Tonight I finally burned my teenage diaries.



For a while now I've been going to a comedy night in London called Cringe. It involves reading out your teenage diaries to a roomful of strangers. It's really a lot funnier than you might think.

I've read at about half a dozen events now and it's been hilarious.

Last weekend Matt was talking to one of our friends about Cringe and she said, utterly without remorse, "I burned all my diaries years ago".

I'd got to the stage where I had nothing left to read at Cringe. I've plundered every bit of humour from my seven volumes (1990 to 1997). All that was left was the really depressing bits, the bits where I was lonely and heartbroken and pathetic. Nobody needs to hear that shit and I can't bring myself to laugh about it, even now.



So, this Wednesday, I read one last time. It was funny. Everyone laughed.
Then tonight I went up in the loft, got down all my books and took them out in the garden and set fire to them. I didn't even flick through them. I didn't save anything. I just burned the lot.

Part of this is because I don't want Isabel to ever find them and read them. Part of it is to say goodbye to a chapter of my life that wasn't entirely happy. And part of it is finally accepting that it's time to move on. To my surprise, I didn't feel any regret at all.

Good riddance, 1990 to 1997! Here's to the future xxx