The Twelve Books of Christmas

There is something enjoyable about making lists at the year end, and particularly if the items on those lists have already happened. So I'm going to show you part of my last diary entry from 1986. It makes me feel I already knew myself pretty well back then.

December 30th 1986

So, how was my Christmas?

Not too bad, thankyou, although I did feel decidedly ill Christmas Day. I felt as if I was going to develop a bad case of flu - I was shaking and had thumping headaches all day - but in the end it came out in just a simple cold, so I haven't suffered too much since, apart from feeling slightly as if I'm to be sick every now and then - which is not, I must make clear, due to eating too much or anything like that, for I haven't indulged half so much as I usually do. Saying that, I have just eaten my way through a large bag of Marks & Spencer's spring onion flavour crisps - but that's hardly my fault - I didn't realise what I was doing sitting here, and, anyway, I've got rather a passion for them - even if everyone else complains they smell terrible. I hadn't noticed!

Altogether I had twelve books of different descriptions. I had asked specifically for books this Christmas.

Let's see - what did I have?

• The Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Literature
• The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Quotations
• Roget's Thesaurus
• The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath
• Selected Poems Elizabeth Jennings
• Persephone Jenny Joseph
• Later Poems R.S. Thomas
• Cagney and Lacey Serita Deborah Stevens
• Wifey Judy Blume
• Other Women Lisa Alther
• The Swimming Pool Season Rose Tremain
• and one Mum bought for herself,
  The Christmas Tree Jennifer Johnston,
  but gave to me because she was afraid to tell Dad she had been spending his money on herself instead of on Christmas presents!!

Hmm - that sums it up nicely, including the rather pointed comment about Mum spending Dad's money. Growing up, I did always have the sense that Dad felt he went out and earned the money, that it was his money, and the rest of us simply spent it. I'm glad to say he's far more relaxed about the way finances are shared now, and how they're spent.


As for the books I had for Christmas in 2006? Don't you want to know about those?

• The Best of Smash Hits: The '80s
• Robert Smith: The Cure & Wishful Thinking, an unofficial and unauthorised biography by Richard Carman
• Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic Alison Bechdel

Does that indicate I'm becoming less literary and more musical? Not really. I guess it just proves how nostalgic I am for the 1980s. Mind you, I do have a new musical companion. I call him Spike. He's an i-Cat. We'll be grooving together to our favourite music during 2007.

At Cross Purposes

I was cross about a lot of things twenty years ago. I still get cross occasionally, and probably about very similar things. I don't do anger well or I would use that word instead. I do get angry but it's an emotion which becomes easily confused with frustration at other people's inability to comprehend (or unwillingness to allow) my point of view, and that's when I tend to cry. I don't often cry these days, but anger will usually tip me. Being cross, however, holds connotations of English reserve and the "stiff upper lip" and perhaps that keeps me (even if in a self-conscious parodic way) on the safe side of trembly lip syndrome.

Anyway, what does this have to do with anything? Not much. It's just a way to introduce another story from my teenage diary years.

I can tell this story, and reproduce the newspaper article, because R (you remember R, the young woman I was in love with 20 years ago) wasn't at College that day, so she missed the photo-call. That's a piece of good fortune, don't you think? I can see it like that all these years later. This plays right into my hands for the nostalgic version of teenage romance, where R needs to remain as anonymous as I can keep her. Back then, of course, it was devastating to know the love of your life was lying on her sick bed several miles away, completely out of reach.

I remember the day the photographer arrived from the Hereford Times. We were in costume. I was in my full servant-girl regalia, complete with lace doilly on my head. He asked our names and wrote them down in his notebook. I can still recall the look he gave me. It was one of puzzlement. Explained later, perhaps, when the piece appeared in the paper and I was credited as "Nicholas Hastie".

Could he not tell if I was a girl or a boy, even when dressed as a maid? He should have gone for Nick and it would have worked for all. I wasn't even cross-dressing. If it looked like I was it was purely unintentional. Unlike R, who did do the full female-to-male dressing-up bit in a fatherly role, complete with greying whiskers - and I have a personal photo to prove it. It hadn't crossed my mind until now that maybe she didn't turn up because she didn't want to appear in the local paper dressed that way.

Suffice to say, being called Nicholas made me cross. Very cross. I annotated the newspaper cutting with "How dare they!!" But in a funny kind of way, it was far, far better than being called Nicola, a name I disown except in legally-binding situations.

