I’ve kept a diary ever since I was 5 years old. In school, we read a story
about a girl who had a diary and I went home and asked my mother for one.
She took me to a stationery shop and I picked out one with a red-leather
cover, gilt pages, my name printed on it in goldleaf, and a useless,
just-for-show lock on the side. Every night, I would sit on the kitchen
floor while my mother made dinner and say, “Mum, how do you spell ‘today’?
How do you spell ‘we’? How do you spell ‘went’?” and then I’d warn her, “Do
NOT read my diary”.
I eventually grew into other diaries, this time with working locks and then
later the mottled black-and-white composition notebooks that all the cool,
brooding kids had in their teen years. I spent puberty in my room with the
door closed, curled up on my bed with my tape deck and a notebook,
journaling through my rage. Oh, the injustices I suffered, being a
middle-class white girl whose parents were still married! I made sure to
document them all, and then I stowed all the diaries under my bed, where
they would have been forgotten if my mother hadn’t insisted I clean out my
old childhood bedroom when I was 24.
I lugged the heavy box of years’ worth of journals back to my apartment, but I
didn’t have the nerve to open them until I was halfway through a bottle of
wine with my best friend. They were so truly awful that I would have died if
anyone else knew how lame I was. So, of course, I had to read them aloud to
her. She doubled up laughing, which was all the encouragement a ham and
glutton for punishment such as me needed to take them to a wider audience.
I started sending the most painful excerpts to a small group of friends in a
weekly e-mail, and just before I’d hit “send” I’d think, “Why am I doing
this again?” But then, within minutes, replies would come pouring in, with
everyone remembering the same awful things and sharing their own memories
(often of the same story), and I’d be inspired to find an even worse excerpt
for the next e-mail.
A few years later, I moved to New York from Oklahoma and began hosting Cringe
as a monthly reading series in the backroom of Freddy’s Bar in Brooklyn in
2005. Friends and strangers volunteered to read aloud from their teenage
diaries, journals, notes, letters, poems, abandoned rock operas and other
representations of the misery of their adolescence. It was (and is) cheaper
and better than therapy and it has never wanted for readers or audience.
Cringe first came to London in June 2007, in the basement of The Foundry in
Shoreditch, East London. I had faith that the fact that everyone was once a
miserable teenager would cross the cultural divide. I was right: the London
Cringes have been some of the funniest on record. I always tell people who
are unsure what to read to pick the excerpt that physically makes them
cringe when they read it to themselves, the one that makes them think, “I
can’t read that part”. But then when you do, and the room erupts in laughter
and everyone groans, you suddenly think, “Oh, I can top that”.
We were all the same teenager underneath. And aren’t you glad you never have
to be that person again.
Kerry Chapple Tuesday March 23, 1993
I think when I’m older I’ll put my diaries in a big chest to look at when I’m
so decrepit that I can’t remember what it was like to be 13 and 5 months.
Nick Hughes (16) September 19, 1985
Sharp Room Prelude
Colours spill bright from the twilight mind
Of a lost lonely medium with hands sadly lined.
The feeling of love no longer can linger
In the heart of a prodigy —— fool with hope on each finger
A vision of light, a child of the evening
Homeless helpless hapless, devoid of a meaning
For what is life passed, as I laugh or I cry
If not a worthless shell in which I have lied
Claire Bateson (18) March, 1994
I am writing this on acid, the tail-end of a trip. I need this time alone with
pen and paper to express myself. I feel really happy to be me – more
gorgeous and beautiful than ever before, me in all senses. Feminine – oh so
feminine – and the prettiest, most beautiful girl that ever lived. I am so
pretty tonight, in the red light and the flickering of the candle. I am a
goddess, and only James has truly seen and appreciated this. It was good
flirting with the candle, playing Tubular Bells and being the only
woman in the room, so desirable yet so out of reach to the others.I feel
warm and clean and sweet-smelling and radiant, I feel silken, beautiful,
exquisite. We’re all in my room. I have them all in my shrine, but they may
not have me. Mike’s taken 2 trips, I only one, but I feel above him. I feel
it’s my day, my trip. I feel it’s my birthday. I ’m so beautiful it doesn’t
matter if nobody notices but me.
Alex Frith (16) Wednesday, March 27
I just saw myself in the mirror & thought I looked like Jesus. That’s just
going too far. It’s this loose sweatshirt I’m wearing. Too white +
comfortable + of course my rather dismal chin hair.
