Lady of the House.

Saw her tonight, along with lots of other people. I hadn't met the other people before and I was terrified of them, but I didn't want her to think I was, so I tried to make conversation with them. They were my age, and achingly cool.

They were all saying how brilliant she was.

One girl said she liked my hair. It wrong footed me, this compliment, and I responded with, "Do you?" not quite believing, but she really did. People mostly say my hair is cool. It's short, and it used to be red but it's dulled to a browny-red. I can't fathom what's so good about it, unless it's in comparison to the rest of me. Is it her face, her figure, herself, her clothes? No it's her hair. Hair, out of those, really is the least. Then, if someone thought my face was cool, they couldn't say so. It would sound strange to say it. Isn't that weird? Maybe people think I've had cancer. I am very pale. Maybe they think my hair is cool because I've overcome some sort of disease.

I hope Lady of the House doesn't think I'm silly. She took me through to meet a journalist- I didn't know that I wanted to- but she laughed with me and I felt so priviledged to be taken away from the crowd. Silly, because if anyone else had spent as much time around her and been as keen as I am she would have done the same. It's not me that's special, it could be anyone. I told her everyone else thought she was brilliant, and she said why, and I said, because you are. The way you say things is good. She said, sometimes I'm a bit scary, and I muttered, well, sometimes you have to be scary to get your point across. Then she showed me my posters, and she was happy and so was I. I like her a lot. She's brilliant. Everyone knows it. I just think it a bit too much. I adore her.