November 8th 1986

We are putting on a play called Hindle Wakes set in Lancashire, in February - I play the part of Ada, the maid, who doesn't do a lot except carry trays backwards and forwards and repeat 'Yes Sir', 'No Sir' ('Three bags bloody full Sir'). I can't say that I look much like a typical maid with my short hair and defiant look.



I get increasingly more depressed about being a lesbian with no other lesbians to talk to. Yesterday I bought a book called Three Ply Yarn by Caiea March which tells the story of three women who develop as lesbians. The author herself is a lesbian. I have already finished reading it and found it wonderful - if I cannot meet other lesbians I have to make do with lesbian literature. It's not easy buying books with the word 'lesbian' on the book cover, even if no-one else sees it - you feel they do and that they are judging you. I was quite afraid of bringing it home and the family seeing what it is about, but they only connect the subject matter with my interest in feminism and women's issues. I often find it difficult to understand how they cannot recognise my own feelings, but it seems that they don't.

Oh, I find it so hard, and I hurt so much - knowing how difficult my life could be, living with prejudice - not being understood. One of my greatest reasons for getting away to University (as well as desperately wanting to do an English degree) is to meet other lesbians there, to join the lesbian society, and be with a community of people I can relate to and who will understand how I am feeling.

Yesterday, something that R said hurt me deeply. She said something to L suggesting that she was concerned about something or other, and L said 'Don't worry sweetheart. It'll be alright,' and touched her arm. R sprang back, saying 'Hey, get off, you' and they both laughed. R isn't a lesbian - I'm not going to get anywhere. I only get hurt because I love her so much. I feel, though, that I want to tell her I am a lesbian without mentioning I love her, because she is my best friend and I want to be absolutely open with her. I really feel I need to say something to her. I don't think she would hate me. I think she would support me as a friend - tonight there is a party at 'Mr T's' - I want to say something to R tonight, if it would be at all possible - but the thought is so frightening. I need to talk to her, though. I've made it obvious to her that I am having a trauma - she probably thinks it is because of the hassle of University applications - I would like to tell her the truth. I'm so fed up with not being able to speak my mind. I do feel so isolated within my own emotions.

Memory Jig

I promised I would look out some material from an unfinished project which I began back in 2001, which attempts to adapt my teenage diaries into a more interactive multimedia affair. This project takes raw material from the 1980s and attempts to set this against the backdrop of the internet.

If I could have written the same words I wrote in my diary, and actually emailed them to a 'Secret Friend' who may have responded, what difference might that have made? What if the internet had existed when I was first coming out? These are some of the questions I hoped to consider.

This project is another aspect of my Coming Out Hypertext. In fact, I originally imagined these pages as part of that story, but hadn't yet found a way to weave them in. So it's worth starting the reading there, or with my commentary.

These next few links are previously unseen. I wanted to draw out the serious nature and poignancy of the subject matter, and also lighten it by drawing attention to my adolescent urgency and intensity, allowing myself to be self-mocking. That's where the Cagney and Lacey theme fits in.

I really was a paid-up and very proud member of the Cagney and Lacey Appreciation of the Series Society (CLASS) in the mid to late 1980s. I have no evidence to back this up, but even at the age of 16 I understood there were probably a number of lesbians behind the CLASS administration. Call it a Sharon Gless fan's intuition!

Start off with Nicki's Inbox or start at Nicki's Sent Items and click between the two using the link in the top right-hand corner.

If you don't follow the link from within one of the emails, you might also want to observe Nicki's first Chatroom experience at the imaginary Girl2Girl Zone. This page is very bare of images, I'm aware of that, and I'm still contemplating what images would be appropriate to convey a 1980s online literacy. Perhaps the absence of images is what's important.

There's a lot more to be done to really round-off (do I mean complete?) this project, so if you want to encourage me to take this and the Coming Out Hypertext further, I'll be really grateful for your comments - on the blog or by email.

For another persepctive and more background on this concept of re-working memory and diaries, you could also visit VirtualDayz, the blog of Elayne Zalis, whose work focuses on digital experiments with personal and cultural memory.

L Words and P Words

For those who care about my TV watching and are rather concerned it has become a desert recently, I am now in possession of the the DVD box set - The L Word: the complete second season. It's exciting to see that it has been given an 18 certificate. The first season was only rated a 15. I'm promised that this is "A television series full of genuine emotion and authentic stories".

Of course, you know me by now (or do you?), and how I love authenticity.

The only difficulty now is finding time to watch all these episodes. Until I sat down on the settee on Saturday night for the beginning of a new series of The X Factor (come on, it's classic telly not to be missed!) I'd almost forgotten what the TV was for. I'd begun to think it was Andrea's entertainment centre only; like the computer is mine.

