroom who were - quite frankly - behaving like children.

(Side note, these diary entries mostly involved things like: "Have Maths next - BORING!  I cannot see how calculating the hypotenuse is going to help me in later life.  English was good today." and so on.  Samuel Peyps I was not.)

I would write my diary every day, unless there was an extremely good reason not to, and in times of turbulence, would often write two and sometimes even three times a day.  Of course the term "turbulence" is relevant, and usually meant we had a substitute teacher for English, or I was getting stressed about my music coursework.  I would often scribble so hard and fast, I would end up with exam-hand pain - the diarist would have a dire wrist.  Sorry.

Today I do still keep a diary - indeed, still carry it in my bag to work with me each day, always meaning to write it on the tube, or in a quiet lunchtime.  Sadly, this almost never happens, and diary entries have been reduced to a quick scribble once or twice a month; I can't really regret this - I think it's symptomatic of the fact that my life as a grown up is more settled than that of a teenager.  (Like I said though - it's still relative.  Anyone who thinks I had a turbulent teenage-hood is sadly mistaken.)  But hormones and emotions are running high at that age, and everything feels like a crisis.

But basically, I was a slightly swotty, very dull teenager.  And to prove it (and because Hazel loves it when I share teenage diary entries with the world), here is an entry from when I was 17.  Most 17 year-olds are drinking, shagging behind bus stops (I know this because Mrs Nunn regularly sends me Daily Mail articles telling me that's the case) and shoplifting.  I was in a school play.

Here is a (rare) example of rebellion from me:

I'm sorry I didn't write yesterday but in a vain attempt to get some of my huge piles of schoolwork out of the way, I've been doing three hours plus of homework every evening, which is exhaustive.

I've been behaving out of character today.  I had a double free (study) period this afternoon, and so after informing Mrs Young, my form teacher, of an imaginary dental appointment, I went home.  Lots of people do it on a regular basis, without telling staff at all, so it's not like I'm the school rebel or anything, but it was out of character for me (though lovely to have the afternoon off!)  I guess that's the nearest I'll come to truancy!  Mum and Dad didn't care; it's not like I had any lessons.

Also I was "out of character" in English.  Not exactly extrovert but definitely not introvert.  For example, with the greatest of ease, without blushing or feeling even slightly awkward, I asked for an extension on my English essay, as I've a play rehearsal on Sunday.  The extension, needless to say, was granted.  Also I spoke out for the first time in ages with comments not entirely related to the text.  Talking about Mansfield Park our teacher said, "I could summarise this chapter in one word."  I joked, "What's that, boring?!"  She laughed, after protesting that it wasn't boring, but everyone loathes and detests it.  It really is boring.

***

Unlike your 17-year-old diary, Laura, which is scintillating in every possible way.  You rock.