Pip Hawkes (14) Wednesday, October 19, 1988
I’ve made a real mess of my hair! On Thursday (nearly 2 weeks ago) I shaved a
HUGE patch behind and above my ear – also I cut a VERY big chunk off the top
of my head so I now have a short, spiky tuft! I also cut off the other ear
lots of short bits and the most noticeable thing is this chunk out of the
back. When you walk past people — they sometimes stare! Although I quite
enjoy the attention — I want people to think I’m strange! And to respect me
for it — most people in my class respect me for it — in fact they wholly
encourage it! I wish to be a mongrel — a mix between these 4 groups, a punk,
goths, trendies and my normally weird self. By ‘trendy’ I mean cycling
shorts etc. I deeply admire punks and goths! I like the punk image but a
gothic personality.
I’ve just decided —– well — not decided — but found out — I’m nihilistic! God
– Dad’s just come in and told me to tidy my room — it is BLOODY TIDY!! He
must have had a bad day at work — WANKER.
Liz Banks (15) Sunday, August 23
Why am I unhappy?
Because mum and dad row Because I have school work to do
Because Rob Andrew [England rugby union fly half] and Graeme Hick [England and
Worcestershire batsman] are married Because I have GCSEs next year
Because I am ugly
Because Adrian didn’t fancy me
Because I’ve done no art [I was referring to art homework, rather than art
generally. I think.]
Because I have no friends I like
Because my room’s a mess
Because there’s a Conservative government.
Jo Wickham (15) August 20, 1997
I hate Mum. She said I can’t have a coat as I still fit in my old one. I’m
gonna feel like a prick if I wear a coat everyone was wearing last year.
She’s such a bitch. It doesn’t cost that much and I need a coat. She’s such
a slapper. She’s only doing it coz I get most things I want so she wants to
say no, so I’m not spoilt. She’s such a bitch. And I’ve lost my keys and
she’ll have an eppy if she finds out. Oh I hate her and I hate myself for
losing them. God I’m pissed off — I know it’s only keys but if I’ve lost
them I’ll go mad — I hate losing things but I do a lot. Oh I’m soo mad.
Antonia Cornwell (16) April 24, 1988
My bedroom
Dear Somebody,
I MUST tell you about last night! We went to 2 awful pubs in Richmond.
Andrew’s sort of into astrology. He sat up the night before last and did his
and my solar charts.All the character descriptions on mine are 100%
accurate, and he and I have a LOT in common! For example: we both fear
rejection and isolation, are looking for a long-lasting relationship, and
lots of other things I can’t remember.
Stuart Bridgett (sixth former) July 14, 1997
OK. The evening started well. I had too much to drink…Dave asked me the
question, “who do you fancy?” I said, to quote, “Well, up until two or three
weeks ago I fancied Juliette Sharpe like crazy,” (True.) “Then I went away
to Loughborough and fancied Julia Middleton.” (True.) “And I attained her”
(False.) “Honestly, I was amazing that night. You know your counting ability
is severely reduced in the hours of the morning – I lost count of the amount
of orgasms she had.” (FALSER THAN A GROUCHO MARX MOUSTACHE AND GLASSES
DISGUISE). Conversation slowly got started again. Uhnh. Ugh. AAAAAGH! OK –
soon time to go – catch bus. Vomit. Get home. Vomit again. Go upstairs.
Vomit again. (Probably embarrassment, not alcohol, induced.) Sleep. Wake up
without a hangover, thank god.
Nathan Gunter (15) Sunday, March 17, 1996
I know it seems like regression, or simple confusion, but I’m starting to feel
more than acquaintance for Jarrett. I don’t know what it is – homosexual
attraction? All I know is that: 1.) I’m not feeling it much for Ashlee any
more, and 2.) I really like Jarrett, in more ways than one. I am very
confused. Extremely. “Every time I look at you I Go Blind” I’ve been
listening to the Friends soundtrack, and in songs like “I Go Blind,” by
Hootie and the Blowfish, “Good Intentions” by Toad the Wet Sprocket, and
especially “Sexuality” by KD Lang I find my feelings about Jarrett and
homosexuality in general mirrored. I wish one of these damn markers was a
question mark. I’d decorate the whole damn page with it.
