The Park Crescent Diary. Nº2

The Park Crescent Diary.

Entry Nº2

Maisie says, I'm obsessed. Maisie's my best friend, by the way. Has been since we were at school together. I don't know why. Most days I can't stand the sight of her. Any way, she says I'm obsessed with Simon Cowell - just because I cut his pictures from the newspaper with a pair of pinking shears.

As I put the scissors away in the kitchen drawer, I think she might have a point. Though I'd never admit it. I bought the pinking shears especially for the job. They were on offer in the pound shop and only cost me four ninety-nine.

Thinking back, I did buy the Daily Mirror the other day as well, rather than the Daily Mail which is what I normally read, couldn't resist it really. It had a nice big picture of him on the front. The pinking shears made it look really special, so instead of sticking it the album with the rest, I cello-taped it above the bed. I'll wake up and look at it tomorrow morning and think to myself, that's the way he'd look if we'd just had a shag - absolutely knackered.

Bless. That cut on his forehead reminded me of the day Jack from number forty-six cracked his on the headboard. I'll bet that took a bit of explaining to his missus. Simon must have been going some to get a bump like that. Jack's didn't get as big. Then again, thinking on, nothing of Jack's gets very big.

Mind you, just lately, I'm thinking of knocking Jack on the head. He's getting a bit boring and has always got the same excuse. Every time I get the Kamasutra out from under the bed, he moans his arthritis is playing up.

Maisie says I shouldn't compare Jack to Simon. There's not much chance of that. Simon's loaded and Jack's on a state pension. No competition really. Well, there wouldn't be if I could get hold of Simon's phone number. I did try a couple of times, but the operator said it was ex-directory.

Maisie says he's not as good looking in real life as he is in the photos, though I don't know how she knows. She did go to a showing of the first X-Factor programs, but I know for a fact her seat was three rows from the back and she left her glasses on the bus. Plus she'd had a glass of wine and wouldn't have known his head from his arse if she was sitting on his knee.

Any way she's a fine one to talk. She's been hankering after Richard Branson since I can't remember when. I've told her not to bother, there's no future in it. Anyone who names their company virgin has probably got a sexual hang-up. Mind you, Maisie wouldn't mind. The only time a man's seen her knickers in the last twenty five years is when they're hanging on the washing line.