Saturday, October 15th 1994: Hideous day at work today. Hideous. I shitting hate ShitSave. Rather than stack shelves, I had to stack refrigerators today, which is just as dull, except colder. Also, I have strange compulsions to break delicate foodstuffs. I wonder if there a syndrome for this? I hope not. The last thing I need is a syndrome attached to me. This morning, the 'chilled' puddings took a bit of a hammering and I managed to successfully stick my finger through several yoghurt lids. Karl Marx would be proud. Although possibly not, if he was against waste: the yoghurts had to be chucked. During tea break, Mr Davies, my supervisor and a bit of a dwarf, it has to be said, called me boring. And why? Because when asked, I said that lesbians don't turn me on. (Note from the future: hardly a shock, thinking about it). He thinks lesbians are 'fucking brilliant' and says that he had several threesomes when he went to Ibiza. With lesbians. I highly suspect he is lying because, a) he kept stuttering when trying to recall details, b) It seems unlikely - what self respecting lesbian sleeps with a dwarf man? c) He has bad breath. If the penis doesn't put the lesbian off, the breath surely will. It could curdle milk. Mr Davies' fandom for all things homosexual is not all-inclusive though. While he raves (and spits a bit while he does so) about how brilliant lesbians are, he thinks that gay men are wrong. Wrong about what, he didn't elaborate, although it doesn't take a genius to work it out. Which is just as well. We were in the Kwiksave staff room. Which is a total fucking hovel, can I just say? I found myself zoning in on the overflowing ashtrays as everyone seemed to look at me for a response when he said this. Don't know why. (Note from the future: Oh, I think you do, young Johnny Red Pants!)
I spent the afternoon fingering more yoghurts. How's that for lesbianism, Mr Davies? Which means your shrinkage rate will go up. Which means, they'll sack you and you won't be able to afford to go on your lesbian holidays where all the lesbians aren't lesbians, but are really dwarf man and bad breath enthusiasts. I missed the bus home so walked over the River Leen, which always freaks me out. Not only is it covered in dog shit, but I'm completely convinced that I will get murdered, or someone I see will get murdered and I'll be wrongly convicted of the crime. There aren't any lesbians in prison. Which is just as well as I'm boring. I didn't get murdered. I made it home and watched Casualty and argued with Jim and Dad. Fascists. I bet they don't think lesbians are boring. Started thinking about uni today. Where shall I go? London sounds pretty appealing. It's probably not boring there. I used to love going on day trips to the capital when I was younger. Although I remember spewing up on the train once after drinking some feral orange juice. It tasted BAD. Poor Mam and Amber, they had to walk around all day with a kid covered in his own orange-coloured puke. It was a good day. Definitely not boring.
While I'm having a good moan, I'm not looking forward to school on Monday. Ian is still upset with me because I lost his membership form for the Madonna fan club. He thinks I've stolen it, which I haven't. I just lost it. I only wanted to read what it said. It's not like I'm going to join. That seems a bit militant. And also costly. And besides, I am still waiting for my Madonna mug to turn up. I sent off for it nine months ago. Dad told me that a fool and his money are soon parted. I called him a bald headed bastard, which seems to be making less of an impact. I shall have to come up with something else. I might call him a lesbian and see what happens.