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great. Goldenballs will be well impressed. She said she’s planning on them becoming the new Posh and Becks.
    Does Victoria Beckham know about this
? I thought.
8.10 p.m.
    James just called. “How ya doin’?” he asked, like Joey from
Friends
.
    I ran my fingers through my hair and said, “I need a look. What about going blonde?”
    He’s told me time and time again that going blonde will ruin the condition of my hair, but he repeated it one more time and said he’ll work some long layers into it.
    “Hmm,” I said. “I was thinking … a fringe.”
    “A fringe will be too drastic. It’s best to take baby steps,” he said.
    “Oh. OK.” I sighed.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “Remy?”
    “Nothiiing.”
    “Reme–eeey?” he insisted, and it was obvious he could tell something was up.
    “OK,” I said. “What chance do I have? Robbie’s probably already had about thirty stunning girls throw themselves at him in Ayia Napa.”
    “But you’re stunning too,” he assured me.
    “I’m not. And even if I was, I’m not size eight with big bazookas, am I?”
    “Remy, Malibu is Malibu and you’re YOU, a fabulous individual. Besides, I actually think you’ve got an advantage – boys like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. Now are we zhushing it up tonight or not?”
    “Um… No, I forgot I was meant to be going out with Kellie,” I said.
    But I actually made my decision as soon as he said “meat on her bones”. What makes him think that’s a compliment?!
    Oh well, I’ll get over it. Now I’m going to phone Kel.
9 p.m.
    Dad was in the living room watching
The Bourne Identity
when I told him I was going out with Kellie.
    “Great,” he said. “Make sure you tell your mum.”
    So I then had to go to my parents’ bedroom, where Mum was sitting up in bed watching a film called
The Bridges of Madison County
. (She watches that almost as much as I watch
Titanic
– and cries just as much at it too, if not more.)
    “Mum, I’m going out with Kellie, OK?” I said.
    “OK,” she replied, snivelling. “Make sure you tell your dad.”
    I wanted to say, “Why don’t the pair of you stop being stupid and just talk to each other?” But there was no point, I know what they’re like. And it’ll probably blow over by tomorrow anyway.
    Right, party, here I come!
11.45 p.m.
    Had an absolutely crap night. Tara (spit, spit) Reid was at the party that Kellie took me to. What a nightmare! First of all, she and her stupid friends kept blatantly pointing at me and talking about me from across the room. Proper playground stuff it was, like we were twelve all over again. Then one of them, Chelsea Braintree, had the nerve to look me in the eye and mouth “bitch”.
    “Just ignore them,” Kellie said. But then she went off for a dance and a smooch with Taylor Metcalfe, which left me on my own feeling like a right idiot. Two boys came up to talk to me. One called Brian, who was OK, so I said he could add me on Facebook, and another called God knows what because Tara walked by and deliberately bumped into me before he could tell me his name.
    “Oi,” I said, “don’t do that!”
    “Or what?” she snapped, pushing her face right up to mine.
    I was scared but determined not to show it. So I held my ground and said, “Look, Tara, what’s your problem?”
    “Stop playing dumb.”
    “I’m not. You’ve hated me from day one. But if you’re talking about Ray – I dumped him as soon as I found out he was seeing you too.”
    “You dumped HIM? Who do you think you are?” she said. “The fucking queen? You ain’t nothing special. With your elephantitis arse and bandy legs. Ray was using you, you stupid bitch.”
    I could feel tears building. And I really didn’t want her to see them. So I just said, “Yeah? Well, fuck you!” and ran out.
    When I hit the street, I kept running and looking behind to make sure she wasn’t following. I couldn’t see her or her friends, but I kept