SATURDAY - I HATE Saturdays. I keep going back to that boy I saw. It's absurd to me that some one so conventionally handsome that he's obviously arobot who's probably more intrested in JULIO IGLESIAS than Manic Street Preachers should take up so much of my thoughts. It must be that I'm disgusted at his PLASTIC SHALLOWNESS! Parading up and down the street like that -actually, I've been looking out for four hours now and I haven't spotted him once.
Oh, no - ohmigod, there he is What's that he's carrying? It's - its the LASTMANICS SINGLE! And - he just SMILED AT ME! Oh god - oh god - I'mgonna ring Susan. Oh shit, I can't - I'm like a jelly. What am I gonna do?

SUNDAY - Ohmigodohmigodohmigod! Ohgodohgodohgodohgod! He's downby the window! I think he wants to talk to me! This is - ohh! I feel like I've justswallowed a bowl of goldfish! He must be so shallow. Ooh! He's rightunderneath the window now...what does he want? I'm really not intrested, Icould hardly care less, I'm totally cool and unplastic. He's - he's trying to attractmy attention! I open the window. My knees are knocking with indifference."Well?" I give it, very haughty and not at all gagging for it."Hello," he gives it."Hello," I give it. He's got the Manic Street Prechers single under his arm but thatdoesn't mean anything. Even the most NAZI Cast fan could buy their latest singlebut know nothing of the soulful intenseness, the intense soulfulness and soulful,intense intensity of their early work, with its intense, soulful intense eyes and pert bottom...
"I was just wondering..."Oo! I think I must have blacked out for a second. Gosh, he has deep-looking eyes. "Oh, you were, were you? Well I'm NOT, OK? I'm NOT a slag like my mate Susan, I HATE her and you're OBVIOUSLY not a proper Manics fan, you're so blatantly a FASCIST NAZI MINDLESS NARROW SHEEP FROM THE JUNGLE, you're obviously a...""I was just wondering if you knew the way to the Post Office." "...A SHALLOW ROBOT who thinks ANY GIRL WILL HAVE SEX WITH YOU, but I WON'T because I'm SAVING MYSELF FOR RICHEY and I'M NOT GAGGING FOR IT and, er, it's down the road a bit, second on the right, next door to the Spud-U-Like." "Thanks. Bye." And he walks away. Thank God I managed to keep my cool.

MONDAY - I HATE Mondays. But I respect myself for the fact that I'm not totally obsessed with that MINDLESS SO-CALLED PLASTIC ROMEO, I DON'T THINK SO! I've nearly stopped thinking about him altogether. In fact I'm only thinking about him now cos he's so obviously PATHETIC. I wonder why he was carrying a Manic Street Preachers single? I wonder if he is a real fan or just a bogus, inauthentic fake phoney? I wonder what he's like in bed? No, I don't, I stopped wondering that AGES ago - not that I ever did in the first place. I've been staring out of the window for four hours for no particular reason. Ohmigod - I mean, oh, look - by chance, my so-called 'boyfriend' is coming down the road. He's - he's still carrying his Manics single! What, does he carry it everywhere or what? He's obviously trying to impress me and it totally isn't working. I open the window and shout after him. "Look, will you STOP BOTHERING ME or I'll CALL THE POLICE!" I yell. "Sorry, love?" he replies. "I, er - I mean - are you a Manic Street Preachers fan?" I rephrase. I musn't let him know I want sex with him because I DON'T. "Not that I want sex with you or anything." Well said. He looks sheepish. He's blushing! "Actually, this isn't for me. It's for a - friend. Well, a sort of a friend - if she'll have me. I - I was going to post it to her. Then I thought I should give it to her personally. So - here I am." Ohmigod! He's talking about ME! "Well - maybe this 'girl' has been waiting all along for you to work up the courage to talk to her properly," I simper. I think this is it!
"Really? Brilliant! Because she live round here somewhere. D'you know where? Her name's Susan Tomkins." "WHHAAAAATTTTTTT??????????" I can't believe it! My mate Susan! I hate her, I HATE her!!!! Ohhhh!! "I love her, I love her," trills this - this Greek God, sod him! No! No! No! Well, at least I've realised he's obviously totally SHALLOW and not into the Manics at all. He's clearly no soul mate.
"I've been a fan of the Manics since 1991. I met Richey several times and I've been to all of their gigs. I've always loved them for their intense intensity. God, I hope I get to shag Susan Tomkins soon. You alright, love?"
NOOO!!!! I HATE EVERYBODY! I HATE EVERYTHING!!...