Alicia Wolfe (13)
Alicia’s Rules for Parenting, 1990
1. Telephones in their rooms is a must
2. Pay for them to subscribe to one to two magazines. Reading is good for
them, and everyone likes to get post.
3. Support their hobbies. (If they have an abnormal obsession with James
Dean, so be it.)
4. If they mention a boy’s name, but don’t want to talk about it further,
don’t make them, and don’t tease them about it.
5. Don’t give them the tatty, worn out towels. If you get new towels, they
get new towels.
6. Rent a film they will want to watch when you have a babysitter.
7. Keep Spaghetti Hoops in the cupboard.
8. Do their laundry. They are far too busy to think about having enough clean
underwear, and it’s not that difficult.
9. Explain puberty honestly. Don’t use stupid sayings that will confuse them
(the birds and the bees) and don’t give them leaflets from 1952.
10. If you have to buy them something expensive for school, don’t make it
their birthday present.
11. Don’t let their siblings wake them up at 4:00 AM to clean their hair out
of the shower drain.
12. Keep more than Diet Coke in the house. Everyone else has normal Coke, and
your children will be regarded as weirdos for their abnormal taste in diet.
13. If it is cold in the house, turn on the heating. If it is hot in the
house, open a window.
Helena Burton (15) January 15, 1991
By the way, Lucy is a bigger slag than I am. She got 17 votes for slag of the
year. I only got 16. My Dad normally gives me a lift to school in the car,
but he makes me sit in the back which is really embarrassing. So I told him
I needed a change and I’d rather walk. Now he’s going to walk with me! So
I’m going to try and get up before he gets up and go without him. I don’t
expect Mum will let me though.
. . . Mark said I had big knockers today, which isn’t strictly true, but is a
lovely compliment anyway.
March 2, 1991
I didn’t get to school in time this morning so I didn’t bother turning up. I
really hate my parents, I honestly wish I was an orphan. Maybe I’ll murder
them. I want some ice cream.
Alice Green (15) June 11, 1990
Reasons i hate my life
School: Mrs Millner + my jewelry Carol McClusky + fighting No proper
friends except Lee-Anne Work is difficult + boring
Home: Not allowed to use phone for 1 week Parents virtually chain me to
my room Keep having massive arguments Everyone picks on me all the time No
freedom No harmony Everyone hates everyone else (bad undercurrents) Not
allowed to stay out late Not allowed to use phone after 9.30pm Work – Tiring
and boring Keep getting in trouble Badly paid
Friends: Paranoid about Tom In love with Barry (huge mistake) Not
allowed to see Andy hardly ever Vast numbers of people don’t like me Haven’t
seen anyone but Tom + Lee-Anne for weeks Louise has moved to Australia
leaving me best-friend-less
Church: Don’t want to get confirmed Don’t like people much anymore
Don’t ENJOY going at all now
Other: Work experience is such a pain Parents are so unreasonable Life
is disorganized I’m far too immature I’m too fat! Keep being called a goth
Never got any money Tired all the time Bunk a lot now Smoke quite a lot
Started drinking regularly Keep on crying all the time
Solution = Commit suicide
Ana Sampson (13) March 20, 1991
From now on, not going to write about stupid boys and stuff so if nosey parker
family read it, it’ll be ok. But, Mum/ Caroline [my sister]: I think what I
think and you’re spyin’ anyway so you can’t complain or tell me off. And if
you do, that’s really bad. You are not respecting my privacy at all. You’re
being NOSEY. I know it’s tempting but just BEAT IT! Did you think I was
stupid? This is booby trapped. I can tell at once if someone’s read it cos I
stuck a hair around it. And I have a secret way of knowing who so you’re
nicked! I MEAN IT TOO!
Andy Foster (15) Sunday, February 23 [after church youth club]
There was no push away when I put my arm around her. But ahhhh I didn’t get a
kiss off Gemma at the end because I was on bicycle and couldn’t get off in
time before she’d disappeared
© Sarah Brown 2009.
Extracted from Cringe: Toe-Curlingly Embarrassing Teenage Diaries, Letters
and Bad Poetry, edited by Sarah Brown, published by Michael O’Mara on
October 1 at £9.99. To order it for £9.49 inc p&p call 0845
2712134 or visit:
timesonline.co.uk/booksfirst
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