I'm sure I'll find a way to cope with all this sensory stimulation.

For anyone else wondering if I'm going to open the diary tonight - oh, go on then, I will - just for you. I introduce you to Nicki, the young philosopher ...

August 20th 1986

I think I am quite looking forward to going back to Sixth Form in two-and-a-half weeks time. It will be fun to see all the new first years and to be able to look back on our time in the first year. It seems so far away, those first few weeks at Sixth Form. I feel so different now. I'm not sure whether it would be true to say I have got more self-confidence, but I feel I have a greater ability to cope with things now. I also want to get back into the swing of things. I miss the college routine and people in a way - though that'll probably be forgotten after a couple of weeks back - then I'll be wanting to be home again.

It's a funny fact about the human being that we all want that one thing which is just out of our reach. Perhaps it isn't that surprising - we all have our dreams - or maybe, even, there is no need for certain things to be out of reach. We simply have to possess that driving ambition to score points of meaning and fulfillment in our lives.


August 24th 1986

It is really exciting writing poetry because you just have this idea - a few lines or words - and you start out on a poem, not knowing yourself how the finished product is going to turn out, just knowing what your basic message is. I find it really amazing. I am excited and exhilarated about writing. It doesn't bother me that much if I never become the recognised writer that I dream of (well it does) - but at least I can bring pleasure and energy into my own life. That's what it is - Poetry is an Energy. You don't have to write poetry to realise the power. Poetry speaks and by reading you can have a share in that energy.

Could Nicki, the young writer have a point?

A nod, A kiss, A remembering

A-level results came out today, and for the first time in 19 years I cared about those results again - this time, for another. When I got my results I pretty much stopped writing a diary that I had been keeping over a period of four years. There were a few more entries, but nothing significant once I had my gateway to a new life. I didn't have time to keep a diary once I was at university. I didn't have time to be so self-obsessed. Or maybe I just got self-obsessed in new ways. This is very possible. Being self-obsessed is certainly not the domain of the young.

A good example of self-absorption is this passage, from the summer of my first outing, those 20 years ago. True love never did run a smooth course. The most intriguing aspect of this story, perhaps, is that I was dressed as in the photo during the party events described below. The moustache was painted on and didn't last the night - but I write about that elsewhere. These are the details from the diary, where it's interesting to note that a description of the costume doesn't even feature. You'd have thought I could have looked into the future and given a nod to my Out on a dike self, wouldn't you?

August 17th 1986

When I think I've got everything sorted in my mind something happens to send me reeling once more. Last night N had a party at Greyfriars - her going-away party before she goes to work in France. I spent the second half of the party in the company of A. I didn't want to, though - what I wanted above all was to have R [the young woman I was in love with] there so that I could talk to her and have fun with her - but, of course, she wasn't there and so I was afraid of not enjoying myself by having no-one to talk to. So, I sat down and talked to A and some others and it was obvious that A wanted to be with me. We were just talking and he took my hands.

What I'm trying to say is that it wasn't important to me that I was with him, that it was A and he was male - I wanted company of some sort, just to be held so I wouldn't feel lonely. I didn't have any strong feelings for A (not like the last time I got off with him) - it wasn't like that at all. He's just a friend and I suppose perhaps we used each other - both wanted someone to show us attention. Therefore it was extremely relaxed - neither of us are looking for a relationship - A isn't one for long-term relationships and I certainly don't want a boy/girl relationship. I don't feel anything for him - nothing more than a friend. What we did most was talk - about L and K [the same friends I was on holiday with] and their problems over G and S [their boyfriends].

K hasn't been going out with S for a couple of months now, but she hadn't been able to forget him, still went on and on about how much she loved him. Finally, last night, she realised that he is not what she needs, and as B has asked her out she is now going to turn her attention to him, although B doesn't know yet that K will accept him because he asked her out a week ago when she was still wrapped up with S. L and G are constantly falling out. They split up for a while last week and in this period apart G and H got off with each other, so now L and K hate H. L and G are back together (but I don't know how long for) - they were definitely not too happy with each other last night.

So, you see, things are very difficult at the moment. At least K shouldn't be so depressed from now on - I hope B is really the person she likes. She kept telling me last night how lovely she thinks he is - and he is a very caring, considerate person. They should be good for each other just as long as K has totally given up on S, as she says she has.

