Eternally North (Eternally North 1)

One day, after I had been sacrificially rounded up and captured by the Grade Ten boys and symbolically roasted on a manmade spit (this really only consisted of a set of rugby posts, extra-strength electrical tape, a hockey stick and two boys rotating the device), it was 'felt' by the headmaster that I should seek comfort in a group of fellow bullying victims, and by 'felt' I mean ‘forced to go’, because obviously this group would prevent further bullying!

John was in the group after he decided to appoint himself as the head, and by ‘head’ I mean the only, cheerleader for the boys’ rugby team. One look at John in a triangle-cupped bikini top, strap-on fairy wings and matching pink tutu ignited the long-lost aggression needed in the players. However, the aggression did not take place on the pitch as preferred by the coach, but on John’s face and groin.

We had been best friends ever since, aptly naming our little pairing the 'Oink Fairies'.

I ran into John’s arms. "The shit has hit the fan!" I said, shaking my head.

"Oh, my Gods of glitter!" His hands began to flap, and he jumped up and down on his welcome mat, which read 'Please Enter if you are Pretty and Witty and Gay'. "You’re a lesbian. I’ve always suspected, what with your love of khaki and your k.d. lang obsession. It's okay, Wilbur,” Pig-related nickname. “I’ll guide you through this transition, and let me just say on behalf of the LBGT community, welcome to the land of unicorns and rainbows," he said with a graceful bow.

"Tinkerbell,” Fairy-related nickname. “I am not a lesbian. Firstly, I like khaki because I feel soldier-strong and like GI Jane when I’m wearing it; secondly, k.d. lang is an exceptional singer who unfortunately has a somewhat questionable style in fashion but gives me no tingles in the downstairs department; and thirdly, I enjoy pork way too much to switch to an all-fish diet!"

"Mmm, I like pork too," he said dreamily while leaning against his doorframe.

"We know, chick, we know," I soothed, patting his hand and walking into the warmth of his three-bedroomed Victorian semi-detached in Jesmond Dene.

Five minutes later, inside 'Casa Di Tink', away from the prying eyes of the suburban cul-de-sac, bags dropped in the hallway, it was safe to let the drama unfold.

Tink, eyes bright with curiosity, demanded, "Okay, spill it, what’s up?" while removing the ingredients for my favourite drink, a strawberry daiquiri, from his kitchen, which was modelled on the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz: no joke. It's amazing how much green crap you can purchase on eBay.

With a fortifying breath I told my tale, all of the gory parts included.

Five minutes later...

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Tink sang with a flick of his over-spiked jet-black hair, whacking the ice cube bag in earnest, mouth gaping in shock.

"What do I do? Where do I go?” I sobbed, throwing my head down to the IKEA green laminate table. Ouch, that'll leave a bruise!

"You'll stay here, you silly cow. We'll be roomies once more, like we were before that dick came along and took my playmate away," he said sternly, clearly insulted that I hadn’t trusted him to help with my accommodation dilemma.

He continued. "It's no secret that I thought that Nathan was bad news, I just hope you use this as an excuse to actually throw some caution to the wind and start living your life, not purely existing, which you've been doing for most of your days with that slimy-skinned squid. You lost your sparkle months ago, my little Peppa Pig."

I stared at my long-time best friend. Was he right? Should I throw caution to the wind and change my ways? Had I lost my sparkle, my je ne sais quoi?

I thought back to the movie theatre filled with successful, happy people, and the homeless man who despite it all, found pleasure in a packet of cigarettes. Then I thought back to the Austen display and that quote – the quote that was practically talking to me, begging me to change. It couldn’t have all just have been a coincidence, could it?

Tink pottered around the kitchen, preparing to blend, when I had an overwhelming surge of anger that this was my mess of a life – my one life that I needed to live to the max and make fantastic memories in. If the homeless man could be happy, so could I – granted, his may have been due to the Jim Beam radiating from his pores, but still, at least he found joy! I can't remember a time when I was truly happy.

That's it. No more.

I slapped my hand down on the table top and rose to my feet (imagine me doing it in slow motion with 'Chariots of Fire' playing in the background) and I punched a fist in the air. Tink looked on with wide eyes and, feeling the significance of the moment, gasped in anticipation of my forthcoming speech, laid his right hand over his heart and fell back against the emerald-flecked granite work top.

"I am Natasha Munro and I deserve to be happy. I have a dream that one day the voluptuous vixen look will grace the catwalks again and I can channel my inner Marilyn with confidence and admiration; that I will succeed in life and be seen as the best teacher that ever existed; and that I will love a man who loves me for me and my obsession with fake eyelashes and tan. Oh, and who doesn't mind that I'll always be a little bit chunky. Screw all that has happened today! My new life starts right now, no more foolish preparations – Carpe Diem!"

I tipped my head to the sky, arms spread wide, "I want something new, something exciting, I want to get away, I want... I want..."'

"I want to break free, I want to break free..." Tink interrupted with his best Freddie Mercury impression and, ever the committed showman, made a grab for the emerald-green vacuum from the cupboard, parading around the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs, "... I want to break free from your lies, you’re so self-satisfied, I don’t need you...”