WEDNESDAY - I HATE Wednesdays. My joint least favourite day of the week, along with Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and - the other one. Wednesday. I hate days. I'm in my mid teens. But each day brings me closer to old age, illness, death and utter oblivioness, whose finalness awaits us all. I'd never have realised this if it wasn't for Manic Street Preachers. I'd be out there, playing in the sunshine, like my little brother, for who the finalness of death COULDN'T COME TOO SOON AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, I HATE him. As I get older, I have become increasingly aware of my own mortalness and impending death. I check my pulse regularly and often can't feel a thing so i'm surprised I'm not dead already. My mate Susan reckons I'm checking in the wrong place but what would SHE know, she's a SLAG! I'm especially aware of death at the moment because my gran's visiting at the moment, and she's about 197, she was probably alive during the reign of KING CHARLES III! She's in
the garden now, talking to my mum and dad, smelling of sultanas and wee as usual, I bet, TOTALLY unaware of how close to DEATH she is like the SHALLOW NAZI VEGETABLE PIG, or in her case PIGESS, that she is. She waves to me. I stare back at her, a cold reminder of what is waiting for her. "Cooee, dear!" she trills."DEATH!" I scream back. "Aren't you going to come out and play skippy ropey, darling?" "DEATH!" I shriek. "The Midsummer Fairy asked me to give you this shiny 50 new pence piece, dear. What do you say?"
"DEATH!"
"You're shy aren't you? Never mind. Nanny'll come up and see you later, with a special Nanny treatie."
"DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!!! I shut the window, in a death-like manner.

FRIDAY 4pm - DEATH seems incredibly close. I've been listening to the Manics over and over and staring at myself in the mirror. I suspect I've got malnutrition - I missed breakfast, the most SHALLOW of meals. I decide to make my will: To whosoever it mighteth concern. I leaveth NOTHING WHATSOEVER to my little brother, I HATETH him. To my mum and dad I also leaveth NOTHING, except to say THANKS FOR NOTHING, ye MINDLESS NAZIS! To my mate Susan, I leaveth 5p, BECAUSE THAT'S ALL YE ARE WORTH, YE SHALLOW SLAG! All my other stuff I leaveth to Sean, James, Nicky and Richey to divide amongst themselves, 30 per cent each. Thank you for giving meaning to my life which otherwise would have been meaningless if it had not been meaningful. Yours Sincerly, One Who Is Dead. Actually, it might be 'yours faithfully', I can never remember. Just then, there's a tap at the door.
"Hello, deariest. It's just Nanny."
"DEATH!" I scream.
"I've brought you your favourite upside-down cakes with the pink frosty coating."
"DEATH!"
"Do you have a kiss for Nana?"
"DEATH!"
"Alright, I'll leave you alone. Don't eat all of your cakes at once."
"DEATH!"
I'm not going to eat any of these cakes. Except maybe one. Cos I missed
breakfast...

6pm - Ohmigod...Ohmigod...I'm in agony...death really is upon me, it its profoundest, blackest, most searingly profound sense. Stomach pains...oh Richey...my whole life is passing before me...all the things I've done...sitting in my bedroom...sitting in my bedroom...sitting in my bedroom...ohhh! It's agony! Pains are - sharper now..."MUM!!!!" I yell. All the family thunder up the staircase andpile into my room. My brother and his mates who've been listening to MINDLESS records come bombing in from across the landing. I'll show them...
"Whatever's the matter, dear?"
"What's the matter, sis?"
"DEATH!" I scream, in the death throes. "I'm dying..." I'll show them. Everyone's gathered round, staring at me. God, I hope they feel sorry! OOHH!! The agony's building...sharp stomach pain...here it comes - death at last...
PHHHH HTTTHH HHHRRRRRR PTHHH!!! Ohmigod!, I've FARTED!!! In front of EVERYONE! They all GUFFAW!!
"Blimey, sis, that was a wet one!" my brother gives it, as his mates piss themselves and make wafting gestures.
"It was just windipops, dear," says my gran. "I did say not to eat all those cakes at once." And they all leave the room, still laughing. NOW I really DO wish I could DIE!!!...

