My Dating Disasters Diary Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for My Desperate Love Diary

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  FRIDAY JANUARY 1ST

  MONDAY FEBRUARY 1ST

  MONDAY MARCH 1ST

  THURSDAY APRIL 1ST

  WEDNESDAY MAY 5TH

  FRIDAY JUNE 4TH

  SATURDAY JULY 10TH

  SUNDAY AUGUST 1ST

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 1ST

  SATURDAY OCTOBER 2ND

  MONDAY NOVEMBER 1ST

  WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 1ST

  My desperate Love Diary

  My now or NEVER Diary

  JUMPING TO CONFUSIONS

  SPLIT BY A KISS

  I hurried after him. ‘So, erm, are you my boyfriend now?’

  He turned to me. ‘No, Kelly Ann. I don’t want to be your boyfriend.’

  ‘But why not? You said you liked me. It’s because I’m not blonde, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’

  ‘Too skinny?’

  ‘Nah, it’s just, well, um, no offence but, you know, I want a girlfriend and you’re just, well, not sort of girly enough. More like a boy really.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’re not upset? I mean, I never promised to go out with you. Today was just a sort of trial. It’s not like I’m dumping you or anything.’

  I flushed. Bloody hell, he wasn’t feeling sorry for me, was he? I put on a totally unconcerned, happy voice. ‘God, no, it’s cool. No worries.’

  Praise for My Desperate Love Diary:

  ‘Heartfelt but at the same time fantastically funny, this is a must read’ MIZZ

  ‘A feel-good summer read’ SUN

  ‘Very funny … the reader is drawn directly into Kelly Ann’s world’ WRITERS’ NEWS

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  Also by Liz Rettig:

  My Desperate Love Diary

  My Now or Never Diary

  Jumping to Confusions

  My

  Dating

  Disasters

  Diary

  by Kelly Ann

  Liz Rettig

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ISBN 9781407048604

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  MY DATING DISASTERS DIARY

  A CORGI BOOK

  ISBN: 9781407048604

  Version 1.0

  Published in Great Britain by Corgi Books,

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  A Random House Group Company

  This edition published 2009

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Liz Rettig, 2009

  The right of Liz Rettig to be identified as the author of this work has been

  asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  Set in 11/16pt Palatino by

  Falcon Oast Graphic Art Ltd.

  Corgi Books are published by Random House Children’s Books,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This book is dedicated to my son Chris

  and my daughter Carol

  With special thanks to Guy Rose, Kelly Hurst,

  and my long-suffering husband Paul

  I’m also grateful to Prince Charles and

  Professor Richard Dawkins for

  inspiring (unknowingly) some of the

  fun in this book

  And last, but by no means least, a huge thank you to all my Kelly Ann fans around the world

  FRIDAY JANUARY 1ST

  I never have and I never will fancy any of the stupid boys at my school but I’m going to have to pretend I do or people will start thinking I’m weird. Honestly, just because I like football and can’t be bothered with makeup, that doesn’t make me a freak. Or a lesbian, as some people have suggested.

  My best friend Liz, who’s really into psychology, has tried to explain my tomboyish tendencies by saying that I’m suffering from a severe case of penis envy. She told me that a man called Freud, who was the most famous and brilliant psychologist in the world ever, has said that all girls are jealous of boys because they’ve got penises and we haven’t. Most girls sort of get over it but obviously I’m still eaten up with jealousy, which is why I try to be like boys.

  Told Liz that this was rubbish. This Freud person might have been really brilliant but he must have been totally mental too. And he obviously never played football either. There’s no way I’d want to have a penis, etc.

  Especially when I see boys doubled up in agony after they’ve been hit with a football in the groin. It’s just that I like to do lots of stuff that boys enjoy. What’s wrong with that?

  My parents aren’t much help either, and Mum especially is always on at me these days.

  You’d think they’d be happy I’m not interested in chasing boys so there’s no chance of me getting pregnant and becoming a gymslip mum like the newspapers are always on about, but no.

  When I pointed this out to them today, Mum said, ‘You a mum? Don’t make me laugh. Remember the doll we bought you for your seventh birthday? The one whose head you tore off and used for a football?’

  This wasn’t true actually. It was Chris’s friend Gary who decapitated the doll when we couldn’t find a ball to play with. But, OK, I didn’t stop him, and since it was done anyway, there was no point in refusing to join in the game. Didn’t mention any of this to Mum – even though it all happened seven years ago, it would only set her off again about how much the doll cost (it cried ‘real tears’ and wet itself!) – so she droned on.

  ‘And the pram that you tied ropes to and used as a go-kart?’

  This was true, I suppose, although of course I could only go downhill, and steering was a problem so I ended up knocking out my front tooth on a lamppost but it had been wobbly (the tooth, not the lamppost, of course) and due to come out anyway. Despite this my parents refused to fork out the usual one pound Tooth Fairy money, which I thought was a bit mean.

