It is a dangerous thing to be a teenage girl.
I never kept a diary, except for one year of my life. The year I turned fourteen. The year my parents divorced. The year I had sex for the first time. The year I learned to use the microfiche.
In this unique follow-up to her memoir You Probably Think This Song Is About You, Kate Camp turns her poet's eye to the rollercoaster entries of her 1986 diary, when she was 13 going on 14.
Reading the entirety of its handwritten pages for the first time, she revels in the 80s touchstones, from Revlon Custom Eyes to Ghostbusters on VHS. But amid the daily details like smoking menthols in Suzy's Coffee Lounge and wearing Jazzercise tights in a phone box are moments of drama, even tragedy - being black-out drunk in a spa pool, or watching her father move out of the family home. And at the centre of it all is Cameron, his black hair falling over his eyes, intoning in his fake Scottish accent, 'Treat me rough, baby.'
The diary entries - over 100 reproduced in full - are a time capsule of a very different era. The Kate Camp of today responds to their blithe accounts of sex, drugs and risk-taking with horror and admiration. How real are our memories? Can we ever know ourselves? And why is every entry signed off Leather and Chains?
