Diaries - why do we read them? Other people's I mean. After all, between the pages of a diary, shouldn't the writer feel free to confide the darkest secrets, the wildest fantasies, safe in the knowledge that no over-curious Mum or jealous spouse can call them to account? So, what to do when we have to 'leave them behind'?
My life is a pretty mundane affair these days. Gone are the wildly hedonistic days of my university years (well, to be honest, one too many glasses of Bulmers cider at the Saturday Hop or submitting a Chaucer essay one day late hardly qualifies as hedonism).
Love, marriage and career gave rise to some meatier stuff it's true, but once children came along, the entries chronicle milestones like first teeth, tenmper tantrums in Tesco (theirs not mne) and GCSE grades. Still, with more time to reflect now, I do use my diary as confdante and confessional. Which is why I have instructed my son and daughtert to dispose of my diaries post mortem- without reading them. Would they want to know I hated Strictly? Could either of them be bothered that I didn't like Sally's tarte tatin or that I was bored rigid by Jane Campion's film The Piano? Of course not. But it's a question of privacy.
Much better then to write a fictional diary like Diary of an (Almost) Baby Boomer. and let Stella Hart dish the dirt on her life.