Friday 23rd November

Somehow, the girls made it up to go bikini shopping before 10am. I wasn’t invited to join them but that’s fine. They don’t do bikinis my size.

Watching them in action last night was a powerful reminder that they’d intended to be over here on their own. A fun evening of strip-poker and prick-teasing, and then they nearly left without me. It was Hong Kong airport all over again.

“Er, hello?”

My hand had reached from the depths of that bloody beanbag as they’d walked past on their way to the door. And you know what they said?

“Oh. We’d completely forgotten about you.”

It’s hard not to take that personally… But I’ve given it some thought and I think I’m starting to get it. They had planned this trip for ages, expecting it to be two Essex Birds, flying wild and free in Aus. Instead, they got me tagging along at the last minute and spoiling their vibe. What Bev said last night is true, I DO need to lighten up. After all, if they want to wear more make-up than clothes who the hell am I to argue? Am I just jealous because they’ve been getting some male attention? If I really wanted some of my own, the only thing stopping me is me. And public decency. It seems rude to inflict my body on anyone.

There I go again, slagging myself off. How will I ever find a nice guy if I don’t think I deserve one? If Hamish ever did take me up on one of my veiled threats of intimacy, I’d probably run screaming. I’m only just beginning to realise how much Phil messed my head up. And you know what sucks? No matter how far I travel, my head is the only thing I can never leave behind.

The Teaching Twosome made it back to our room close to noon. The last I’d heard, they were going at it like particularly vocal rabbits back at the student flat.

“Oof, I’m hanging like a pensioner’s ball sack,” Steve groaned, rubbing his temples.

Nancy grabbed their towels from the end of their beds, turned him around, and they headed straight out again.

“We’re off to the beach!” she trilled, far too chirpy for my liking. “We’re going to sleep right through our hangovers and tan whilst we do it. Tara!”

I couldn’t help but notice she was walking a bit bow-legged. Good for her.

“Did you have a good night?” I shouted after her, smirking to myself.

“Oh yes,” she called back. “We both love bowling.”

Either they don’t realise the walls had been so thin or they don’t care. And if that’s the case, fair play to them, but I bet the bowling balls have had less fingers in them. All that mattress squeaking… The slurping had sounded like a sink-plunger being used in a bowl of soup. Steve has stamina, that’s for sure. And abs you could grate cheese on.

Shit, now I’m horny. Luckily, I’ve got the room to myself for a bit. Time for my first Australian wa-

Holy fuck. Why is my EX phoning me?

1.05pm

What a wanker. Him, not me. I never got the chance.

So, Phil called. He wanted to pop over. He had absolutely no idea I was in Australia, so I kept him talking as long as possible to crank up his phone bill. Do you know WHY he wanted to pop over? Firstly, he wants to pimp me out, and secondly, he wants a shag. Even though he is in a new relationship, some clueless bloke who isn’t even the one I caught him sleeping with! He gleefully informed me that they’d got together the weekend after we split up which, if I remember correctly, was about the time I was considering driving into a wall.

“Babe!” he’d said, without preamble. “I’ve done you a little favour, to get you back out there. You don’t have to thank me.”

I had a sinking feeling. “What did you do?”

“Don’t be mad, babe, I know what you get like. No hard feelings. Not unless they’re caused by a cock up the shitter anyway, mhaha.” 

“Phil. What did you do?”

“Nothing. Not really. I just set you up a cheeky little profile on that dating site, Gaydar, that’s all. I had some old pics of you that weren’t totally horrendous.”

“What..?”

“Seems the least I could do, all things considered. You never sent me any dick pics, BORING, but I used a photo of my arse instead, just to spice it up. It was taken at a really bad angle, so it could be yours from a good one.”

Speechless.

“You should check it out, babe,” he said. “I’ll text you the password. I’ve put that you’re into anything so it might get even you some interest.”

Wow. What a massive dick. Without the massive dick, obvs.

“You can thank me when I get to yours. Get yourself cleaned up, I’ll be with you in ten. Need to get the break-up sex out of the way and I’ve got some time to myself this evening. I can take some photos for your page whilst I’m there.”

In just a few minutes, he had somehow managed to send me past shock, through anger, and into some kind of white-hot raging calm that I have never experienced before. I took a deep breath, put on my sweetest voice, and tried to keep it from shaking as much as my legs were.

“Whilst I appreciate the thought, Philip (he hates that), I am not about to be your NEW bit on the side thank you very much, and I have no need for any online hook-ups,” I said. “I’m having more than enough mind-blowing sex without resorting to yours or the internet’s help.”