Back to A: it's awful to say this but when we kissed I wasn't really thinking of him. It wasn't important to me who I was with - although it was insomuch as I'm glad it was A, someone I know and like - not some unknown greasy bod whom I might have thought detestful. But, what I'm trying to say is, it didn't matter what sex he was. I was thinking of R a lot more than I was thinking of A. I enjoyed being with him and having the company and comfort of his arm around me, and I'm so glad I was with him and not alone. I suppose I feel awful because I didn't want contact with a male, but it had to be because A expected it of me. I think I just shut my mind off to what I was really doing. I kept wanting to explain to L and K that what I'd said about me being gay was important and not something I'd said just at that particular time. [Dear Reader, let's be clear - all I did was snog him!]

K asked me if I'd enjoyed myself last night, if I was happy - and she understood when I said I was confused. She has offered herself if I need someone to talk to about my 'problem' and I told her that I would probably be requiring her counselling services pretty soon. I'm confused because I think I am gay, and it's R I love and want to be with - yet it was A I ended up with. Sometimes it seems to me that it's conformity and relationships with boys or loneliness. I don't want loneliness, but women mean more to me. This is my difficulty, my struggle.

Maybe something good has come out of last night - there was no real physical attraction or attachment on my part to A. It was nice just to be able to give him a peck, and walk away saying 'See you' without having to be thinking of him and worrying when I will see him next. This fact helps me to realise that thinking and feeling like a homosexual is not just my fantasy but a real part of me. Perhaps I have tested my feelings and come out on the side I desired. But, such a lack of attachment can be frightening if I am not going to be able to develop my homosexuality - for it means I might find it hard to be happy.

Ah well, it seems none of us are without problems.

Ah well, indeed!

Welcome to the World, Baby Dyke

It's 20 years to the week since I came out for the very first time by uttering the words "I think I'm gay" within earshot of another human being. It was very, very scary, and also exhilarating and liberating. From there, I just wanted to tell more and more people, although I chose those people very carefully, so there was no tremendous domino effect in the first year. I waited until I got to university for that.

That summer of 1986 opened up possibilities. I started to crave independence, exploration and experience. I started to understand the value of friendship, and to recognise when I wanted so much more than friendship. I dreamed of intimacy and the secrets of sex. I knew the promise contained in a woman's breasts when brushing against my arm just long enough could make my entire skin tingle and stand to attention. I got depressed and lonely because I wanted the world to change immediately for me.

I feel lucky that I still have my teenage diaries. Loads of people want to forget their adolescence, the angst and agony. I don't. I like remembering the path I've travelled, how my teenage uncertainty blossomed into ... well ... a whole string of new uncertainties! There are still plenty of reasons why I think the world should change. But at least I'm certain about who I am, and I know how to express that in a whole variety of ways, how to remain true to myself, mostly without fear these days.

In the summer of 1986 I had my first holiday with friends rather than family. We stayed on a caravan park for a week near Paignton, Devon, and it rained nearly every day. But it was a taste of freedom, a slice of the discovery I wanted life to be:

July 27th 1986

J had some cannabis and we had our first experience of drugs. We didn't smoke it in a joint, but burnt some and inhaled the smoke from under a glass. It made us feel incredibly horny - it was quite amazing how much it aroused you. We had a really good time. I was so happy - I have always wanted to do what we did last night. This is the perfect opportunity for new experiences - away from everything - no family to answer to. I think I need to get away from home more often - the taste of freedom does wonders for me.

Somehow or other, we got onto the subject of gay sex. M said she thinks everyone is bisexual to a certain extent and I said that I thought I was gay. But, I don't think in our state that I was taken all that seriously. K and L were moaning that they want their men, and L asked me if I wanted a man. My answer 'No' led her to ask: 'Do you want a woman?' My frustrations made me say 'Yes' and she said 'Oh, I won't sleep near you, then.' This statement hurt me because it is the kind of response I was expecting but didn't want.

Never mind! I don't think I was taken really seriously. K thinks women should 'just go for it' if they really want to (her words of last night). We are all getting on really well and I don't think this lot could frown upon me, but I still don't think they quite understand my feelings.


August 4th 1986

We had a fantastic holiday. I came home and developed post-holiday depression - I wanted to continue living with M, J, L and K. As well as providing great amusement and entertainment, the holiday gave me a chance to reveal my true feelings and have them accepted by two of my friends.

One night I had a detailed talk with K (L didn't hear as much - she fell asleep) until 3.00am about my gay feelings. This is such a relief to me because I have needed to share my thoughts with someone. Now that I have had the courage to admit to myself being gay I might make an easier time for myself.

Being easy on oneself - about anything - takes a whole lifetime of learning. Twenty years is a pretty solid background, though. I'm far from wishing my life away, but I aim to discover even more in the next 20.