FESTIVAL DIARY

FRIDAY - I hate Fridays. But especially this Friday. Of all the hateful, shallow fridays in the history of human history, this is the most hateful of all Fridays. I can't believe what my parents are trying to do. They're going to a rock festival with my brother! It's obscene, they should be vegetating in suburban hell like the VEGETABLE NAZIS they are, not going to rock festivals, like HIPPY VEGETABLE NAZIS! They're 40. Dead already. Well I'm not going with them. I'm definatly not. I'm sorry but that's it. I'm not going. So they can bang on the door like the MINDLESS STROMTROOPERS they've totally revealed
themselves to be all they like.
"Come on, dear," mum chides. "We talked this over last night. You have to come with us, so do stop this nonsense."
"I shan't," I screech. "And I can't believe you're leaving me behind like this. I feel lost, desolate and abandoned in a desolate state of motorcycle emptyness and lostness, and I'll call social services! How am I going to eat? You know I've got an eating problem!"
"But last time we left you, you ate everything in the house, including a whole jar of Golden Syrup. That's why we're taking you this time!"
That is, like, a total, total lie! My mum knows I would never, ever overeat. I want to be thin. I am thin, definatly, because the thinner you are, the more intriguing you are. My dad comes to the door. He's, like, "Now, dear, your mother and I just want what's best for you, so why don't you step outside and we'll see if we can work this out, eh?"
"PISS OFF, ADOLF!" I shout. I can't believe how totally insensitive he is to people's feelings.
"Look, how about this," he says. "You won't have to be in the big tent with us. You can have your own tent."
"I can?"
"Sure. And your friend Susan can stay in it with you."
Hmm. It's still totally unreasonable but... "All right. But leave the tent outside the door. Then me and Susan'll climb in and you can put us on top of the roof rack. Cos I'm not sharing a car with MINDLESS DRIVERS POLUTING THE ATMOSPHERE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!" Mum sighs. "And then you'll come? Well, it's very strange but...I suppose so."
So half an hour later, mum and dad are carrying me and Susan - zipped up in the tent - and tying us to the roof rack. The neighbours are laughing at us from the opposite drive, but they should be laughing at themselves for the mindless shallowness of their own suburban outlook.

SATURDAY - I hate Saturdays. That was the most awful journey I've ever had.I had a row with Susan two minutes after we pulled out of the drive. I HATE her,I HATE her and we had to sit ignoring each other in the tent for the entire seven-hour journey to the festival. As soon as we arrived, Susan climbed straight out. FAREWELL FOREVER, FALSE FRIEND! Now that I'm alone with the intense commitments of my own thoughts, I write a poem on my left leg with my blackest ink:
I used to be happy and run about on beaches,
That is because I was a mindless, shallow fool.
Then I discovered the records of Manic Street Preachers,
Now I am full of deepness, superior and cool.

I listen outside, where I can hear people walking about and chattering and laughing like MINDLESS MONKEYS IN A SUPERFICIAL ZOO! I'm glad I'm alone in the intensity of my tent, thinking deeply about what James Manic means to me, the emotionalness of his committed passionateness and the tightness of his t-shirt.

SUNDAY - I hate Sundays. Here I am, aloof in my tent, determined not to look out at the shallowness of the festival goers. Suddenly my brother opens the tent zip, looking serious. "You've...you've got to come out," he says without his usual spotty baboon's grin.
"Guess who I ran into? Only Nicky Wire!"
OHMIGODOHMIGOD! "Nicky Wire?" I stutter.
"He hates it backstage," says my brother earnestly. "He says he hates the mindless superficiality of it. He says he prefers to be out in the main area where the people are more passionate and committed." Ohmigod! How so like Nicky!
"I told him all about you," my brother continues. "All those poems you sent to him. And he remembered you. He says he really wants to meet you. Mum and dad are talking to him now in the big tent. Shall I bring him over?" Ohmigod, I'm hyperventilating. And I just ate the four burgers my mum slipped me. Please, don't let me belch! I shut the tent tight and pray. I can hear them coming.
"So, boyo, you say your sister's in this tent 'ere, say, look you? Right good poet she is, I reckon."
Ohmigod, it's him! That rich Welsh voice totally full of culture and deepness.
Slowly, tremblingly, I open the tent for what I know will be the best moment of my life, ever! And there he is... AAARRRRGHHHH!!! It's MY BROTHER, wearing lipstick, a necklace and a stupid, mindless wig, making squacky kissing noises!
"'Ello there, darlin', I'm a great big Welsh ponce, me!" he gurgles, before rolling around in the mud, pissing himself laughing. He obvoiusly thinks I was taken in but I totally wasn't - he's just shown himself up to be COMPLETELY PATHETIC again!...