'Now, don't be silly, darling.'
'Anyway, I've got to go,' I said, foolishly since she then, as always, began to gabble as if I were on death row and this was our last phone call before I was given a lethal injection.
'He was earning thousands of pounds an hour. Had a clock on his desk, tick-tock-tick-tock. Did I tell you I saw Mavis Enderby in the post office?'
'Mum. It's my first day at work today. I'm really nervous. I don't want to talk about Mavis Enderby.'
'Oh, my godfathers, darling!' What are you going to wear?'
'My short black skirt and a T-shirt.'
'Oh, now you're not going to go looking like a s1oppy tramp in dull colors. Put something smart and bright on. What about that lovely cerise two-piece you used to wear? Oh, by the way, did I tell you Una's gone down the Nile?'
Grrrr. Felt so bad when she put the phone down that smoked five Silk Cut in row. Non-vg start to day.
9 p.m. In bed, completely exhausted. I had forgotten how hideous it is starting a new job when nobody knows you, so your entire character becomes defined by every chance remark or slightly peculiar thing you say; and you can't even so much as go to put some makeup on without asking where the ladies' is.
I was late through no fault of my own. It was impossible to get into the TV studios as I had no pass and the door was run by the sort of security guards who think their job is to prevent the staff from entering the building. When I finally reached reception I wasn't allowed upstairs till someone came to get me. By this time it was 9:25 and the conference was at 9:30. Patchouli eventually appeared with two huge barking dogs, one of which started jumping up and licking my face while the other put its head straight up my skirt.
'They're Richard's. Aren't they, like, brilliant?' she said. 'I'll just take them to the car.'
'Won't I be late for the meeting?' I said desperately, holding on to the dog's head between my knees and trying to push it away. She looked me up and down as if to say, 'So?' and then disappeared, dragging the dogs.
By the time I got in to the office, therefore, the meeting had started and everyone stared except Richard, whose portly form was clad in a strange green woolen boilersuit.
'Come on, come on,' he was saying, jigging and beckoning the table towards him with both hands. 'I'm thinking Nine o'clock Service. I'm thinking dirty vicars. I'm thinking sexual acts in church. I'm thinking, why do women fall for vicars? Come on. I'm not paying you for nothing. Have an idea.'
'Why don't you interview Joanna Trollope?' I said.
'A trollop?' he said, staring at me blakly. 'What trollop?'
'Joanna Trollope. The woman who wrote The Rector's Wife that was on the telly. The Rector's Wife. She should know.'
A leery smile spread across his face. 'Brilliant,' he said to my breasts. 'Absolutely flicking brilliant. Anyone got a number for Joanna Trollope?'
There was a long pause. 'Er, actually I have,' I said eventually, feeling walls of hate vibes coming from the grunge youths.
When the meeting was over I rushed to the loo to recover my composure where Patchouli was making herself up next to her friend, who was wearing a sprayed-on dress that showed her underpants and midriff.
'This isn't too tarty, is it?' the girl was saying to Patchouli. 'You should have seen those bitch thirtysomethings' faces when I walked in . . . Oh!'
Both girls looked at me, horrified, with their hands over their mouths. 'We didn't mean you,' they said.
I am not sure if I am going to be able to stand this.
Saturday 9 September
8st 12 (v.g. advantage of new job with attendant nervous tension), alcohol units 4, cigarettes 10, calories 1876, minutes spent having imaginary conversations with Daniel 24 (excellent), minutes spent imagining rerun of conversations with mother in which I come out on top 94.
11:30 a.m. Why oh why did! give my mother a key to my flat? I was just-for the first time in five weeks-starting a weekend without wanting to stare at the wall and burst into tears. I'd got through a week at work. I was starting to think maybe it was all going to be OK, maybe I wasn't necessarily going to be eaten by an Alsatian when she burst in carrying a sewing machine.
'What on earth are you doing, silly?' she trilled. I was weighing out 100 grams of cereal for my breakfast using a bar of chocolate (the weights for the scales are in ounces which is no good because the calorie chart is in grams).
'Guess what, darling?' she said, beginning to open and shut all the cupboard doors.
'What?' I said, standing in my socks and nightie trying to wipe the mascara from under my eyes.
'Malcolm and Elaine are having the ruby wedding in London now, on the twenty-third, so you will be able to come and keep Mark company.'