20th January 2001 -

1:11pm

During the comfort of blank hours, I dream of my old English teacher - the one who liked me so, who was so encouraging about my talents, so sweet about things.

She refuses to speak to me.

2:20 pm

touché.

So I make a special effort to perk up a little during the afternoon. Walking back from Sainsburys, the electronic groans of Heart Failed (In the Back of a Taxi) on my walkman, I even manage a popstar shimmy or two before I reach the front door. What must the neighbours think? At which point it occurs to me that my diary is like Nausea, but with added popmusic. And extra nausea.