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Tuesday, August 3111:10 A.M.
Totally incredible morning! Jocasta,* my darling mother, is going round looking as though she has I DO NOT APPROVE tattooed on her angry little forehead, but I think it's mega-fab! The thing is, after Dad had gone to work the post came, and it was a letter from Miss Moodie, saying that London Road Comprehensive is going to be in a television documentary next term!
Can't believe that our school has really been chosen by the TV company, Haydeeze Productions. It's so, so amazing. I mean, I would probably die of embarrassment if they actually interviewed me or anything for this documentary, but I'd like to be in the background. AT LAST -- people will finally see what we have to put up with in Midcaster's most mediocre school! It's like getting a real wish out of a Christmas cracker instead of a pink plastic ring.
I know Miss Moodie does her best to bring Order, Purpose, and Discipline (her three favorite words) to London Road, but it's really difficult when the headmaster, Mr. Smedley, is hardly ever there, and she's only the deputy, and we have teachers who turn a blind eye to what goes on. Like in our history class, if you don't want to work, you can sit in the back row and file your nails or pick your nose, or whatever, and Mr. Potter says he doesn't care, he's not going to waste his breath trying to teach morons who are destined to stock supermarket shelves. And Dean Wiggins listens to his Walkman in all Mrs. Woolacott's math classes and she doesn't even seem to notice. So I think this documentary is a Good Thing.
But Jocasta doesn't see it like that.
I do really, really wish that she wouldn't insist on being called Jocasta. It's not even her real name. I mean, what's wrong with Sheila? I'm sure there are lots of nice, cozy, normal mums called Sheila. Like Mum used to be, in fact, before she started doing all these weird "Wimmin's Studies" workshops. It was when we moved here last year to Mega-Dump Doomsville (aka Midcaster) and Dad got so busy with his job at the nuclear power station, that she got into this Jocasta stuff and started being all Angry and Radical.
Anyway, she just swept a scalding eye over Miss Moodie's letter and said, "I've told you before, Jennifer, that Television is the Opiate of the Masses and we are NOT going to have anything to do with it." Then she threw the letter and, even worse, the permission slip you MUST have signed by a parent into the bin for the compost, on top of some old bits of porridge.
I totally lost it. I yelled at her about everything, about her banning television from our house, the awful clothes she buys me, and the whole Serious Woman feminist psychobabble rubbish that she's shoveling down my throat every five minutes. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it did end with me screaming, "YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE!"
It didn't go down very well, somehow. In fact, I don't think we will ever speak to each other again.
5:15 P.M
Went to Vicki's this afternoon to get away from Troll* Mother.
Her dad had signed her form before he went off to work at his Reggae 'n' Rasta record shop. Amazing that people must spend enough money there to feed them both. Anyway, she was so Vicki-ish and supportive and said that this documentary will probably be dead boring anyway, just teachers and sixth formersyakking on about themselves, and that if I can't be in it, she won't hand her permission form in either.
Vicki really is my dearest (only) friend. She's such a babe, as no doubt the evil Tallulah Perkins would say about her creepy sidekick, Chelsea.
Midnight
Have done something that will drive Jocasta to the Outer Limits of Maternal Wrath! Just got to get to school tomorrow morning before she finds out.
12:20 A.M
Lying awake worrying. Can't stop thinking about What I've Done and what my mother is Going To Say.
After I got back from Vicki's, I really did try to make things up with Jocasta, as I felt kind of bad about what I'd said. She probably gets stressy and uptight because Dad is so wrapped up in his work and the Joy of Science and all that. In fact, I think she's lonely. So I said I was sorry about all the ruining-my-life stuff, but THEN she acted so martyred and noble and forgiving about it, like the mother superior in The Sound of Music* that she annoyed me again, especially as SHE started the whole thing with her bonkers ideas! Doesn't she know that not being allowed to have a shot of the back of my head in this dumb documentary will make me look a bigger saddo at school than I do already?
So by the time she went off to her Midcaster Militant Book Discussion group, or whatever it is (leaving me to babysit Jonathan because Dad was working late), I was feeling totally hacked off again. But then, when I was putting Jonathan to bed (my baby brother is so lovely when he's just had a bath), I heard Dad's car pull up at the front and I had a Fantastic Idea.
I ran downstairs, flew out of the back door down to the compost heap, and scrabbled about until I found Miss Moodie's permission form. It was covered in quite a bit of porridge and tea leaves and disgusting yucky stuff, but I ran back to the kitchen, wiped it all off with the dishcloth, and had it smoothed out on the kitchen table before Dad had his key in the lock.
The Actual Real Reality of Jennifer James
Excerpted from The Actual Real Reality of Jennifer James: A Reality TV Novel by Gillian Shields
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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