Turncoat

So Ralph’s now going to Abby MacKenzie’s party. Jesus Christ, what the fuck’s going on? Am I a leper or something?? Bloody furious. He spent all of last week going on about what a social misfit she was and now he’s flogging all the way from Chislehurst to Maida Vale on the off chance of a snog with some bit of fluff who’s probably totally frigid if she’s mates with Abby Mac. Once he’d told me his plans I didn’t mention going for serious beers tonight. He can sod off. Sal’s going to the cinema with her new bloke. Might see if I can crash that. Hopefully she’ll pay cos I’m arsing skint now my allowance is monthly not weekly. Forty-five bloody quid. Dad and Mother must think it’s still the 60s if they reckon that’s enough to live off. What a joke..

Dad had walked into town before I got up this morning so a drive of the Jag is out the question. I woke up to the sound of Mother singing Dusty Springfield in the bath. Nice.. I wish she’d pull herself together. Now Fatty Brent’s gone mental after yesterday’s “incident” I’m going to need someone else to take me out in the car as much as poss over the next week and a bit. Dad’s at work all the time so Mother’s my only option God help me.

I think I need to get a girlfriend. I’m 17 now for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what’s going wrong. Maybe it’s time to start showering every day. Such a bloody chore though. Also my hair makes me look like a total geekfest. Need to get it cut this week anyway so I’ll see what they suggest to make me look utterly horny. Really want to lose it before Christmas.