The so much fucked up memoir you are going to ever learn. A foul-mouthed memoir a couple of dysfunctional lifestyles. every one bankruptcy recounts a key second within the author's existence in the course of the books she used to be examining on the time together with: � Howard's finish, the one textual content she had learn while undertaking sexual intercourse.� the key Diary of Adrian Mole, which she had in her bag whereas on vacation in Tangier while a industry dealer provided her to shop for her from her mom for 30 camels.� Angela's Ashes, her selected analyzing fabric in the course of her breast aid surgery.� Wild Swans, the publication she learn the day she made up our minds to don't have anything extra to do along with her mom. it truly is humorous, it really is surprising, it really is heartbreaking, it's very impolite and it really is completely unforgettable.
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We went upstairs and that’d the last I remember of the night. I woke up on the lawn in front of my Dad’s house. That cunt had spiked my drink and as soon as I’d got into the club (which apparently he’d followed us to) I collapsed on the floor. My friend dragged me out and rang my Dad who picked me up. Her brother had a massive row with his friend. My friend went on our big day out the next day with someone else, because I was too ill at home. Later on she came over and I told her to get the fucking butterflies out of here, they’re doing my head in.
When you’re playing in the same garden every single day you have to get creative with your games. On this day, I’d decided (I made almost all of the decisions) that my brother and I were going to play ‘decorate the houses and then move in and be neighbours’. First things first: decorate the houses. I had this wonderful picture in my head of daisies growing around the bottom of my house. As daisies don’t just grow where you want them to, this meant picking daisies and placing them around the edges.
So I did. And the next thing I knew, the cunt bit me. It didn’t hurt, as far as I can remember, and it just looked like a graze. Mum saw half a drop of blood and went mental and dragged me to the ‘medical tent’. The medical tent wasn’t a tent, it was a caravan. And the nurses were chain smoking and gossiping when we arrived. Mum chucked me at them and I wondered whether they actually had any medical training at all as they got on with cleaning and bandaging my arm. Not a fucking plaster, a fucking massive bandage that made me look like a comedy extra in a play about people that don’t actually have anything wrong with them.
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