April 22nd, 1989

April 22nd 1989

At Pamsy’s, Sussex

The second I shut my diary last night, Pamsy stirred and made me jump.

“Sorry,” she giggled, sitting up in bed.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was pretending to be so you could write,” she said, plumping up the pillow behind her.

“That was very considerate of you.”

Enunciating each word slowly, she said, “I did not want to disturb the record keeper.”

I laughed. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Well, you write your diary every day and how long have you been doing that?”

Placing my diary on the bedside table, I said, “Since I was about, oh I don’t know, fourteen.”

“So eight years.”

I laughed. “I highly doubt Henny has the ability to calculate at the speed you just did.”

The pair of us cracked up laughing.

“Do you still keep all the cards and letters I send you?” Pamsy asked.

“Of course I do. They’re some of my most treasured possessions.”

“Imagine if you keep that up, by the time we’re old, like say, fifty, you’ll have boxes of stuff and we can read them all again.”

“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

Pamsy sounded excited when she said, “Let’s do it.”

Scooting a little further under the duvet, I said, “We have a very long way to go before we reach fifty.”

“I know, that’s ancient.”
“Maybe we should do it when we’re forty,” I suggested.

“When we’re fat and bored and our kids and husbands are driving us mental.”

I sat up again. “Do you think you’ll get married and have kids?”

“Of course. Don’t you?” she asked.

“I’d like to think so.”

“You sound unsure.”

“Things really weren’t so great with Ben these past few…”


I laughed, “No, weeks.”

“Didn’t you have a nice time together in Cornwall?”

“We did mostly but then Ben would go into one of his moods and I just felt a bit confused.”

Pamsy said, “I guess time will tell how it all plays out.” Sounding excited, rubbing her hands together, she said, “And it’ll all be in your diaries.”

“Oh yes it will!”

“What did you write about tonight?” she asked. “Or would you rather not tell me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’ll tell you. I wrote about my fantastic best friend.”

Pamsy smiled. “Aw, thanks.”

“Called Henny.”

We both cracked up laughing.

“I got the impression Henny didn’t like you very much.”

Shaking my head in acknowledgement, I said, “Not even.”

Pamsy continued. “I must get around to letting it slip that you and Dave were previously loved up.”


“What?” she asked.

“I just wrote in my diary that it was last year Dave the Wave and I were, eh…”

“Shagging,” Pamsy stated.

I gave her “a look” and flicked through the diary pages.

“It wasn’t last summer,” she said. “It was the summer before. You were all lovey dovey with Ben last summer, even though he was in Spain for most of it.”

I got to the page I’d just written and picked up my pen.

“Are you going to change what you wrote?” Pamsy asked.

“Nah, I won’t bother,” I said, shaking my head, closing the diary, “It’s not as if anyone else will ever read it.”



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