Diary of a Dirty Little Bitch

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Eighteen years of calorie— and fat-unit-based arithmetic. Eighteen years of buying long shirts and sweaters and leaving the room backwards in intimate situations to hide my bottom. Millions of cheesecakes and tiramisus, tens of millions of Emmenthal slices left uneaten. Eighteen years of struggle, sacrifice and endeavor — for what? Eighteen years and the result is 'tired and flat. Must stop doing the Instants, but the trouble is I do quite often win. The Instants are much better than the Lottery itself, because the numbers no longer come up during Blind Date it is not on at the moment and all too often do not have a single one of yours among them, leaving you feeling both impotent and cheated with nothing to be done except crumple your ticket up and throw it defiantly on the floor.

Not so with the Instants, which are very much a participation thing, with six cash figures to be scratched off — often quite a hard and skilled job — and never giving you the feeling that you didn't have a chance. Three amounts the same secures a win, and in my experience you always get very close, often with as many as two matching pairs for amounts as great as? Anyway, you can't deny yourself all pleasures in life. I'm only on about four or five a day and, besides, I'm going to stop soon.

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Slimming obsession v. At last night I was running a relaxing aromatherapy bath and sipping camomile tea when a car burglar alarm started up. I picked up the intercom. I rushed downstairs, where Magda was outside the flat in floods of tears fiddling under the steering wheel of Jeremy's Saab convertible, which was emitting a 'dowee-dowee-doowee' of indescribable loudness, all lights flashing, while the baby screamed as if being murdered by a domestic cat in the car seat.

How do you open the hood on the Saab! Our street is not very posh. It is of the kind which still has posters in the windows saying 'Free Nelson Mandela. By this time an angry mob was gathering.

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Next thing, Jeremy roared up on his Harley-Davidson. But instead of turning off the alarm, he started trying to grab the baby out of the backseat with Magda screaming at him. Then the Australian guy, Dan, who lives below me, opened his window. The bath! I started banging my head against it, yelling, 'Shit, shit!

Several cigarettes and a lot of fiddling with a credit card later we were in, to find water flooding everywhere. We couldn't turn the taps off. Dan rushed downstairs, returning with a wrench and a bottle of Scotch. He managed to turn off the taps, and started helping me to mop up. Then the burglar alarm stopped and we rushed to the window just in time to see the Saab roar off, with the Harley-Davidson in hot pursuit. We both started laughing — we'd had quite a lot of whisky by now. Then suddenly — I don't quite know how — he was kissing me.

This was quite an awkward situation, etiquette-wise, because I had just flooded his flat and ruined his evening, so I didn't want to seem ungrateful.


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I know that didn't give him license to sexually harass me, but the complication was quite enjoyable, really, after all the dramas and inner poise and everything. Then suddenly a man in motorbike leathers appeared at the open door holding a pizza box. Oh, Chrisd. Then the doorbell rang. I ignored it.

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It rang again. Then it rang without stopping.


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I picked it up. Lemme explain. I wanna come in. Oh God. Why do I still fancy Daniel so much? You're drunk,' I said, with more conviction than I felt. Twenty-two hours, four pizzas, one Indian takeaway, three packets of cigarettes and three bottles of champagne later, Daniel is still here. I am in love. Have just been sick, and as I slumped over the loo trying to do it quietly so Daniel wouldn't hear, he suddenly yelled out from the bedroom, 'There goes your inner poise, my plumptious.

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I seriously think I am pregnant. How could we have been so stupid? Daniel and I were so carried away with euphoria at being back together again that reality seemed to go out of the window — and once you've. Body's enthusiastic response to cheesecake suggested baby needed sugar. Oh dear. Am starting to get carried away with idea of self as Calvin Klein-style mother figure, poss. In the office today Perpetua was at her most obnoxious, spending 45 minutes on the phone to Desdemona, discussing whether yellow walls would look nice with pink-and-grey ruched blinds or whether she and Hugo should go for Blood Red with a floral freize.

For one minute interlude she said nothing whatsoever except, 'Absolutely. But then Daniel appeared. I have never seen him look worse, The only possible explanation was that on leaving me yesterday he had carried on drinking. He looked over at me, briefly, with the expression of an axe-murderer. Suddenly the fantasies were replaced by images from the film Barfly, where the couple spent the whole time blind drunk, screaming and throwing bottles at each other, or Harry Enfield's The Slobs with Daniel yelling, 'Bridge. The baby Is bawlin'. Its 'ead off. I am avin' ay fag. Baby growing at monstrous unnatural rate , alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories but mainly potatoes, oh my God.

Monday and most of Tuesday I sort of thought I was pregnant, but knew I wasn't really — rather like when you're walking home late at night, and think someone is following you, but know they're not really. But then they suddenly grab you round the neck and now I'm two days late. Daniel ignored me all day Monday then caught me at 6 p.

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I'll see you Saturday night, OK? Am single mother. Went to the chemist to discreetly buy a pregnancy test, I was just shoving the packet at the girl on the till, with my head down, wishing I'd thought to put my ring on my wedding finger, when the chemist yelled, 'You want a pregnancy test? It tells you if you're pregnant on the firstday after your period is due. For the first two hours this morning I kept staring at my handbag as if it was an unexploded bomb. At For some reason, the whole business suddenly made me furious with Daniel.

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