8st 13, cigarettes 13, alcohol units 6 (bad)
Fantastic weather. Love the idea that Britain is turning into Tuscany with vineyards etc. and soon we will be able to let out our own villas in brochures.
Good thing also is Number One hit record for last six weeks cover version of Sting's "Every breath you take" in memoriam for rap artist Notorious B.I.G. shot in drive-by killing. Sums up spirit of summer: genuine lament for dead friend by Notorious's manager and his wife rather than shallow, selfish love song.
Love rap music with the black men earnestly going on and on in serious manner unaware that no one has a blind idea what they are on about. Is great the way cultures are becoming so integrated. Shaz, Jude, Simon and Tom are coming round tonight. You see, is summer of friendship and love.
11pm. Immediately put on "Tribute to the Notorious B.I.G." and said my theories.
"Yeah! I was just about to think that!" said Jude, fondly stroking my hair.
"Have you any idea what you're talking about?" sneered Simon.
"Why do I sound like I do?" I beamed.
"You've stolen that line from Clueless," he snarled embarrassingly. "Do you know any more rap records apart from this rather weak cover?"
"`Gangsta rap', by Coolio," I muttered sulkily.
"Exactly. Most rap records are about people murdering each other and taking black girls up the arse."
"But I think Blair would be pleased by this record with its thoughts about life, listen, "Can't imagine all the pain I feel/Even though you've lost your breath/I know you're still living your life after death," I rapped with Puff Daddy.
"Yeah, right. Very original and profound," said Simon. "You're falling into Blairite positivism. It makes me want to die."
"Actually," said Shazzer coldly," I think you'll find the tone of the late Nineties is humour and irony. Movies, advertising: everyone wants funny."
"Oh, like, great," said Simon.
"You make me sick!," yelled Jude, jumping to her feet. "You don't want positive.You just want everything to be cr** and nihilistic. Ugh."
Grrr. Hate it when they get off like this. Fortunately Tom does too, so we climbed out of the window on to the parapet.
"Do you want to borrow my car for the weekend while I'm away if you're careful?" he said. Hurrah. Love Tom. Am going to see Magda and Jeremy in country in manner of earthy Land Girl.
Saturday 9 August
10am. Fantastic to be driver heading out of the smoke.
Noon. Oh dear ... Was just driving towards Chiswick when car in front stopped dead. Found self shouting, "What the f*** do you think you're doing?" and doing V-signs in Tracie Andrewsesque manner. Appalled at self, and thinking maybe the poor woman had stalled. I pulled out and drew alongside. "Are you all right?" I said, kindly, at which she - a Tara Parker Tompkinson- style It-Girl with on-head sunglasses - retorted: "Road to Guildford? Where is it?"
"Over there, I think," I said, gesturing vaguely.
"You think?" she said coldly.
By this time there was a queue of cars behind her starting to honk.
"Guildford? A3?" she said as if I was a moron. God it was hot. Sweat was running all down inside my dress. Someone honked behind me.
"Look. I don't f***ing know!" I yelled. "What in the name of arse are you doing, stopping in the middle of the road anyway?"
There was a crack as the car behind nudged into me at which I set off with a start and she started veering towards me yelling, "thanks for nothing, you stupid bitch!" then crashed into me.
Now I am back at home. Tom's car is dented. It is so hot I want to kill someone, preferably that woman.
Sunday 10 August
10am. Worried for Newly Rounded Diana. Is bad enough with one's friends going on in concerned voices about one's terrible love-life and singleness but must have been decibly horrible for her. So someone comes along and seems like Mr Darcy - must be irresistible to go "lalalala look, have got boyfriend with pounds 15m who adores me". Cannot, though, help impression that "Dodi" may be bit of slime-ball possibly with hairy back. Could turn out like when I boasted to everyone that Daniel was my boyfriend then he started having an affair with thin blonde giantess and chucked me. Right. Am going to try and go to country again ...
10.30am. Car has vanished. Called Jude who said I've just forgotten where I parked it so check nearby streets.
11am. Have never been so boiling hot in my life. Streets full of annoying people getting in way. Found self practically ramming line of four berks wandering along pavement with stupid hats and lager. Car is nowhere.
11.30am. Just called police to report car stolen. Car has been towed away.
5pm. Eventually located car pound Portakabin in middle of terrifying wasteland. Airless and beyond endurance hot. Got into queue behind enormous Grant-from-EastEnders lookalike leaning menacingly towards black attendant.
"Shall I tell you what you are, sooty?" he was saying. "Stupid. Get me the supervisor." He addressed the rest of the room. "This guy's thick. He's thick."
"I will serve this lady, instead of you," said the parking man. "Come here madam." "No you ***ing well don't, snowflake," said the EastEnders man rearing up at the glass.
"Leave him alone," I squeaked.
EastEnders man froze, then turned. "Like sooties, do you darling?" he said with a horrible smile dripping sweat. "Go on, then. Let's see you talk to sooty." Then he went "Guuuuuuh," and started nutting the glass.
Shot outside and cowered in shade until police arrived. After three-hour expedition amongst shimmering Tarmac have now got Tom's dented car back, which cost pounds 137. Whilst proud at surviving gangsta-rap-style urban jungle, am v. much looking forward to onset of winterReuse content