My Secret Diary
Jacqueline Wilson
Language: English
Pages: 0
ISBN: 1486247970
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A wonderfully written and engaging teenage memoir: listen to Jacqueline's problems with her family, her first love, her school life and her friends. Listen to extracts from her real diaries and the stories she wrote as a teenager; learn all about the music and books she loved, her troubled school life and her parents' difficult relationship.
Written in Jacqueline's usual and inimitable style, this will be fascinating listening for her fans, and for anyone who's interested in what life in the UK was like in the fifties and sixties.
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daisies’ up and down Coombe’s corridors for weeks afterwards. We had a lovely cosy day when we went to see School for Scoundrels. Thursday 19 May I went home with Chris at dinner time. It was raining, and we had to wait for 4 buses. When we eventually got to the Keepings’ we were absolutely drenched. For dinner we had liver, baked beans, cauliflower and new potatoes; then rhubarb and evaporated milk! Very nice! Then we did our maths together, and then caught the train to Kingston, and saw
themselves seemed wondrous. In our age of computer-generated trickery the parting of the Red Sea would probably seem pretty pathetic – but I held my breath when Charlton Heston made his way through those waves. The whole cinema whispered, ‘How did they do that?’ The film was about the very good and the very bad – and I’m afraid I was mostly on the bad guy’s side. I thought irreverently that the film’s Voice of God was a little like the voice of the Wizard of Oz. I quite liked Charlton Heston as
get your manuscript accepted or not, whether it wins awards and races up the best-seller charts. My biggest best-seller has been The Story of Tracy Beaker. It was a reasonably original idea to choose to write a story about a fierce little girl in a children’s home, desperate to be fostered. I certainly worked hard at it. There was no problem with Tracy herself. She sprang to life the moment I made up her name. It was as if she’d seized my pen in her own hot little hand, determined to write her
There was a particularly loud hoot of a laugh behind me, curiously familiar. I turned round. There was Colin, choking on his choc ice, standing beside a boy with intense brown eyes, fair curly hair and a smooth golden tan. He was wearing a casual white shirt and blue shorts and his sandy feet were bare. I stared at him and he stared at me. ‘This is Jacky – you know, the girl I told you about. We played ping-pong this morning,’ said Colin. ‘I won, both games. Jacky, this is my friend Cookie.’ I
I was stuck wearing my school uniform. The winter uniform wasn’t too terrible: white shirts, green and yellow ties, plain grey skirts and grey V-necked sweaters. We had to wear hideous grey gabardine raincoats, and berets or bowler-type hats with green and yellow ribbon round the brim. Earnest girls wore the hats, cool girls wore berets. We had to wear white or grey socks or pale stockings kept up with a suspender belt or a ‘rollon’. Oh dear, underwear was so not sexy in 1960! Those roll-ons
