Another Planet: A Teenager in Suburbia by Tracey Thorn

Author:Tracey Thorn [Thorn, Tracey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786892577
Google: _RpnDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07G4F41YP
Goodreads: 41440680
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2019-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

1979

A red Collins pocket diary, one page per day. Inside is a tube map, an Intercity rail map, a list of bank holidays, weights and measures, sunrise and sunset times, a metric conversion table and three pages of first aid.

‘Bone, broken or dislocated – Send for doctor at once and do not touch or attempt to move limb. Poisoning – If someone is thought to have swallowed poison, telephone a doctor for advice, even if no effects have appeared. Burns and scalds – if clothing is on fire smother flame and rip off smouldering clothing.’

Inside the diary, I was still recording things that didn’t happen.

2 January 1979 – ‘Went up to London with Deb. We walked right up and down Oxford St and I only bought a pair of socks. Then we went over to Knightsbridge and went to Harrods. Debbie didn’t buy anything either.’

I was still listing everything I saw on the telly, which now included The Bionic Woman, Robin’s Nest, The Kenny Everett Video Show and Agony.

1 April – I saw ‘ Part 1 of King, series of 3 programmes about Martin Luther King, really good.’

2 April – ‘ Saw part 2 of King.’

3 April – ‘ Watched last part of King. He got shot tonight and died. Really sad. The programme was brilliant though.’

I wonder if I knew he was going to get shot? I’m honestly not sure I did.

I was reading Coma, The Eyes of Laura Mars and Valley of the Dolls.

17 February – I was dancing at a party to ‘some good records – ‘Heart of Glass’, ‘Shame’, ‘Rhythm Stick’, ‘White Punks On Dope’, ‘Jean Genie’, ‘Mighty Real’.’

And the year began with snow again, adding to all our usual transport difficulties. On January the 9th I was trying to get to St Albans with Huw to a gig. First we planned to go on the train, but there was a train strike – ‘ We’ve gotta go on the bus cos he’s got no petrol’ – so we ended up getting a bus to South Mymms, then another bus to St Albans, coming home via a bus BACK to South Mymms and then a three-mile walk through ice and snow to Huw’s house, from where I finally got a lift home.

Suburban transport was such a big deal. My sister learned to drive as soon as she could, but my teens would pass without me ever wanting to, although I would then be persuaded in my late twenties, when after two or three (tellingly, I have forgotten) driving tests I would be deemed competent, aware that only I knew the truth, which was that I had no idea what I was doing. Erratic, indecisive and directionless, I drove with all the skill and consistency of a drunk on the dodgems. During my year behind the wheel I kept pointing this out to people, only to be met with wry chuckles, murmurs of ‘Pfft, don’t be so modest, ANYONE can drive’ and assertions that any kinks in my technique would soon be ironed out with practice.

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