  My dad’s attitude doesn’t help much either. When I mentioned the gymslip mum stuff to him he just glanced up from his paper and said, ‘Do girls wear gymslips these days? I never see you in anything but scruffy jeans with holes in the arse and knees.’

  So much for parental support. Wish everyone would just leave me alone. Still, I suppose I’ll have to try and be a bit more feminine this year, if only to shut annoying people up, so I’ve added some girl stuff to my New Year resolutions:

  My New Year Resolutions:

  1. Never to argue with English teachers

  If I’m tem
pted, I only have to remember what happened when I complained about being cast as the greedy, grumpy mum in Jack and the Beanstalk at Christmas. Mrs Conner changed my part to the back end of the cow Jack sold for magic beans at the market. Wouldn’t have minded so much but the front half was Terry Docherty, who has personal hygiene problems – and excessive flatulence. I nearly passed out several times trying to hold my breath so as not to inhale the fumes.

  2. To play for the school football team.

  Though how I’m going to persuade our totally sexist PE teacher to let me join I don’t know. Why can’t he see that I’m just as good as any boy at football? Also I can swear and foul people better than most.

  3. To grow proper breasts.

  Not that I really want them as I’m sure they will slow me down at sports and encourage idiot boys to try and look down my front like they are always trying to do with Liz, who is a double D already. Still, I don’t want to be a freak and I’m getting totally fed up with being called stupid names like Goose Bumps and Ikea Girl (flat-packed, ha ha).

  My Aunt Kate has given me a leaflet with illustrated chest exercises to do. She says they helped her when she was my age but I’m not going to do them while chanting, I must, I must, I must improve my bust! as she suggested. I mean, it’s not voodoo or anything so results can’t depend on reciting a stupid mantra.

  Mum doesn’t think the exercises will work as she says they are really to develop supporting muscles for boobs and ‘Ha ha, you don’t really have anything to support yet, Kelly Ann.’ Thanks, Mum. But I’ll give the exercises a try anyway. Failing that I’ll just have to save up for implants.

  4. Never, ever to make a total idiot of myself by falling for any stupid boy.

  Nearly all my friends have done this now – even Liz, who wore perfume that smelled like cat pee for a whole week because a boy she fancied said he liked it (until he told her he’d been joking and it smelled like cat pee). Still, that isn’t as bad as some people like Fiona McNulty, who still keeps a Kleenex her boyfriend borrowed to blow his nose on their first date. I just can’t understand it. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against boys. In fact one of my best friends, Chris, is a boy, and he’s great. Also boys are generally better at football, PlayStation games and climbing billboards – all stuff I really like – so they can actually be more fun than girls sometimes. But, honestly, fancy (never mind fall in love with) any of them? I mean, most of them are total idiots (except for people like Chris, who I must admit is really super smart and wants to be a doctor), and not many of them look like film stars exactly.

  5. To snog at least one boy this year.

  Yeah, I know this doesn’t seem to gel with what I’ve just said but the fact is, my arch enemy Shelly is spreading rumours at school that I’m a lesbian. Just because I don’t snog boys. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay of course, if you are gay, but I’m not and I definitely don’t fancy girls. I guess the easiest way to stop Shelly is to get spotted tonguing some boy but I’m not sure who or how. Also it has occurred to me that maybe I’m not all that snoggable. I’m not blonde or busty like Liz, which is what most guys seem to like (though Liz says not). She is slightly plump, which really annoys her so she’s always on some stupid diet or other. She says that guys actually like skinny girls like me but that, yeah, developing boobs might help.

  Maybe I could bribe some boy to snog me? I bet Gary, Chris’s best friend, would snog me if I lent him my PlayStation game Demon Assassins. He loves that game but can’t find it anywhere now. But what if he told people about it afterwards? Could I trust Gary, or any boy really, to keep his mouth shut? If word got round that I’d practically paid someone to snog me it would be just too humiliating. No, it’s too risky. I’ll just have to try and attract one of them, though God knows how I’m supposed to do that.

  SATURDAY JANUARY 2ND

  Chris was a bit weird today. He came round to my house in the afternoon but when I opened the door to him, instead of walking in like normal he just stood there and gawped at me. Then he said, ‘You look nice, Kelly Ann.’

  I stared back at him, surprised. ‘What?’

  Then he seemed to realize how odd he’d sounded as he reddened and explained, ‘I mean the skirt. Your skirt is nice. A Christmas present?’

  I looked down at the short pink skirt Aunt Kate had bought me and frowned. Hated the stupid thing. I mean, did she have to buy pink? Anyway, I hate wearing skirts and much prefer jeans or combats but Mum has made me wear it. She says I’m too old to be a tomboy now and everyone will think I’m a dyke if I carry on like this.

  Told Mum she can’t call people that now, it’s not right, and she has to say female gay person. Mum said, female gay person her arse, she hadn’t got time for long-winded talk like that, but anyway I’d wear the skirt Aunt Kate bought for me or else. And while she was at it, the day I’ve got the money to fork out on my own clothes will be the day I tell her what to say or not to say in her own house, but she wouldn’t advise it even then if I wanted to avoid a black eye and that’s if I was lucky.