A pause. “Oh, really! Who with?”

I ignored him. “What I would like, however, is to tell this poor clueless new fella of yours that his boyfriend is as absent of morals and kindness as he is of brains and girth, and suggest that he gets out now whilst he still has his dignity.” I then casually dropped into conversation that I was in Australia so it was unlikely he had enough petrol to get to me, before shouting “Coming gorgeous!” to an empty room and hanging up on the fucker.

I felt relief. Sadness. Anger. Pride. And I sat for a bit in silence, stunned by my own actions. Almost immediately my phone was ringing again. And then again. I ignored it a good half-hour, my eyelid twitching as a vein pounded in my head. Eventually, resigned to my fate, I answered it. Phil had done a bit of online stalking and had confirmed that I wasn’t making it up, I was officially in Aus. And he was fuming.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Who said you could go?”  Etc.

I sat on the floor as he vented and I realised how tired I was of all his bullshit. His ranting was so familiar but a bit of distance had taken all the power out of it. When the yelling started, as I knew it would, I put my phone down and nipped out to the vending machine to get something for lunch and when I picked it up again a few minutes later he was still in full flow, but he’d switched to his ‘hurt puppy’ voice which had always been effective on me in the past.

“Your poor mum, I can’t believe you’d leave her on her own. How could you be so selfish? Don’t you want us to remain friends? You said you cared for me…” Etc.

I felt a brief twinge of sympathy, but I bit my tongue instead of doing what I normally do, which is apologise for making him do wrong in the first place. Seeing that I wasn’t biting, he switched back to being an arse and tried that tact again. I took the phone out into the common room so I didn’t have to be alone with him any longer.

“Are you quite finished?” I interrupted, sounding bored despite shaking like a chilly epileptic.

“Wha -?!” I’ve never cut him off mid-shout before.

“I said, ‘Are you done?’ Only I’ve got things to do and people to see. Actually, no, it’s the other way around.”

There was a lengthy pause whilst he processed this.

“Fuck you. It’s not me calling anyway, it’s the whiskey,” he spat. “I’ll regret it in the morning.”

“Well I regret it already,” I said sweetly. “But then, you always were slower than me.”   

And then I hung up again and had a little cry.

7.30pm

I felt such a rush after hanging up on Phil that I’ve gone and done something I might regret.

It started with an innocent bit of retail-therapy. Feeling the first twinges of self-respect I’d had in a long time, I got myself some shorts that were actually short and a couple of t-shirts that were not just short-sleeved but sleeve-less. Then I bought a new pair of jeans specifically because they were described as ‘straight and relaxed’ and I appreciated the irony as I am neither.

I’d seen the ear-piercer’s parlour and walked straight in without even thinking. I was told to sit down and ignore the screams, and within moments a cross-eyed man wearing a white lab-coat and latex gloves was leaning over me. In a burst of coffee breath, he suggested he put a metal spike through one of my eyebrows, and naturally I said yes.

A stab of pain. A single tear. Cool! I thought as he screwed the end in place. I have a piercing! Then I found a mirror.

I have a whacking great silver bar through my left eyebrow and it looks huge and obvious and it doesn’t work with my face. Maybe the girls will like it? I thought, nervously. They’ve got fashion sense. What would I know?

I ran back to the hostel feeling extremely self-conscious and found the girls sorting through a heap of designer shopping-bags.

“How can knickers so small cost so much money?” Bev was saying.

“Oh-my-fuck,” said Rachel, staring at my face. She’d spotted the new addition straight away and it had made her drop her Prada. Not a good sign. “Why the fuck would you do that?” She started laughing.

My heart dropped. “Oh…”  I looked to my best friend for her opinion. “Bev?”

She grimaced. “Sorry, Kev. It’s really not my cup of soup.”

Great. So I am now a munter with metal in his face.

“I just wanted to mark the occasion,” I mumbled, and I told them all about standing up to Twat Flaps. I wiped a tear from my eye and blamed the piercing.

“I still can’t believe you never sent him a knob shot,” said Bev. “I know how much you love all that romantic stuff.”

“Never mind all his crap,” said Rachel. “You gonna use that profile or what? Even I’ve heard of Gaydar and it’s meant to be great for homo hook ups.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” I snapped, and climbed onto my bed in a huff.

“So that’s not a no then?”

“I don’t see the point of a dick pic, personally,” Bev said. “It’s not like you can download it and shove it up your who-ha.”