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Thursday, 19 June 2008

image for Alternative Zoe Heller - Diary Zoe Heller outside Number 10

Written to the editor of the Sunday Times to demonstrate that I, like some of his regular contributors, could also write absolute drivel. Main problem being I don't get paid for it.

I awoke this morning and said to my boyfriend the first thing that came into my head.
"Good Morning" I said.

"It must be morning" he replied sleepily, bearing in mind he had just been woken by my morning greeting.

I replied thoughtfully and carefully.

"Yes".

I thought about breakfast, a meal I rarely have time to eat unless it's morning time.

After I have awoken beside my boyfriend.

"I think I'll have my breakfast on the balcony" I enthused.

"I'm going to have mine on a plate" was his factual and minimilistic response.

I thought it was a good time to open my mail. After all, how can you possibly conceive of a better time to open your mail than immediately after the postman has delivered it in the morning. I have often wondered whether my postman has the occasion to ring twice anywhere.

My boyfriend, almost reading my expansive postal thoughts, announced "I think it's time to put the kettle on for coffee". I found myself magnetically agreeing with him.

"I have opened my post" I screeched with positive delirium.

I discovered a ball-point pen sample within one of the communications. "This is a ball pen" I proudly announced. I was excited. I couldn't begin to think why it should be there. In the post delivered to the house I shared with my boyfriend. In the post, delivered to the house which contains the bed I share with my boyfriend. I thought suddenly, "It must be to write with! I am sure this is a writing instrument which I could imprint words upon paper."

Lazlo Biro.

The man with a point to make. The man with even a ball point to make.

How great it is that the latter day version of his invention should arrive through the letterbox of the house I share with my boyfriend. "And now" I thought, "I have a new ball pen to share with my boyfriend for those special intimate occasions when we have to write a letter, take a phone message, or fill in a crossword." I often do crossword.

My mind began to wander. "I must go shopping, especially to shops to buy things."

I went shopping at 11am, leaving my boyfriend to clip his toe nails with the nail clippers we share in the bathroom we share in the house we share.

"It's a long way to town" I thought, as I remembered the time I went shopping with my boyfriend in F W Woolworth's for safety pins and paper clips. Normally I would never shop in F W Woolworth's.

F W. Strange initials I thought. Not as religious or as meaningful as the J C in J C Penney. But then again, Penney sounds cheaper than other shops, because a penny is really only ever identified as small change. Particularly so if gained from an item costing ninety nine pounds and ninety nine pence when you tender one hundred pounds exactly and receive one penny in change. Change never changes. It always remains simply change.

It was time to look at my watch to see what time it was.

Eating lunch is such fun, especially at lunchtime. Out on the pavement cafes are all the people who also eat lunch at lunchtime. I once remember telling my boyfriend that it is not a good idea to eat lunch at suppertime. "It can confuse your body clock". A scientific fact, I surmise.

Time to write in my diary. I shall use my new ball pen in honour of this occasion, and what's more, I will probably even write on a blank page. I shall definitely share this new ball pen with the boyfriend I live and sleep with. Maybe.

"Dear Diary". A good solid opening, I thought. Particularly pertinent for a diary entry.

But my new ball point pen won't write properly. 'I will shake it' I thought. Or I can ask my boyfriend, who I share a house with, to help me shake it. It is so intimate to shake your new ball pen with a boyfriend who lives with you. Up and down.

But it refuses to write. So I ask myself. Would it write better if I took the cap off?

Or would this be too deconstructionalist?

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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