  Charming.

  I was still thinking about my argument with Mum when she came up behind me, smoking a fag as usual.

  ‘Are you two going to stay there all day with the door wide open letting the cold in? It’s Baltic out there, for God’s sake. Well seen you lot don’t pay the gas bill.’

  Chris came in, closed the door behind him and said, ‘Happy New Year, Mrs—’

  Still annoyed with Mum, I interrupted, ‘You can’t let cold in, you can only let heat out.’ I looked at Chris now. ‘Isn’t that right, Chris?’

  I wasn’t good at science the way Chris was, but I remember some teacher talking about this last year. I was sure Chris would back me up, but he wimped out.

  He said, ‘Er, erm, it depends on how you look at it, I suppose.’

  My dad joined us in the hall then. ‘There speaks a diplomat.’ He shook Chris’s hand. ‘Happy New Year, son.

  Come on in and have a drink.’

  We all piled into the living room, where my big sister Angela was sitting amusing herself by picking bits of pink fluff off a black jacket. She’s done this every day since Christmas, when her boyfriend bought her an angora scarf which moults onto everything it touches. I’d have got rid of them (scarf and stupid boyfriend) but my sister is the sort of sad person who probably finds purpose in this pointless, neverending activity.

  Since it was the first time Chris has been here since the New Year, Dad offered him a ‘Lite’ beer, which he usually keeps for adults who are driving and don’t want to go over the limit. Don’t know how anyone can drink beer. Even the smell of it is awful. Must say I’m glad I’m not a boy and so won’t have to spend a lifetime drinking such vile stuff, although Chris seemed happy enough to accept it.

  Mum and Dad used this lame excuse to start drinking more alcohol too (‘hair of the dog’, Dad called it) but I just had Irn Bru. We toasted the New Year yet again, then Chris was made to kiss Mum and Angela. He must have thought he’d have to kiss me too as he leaned over towards me, but I saved him from this embarrassment by pulling away and high-fiving him.

  Dad made the usual idiotic conversation with Chris that adults all seem to think is expected. ‘Christ, son, you haven’t half grown. You can’t be far off six feet. Must be nearly as tall as your dad now and he’s no midget.’

  Chris muttered some polite reply.

  I said, ‘You only saw Chris a week ago, Dad. He can’t have grown that much since then. He’s not a mushroom.’ I turned to Chris. ‘C’mon, let’s go upstairs. We can have a go on the new game I got for Christmas. Bring your beer with you.’

  I made for the door and Chris got up to follow me but then Angela butted in with, ‘Mum, you’re not going to let her take a boy to her bedroom, are you? She’s fourteen. Much too old for that now. You never let me take boyfriends to my bedroom, do you?’

  Mum said, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Angela, it’s only Chris.’

  Dad b
acked her up. ‘Don’t be daft, Angela. They’ve known each other since they were not long out of nappies. Chris is just a pal.’

  ‘Still, it’s not fair,’ Angela huffed. She looked at Mum. ‘Aren’t you going to stop her then?’

  ‘Like your father said, she’s known him since she gave up nappies.’ Mum looked at me and laughed. ‘That will be nearly three years then.’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah, right, very funny, Mum.’

  ‘Well, you did take a bloody long time to potty train. I’d visions of having to buy you Pampers for a wedding present.’

  Why do all adults want to embarrass teenagers? Even people like your parents who are supposed to care about you. Come to think of it, especially people like your parents. Mind you, I think I must have the most embarrassing parents in the entire world. Even when, unlike Mum just now, they’re not deliberately trying to be.

  I said, ‘Look, Chris, why don’t we just go to your house? I could do with getting out of here for a while.’

  Chris agreed so he quickly gulped down the rest of his beer and followed me into the hall. I put on my jacket then sat down on the stairs to pull on my trainers. Angela came out at this point. She said, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  I tucked my laces into the sides of the trainers and stood up. ‘What does it look like I’m doing? Duh!’

  ‘You can’t wear those with a skirt.’

  ‘Can.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Can, can, can.’

  ‘Can’t, can’t— Oh, this is childish.’ She opened the living-room door and screeched, ‘Mum, look what she’s wearing!’

  Mum came out, still smoking her fag. Or probably another fag. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, what is it now?’ She looked down at my feet and laughed. ‘Bloody hell. It’s Florence.’

  ‘Florence Nightingale?’ I said, puzzled. Couldn’t see how I looked like a Victorian nurse.

  ‘Florence from The Magic Roundabout, you eejit. Now go put on the shoes I bought you for Christmas. You asked for them, after all. They cost forty pounds and I’ll be buggered if they’re going to waste.’

  ‘I asked for new trainers, not stupid high heels I can’t walk in.’

  But it was no use. Mum made me put them on. I’m sure Angela is to blame for this. She’s probably told Mum I’m getting slagged off at school for being too boyish. Mum never used to notice or care what I wore before.