Have you ever read something and then proceeded to narrate your life accordingly? When I was doing my English A-level I found that after some time I started thinking in Hardyesque terms. Bleugh. Enough with the bleakness. Anyway, I still do this, but in a totally different way. That’s right, I sometimes think in Jackie Collins. Particularly if I’ve had plenty of time to read one of her literary delights. Particularly if I’m on a plane.
Example: A trip to my parents. OR in JC speak; Natural Blonde.
As she stepped off the plane, a gust of wind caught her choppy blonde hair. She was home. She walked with her head held high, relishing the thought of returning to the Kentish countryside and potentially having toad in the hole for dinner. Reaching the terminal she stopped in shock, a sharp jolt of horror drawing her out of her reverie, “had she left her passport on board?” She gasped and quickly began to search in her oversized bag. Breathing a sigh of relief, she found it, nestled in between her glasses case and an old packet of jelly tots. She couldn’t afford to lose it. Everything had to go to plan.
Waiting at the baggage pick up she let her thoughts stray back to her new hairdo. Fingering the strands she remembered the last time she saw her trusted hairdresser. How they laughed, she thought, as she stifled a giggle at the memory. Switching her smart phone on, she saw she had one message. “I am at MacDonalds” it said. Her dad always waited there, the car park was too expensive, he said, and she smiled at his prudence. Good old dad, he can get me a Big Mac. Suddenly, she noticed her suitcase trundling towards her. Reaching through the crowd to grab it, a lone man stepped in front of her. How dare this interloper? She thought angrily. He almost stood on her foot so she quickly apologised and stepped aside.
Hurrying to the other side of the baggage reclaim she reached for her bag and called her father. Her sister used to pick her up, until that fateful day two years ago. Her eyes flickered at the memory, she had enjoyed journeys home with her sister. Not anymore. Not since she started working in Maidstone. Her office was no where near Gatwick. Memories began flooding back as she made her way to the drop off point, she had to be quick, her Dad could get moved along any moment.
Over the tannoy a loud nasal voice squawked and reminded them not to smoke near the exit. “Damn!” she exclaimed as she slammed her lighter down, she was gasping for a fag. As a cacophony of ‘alright babes’ filled the air she felt her annoyance slide away, I’m home she thought, smiling broadly, I’m home.