I didn't remember until last night that as it's the end of the year we have to hand in all the coursework we've done so far. Cue me and Chaunce tearing the bedroom apart trying to find them all. Never fear, gentle reader, I have them all in my sweaty hands now. A 67%, 59% and 56%. What went wrong?!

In the course of tidying up I found approx 10 zillion pieces of paper with ideas, scribbles, notes and such like on. Now, you may remember what it was like to (or you may still) be a teenager. Or at least, you'll remember what it's like to have your pretty red heart bitten in two by some arsehole of a boy. (If you don't know what I'm talking about then you can just fuck right off.) I remember, dear reader, I remember it well. (I didn't mean that about the fucking off. Come back, I'm telling you a story.)

When I was 15 I fell in love properly hard for the very first time. We spent the summer together, I turned 16, we went on holiday, we got trapped in Spain, it was all very exciting. He was 18. On our return to England he decided that as he was going to uni (hilariously, the same uni and the same course Chaunce spent a week at before dropping out) we'd be too far away to continue a long distance relationship. I was going up to the same college he'd just been at and he assured me I wouldn't want to be held down by a distant boyfriend. Devastated, I reluctantly agreed. He had my feelings at heart, after all. And he loved me, he loved me, he said that he did.

THEN THAT BASTARD GOT OFF WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS AND WENT OUT WITH HER FOR YEARS EVEN THOUGH SHE LIVED IN HUDDIES AND HAD TO TRAVEL TO SEE HIM EVERY WEEKEND.

I was torn apart. Over a three month relationship with a fat man who thought he was the next Ken Branagh. But I was, I was torn into tiny pieces. My whole first year at college was a wash out (I was predicted D's and U's in my A-levels) because I kept running from class to sob in the toilets. Memorably at an 18th birthday party, my friend pulled the plug from the DJ booth because he was playing 'I've had the time of my life' and I was gutted. It's all relative. I have never been as upset about anything since - breaking up with Uni Boyf? abortion? abusive boyfriend? living in Reading? Falling in love with some idiot when the idiot I was with was lovely? Some idiot living in my flat and rowing with me? No. A three month relationship with a fat man had me reaching for the anti-depressants (only, luckily, I didn't, and all down to a girl who told me she often thought of killing herself but only to stick it to the man. How can you stick it to them if you're dead tho? Duhh. So now I think I will kill myself when I'm bored. I'll have a lovely party and then have a long hot bath. Luckily I ain't bored yet.)

So, here I was, 17 and wobbling mentally. I imagine if there'd been blogs at the time mine would have been black, black as the darkest of nights, with blood red writing like the blood that had spurted from my heart. (I think I was so upset because I'd had a rotten existential time of it when I was 14/15, just generally realising, hey! life is shit! and then you die! that's rubbish! and he'd brought me out of that with boozing and sex and friends and holidays and then it was cruelly snatched away from me) ANYWAY the point I am taking a rather long time to get to is: I should have been writing poetry along the lines of 'my soul / stolen / in the blackness of night / leaves fall like tears / crunching underfoot / like so many broken promises / relief in pain / blood / red / black black blaaaaaaaaaaacccccckkkkk... meh.' (hey, I've just made  that up but I like the bit about leaves and promises. God, I'm good though, aren't I?) (No?)

But what I actually wrote (and I know I was still in the depths of despair when I wrote this cos I can see the tear stains on the paper still) what I actually wrote, and found last night, was this (I would make the world's worst depressive) :

I want to hate you
Tell your brother it was him I like best
Tell your new girlfriend she's got a flat chest
Tell your dad you've started smoking
Tell your mum I was only joking
When I said I liked her new kitchen

I want to want to hurt you
Tell the barman you're under age
Tell you that you're crap on stage
Tell your friends they're immature
Tell everyone you're much more pure
Than you make out to be

I want to hate you
Tell your new uni friends you like Deep Space Nine
Tell all my friends you were crap every time
Tell my new boyfriend I don't care about you
Tell myself that I'm fine without you

 ... and then, dear reader, it tails off because I probably had to go and find some ice cubes to hold or something. But it's bloody brilliant! Isn't it? Is it just me? My favourite bit is the bit about the new kitchen.

So anyway, I'm inspired. I can finish that play today. And maybe I should stop trying to write dark, meaningful stuff.

Doggerel is where it's AT baby.