Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and Me, Chapter 16

I guess I should recap chapter sixteen now. I really don't want to. It's just ... it's long, but nothing really happens. I feel like I'm just talking myself around in circles now.

Oh, and I broke. I was on holiday, in Italy, nowhere for me to write my opinion on this shit down, so I started my Sarah Dessen book. Hey, guess what this one features? A documentary director, her lackey, and a local artist. And I'm about halfway through but have seen more action and tension and plot and characterisation than in Billy and Me. And Sarah writes for teenagers, so even more fail for you, Giovanna.

Also, I came home last night to a package. What was in that package? A copy of this:

**why is Tom so shocked about a book he wrote? Or is that something Dougie slipped in he wasn't aware of? Either way, my kid is going to love it**

 

It's her husband's second child's book with one of his bandmates, and even the gross subject matter gets more of a reaction from me. Even your husband, your stand in for Billy Buskin, can write better. #justsaying.

So Chapter 16 starts up at the after party for the BAFTA's, I think. Remember how before the ceremony, everyone was like 'oh, good luck Billy, zomg we love you so much!'? Yeah.

I thought Billy was popular before his win but the party after the awards shows me that things are about to get even crazier. It feels as though everybody comes over to Billy to congratulate him on the film and his award, meaning we can barely walk two steps without being stopped by someone new.

See what I mean by 'I think' this is the after party? Yes, she mentioned it, but the way it's phrased makes it sounds like days have passed, while still being in present tense, which leads us back into awkward sentences. And I don't feel like I've gained anything from this storyline so far, because that's what every other chapter has basically said, ' I thought I knew how famous Billy was, but he's more famous than that'. So, great start, Giovanna.

This sort-of segues into an elderly woman who's been speaking to both Billy and Sophie, and this is notable because she's looked at Sophie and not just blanked her. Give the woman a fucking prize. We get this nonsense in the middle of the spiel:

I never realized before how rare an occurrence this actually is, but the fact that it makes an impact on me means that it must be.

I'm not going back into the other chapters. I'm just going to hold my head in my hands and sigh. Again, she repeats every chapter. I want to just skim all the repetition and show the new junk, but then I could sum the whole book up in one go and anyway, why do you get to escape the torture I'm going through?

We get the obligatory 'this Mary Sue is special, you keep hold of her!' bit from the doddery old dear who only serves to big up the Mary Sue, and Billy falls for it, groping Sophie all the while. Tasteful. The old bird then waves the white flag and surrenders to tiredness so skips out of the party, her only task done. As she leaves, Sophie watching her all the while, someone else appears in her eyesight, coming towards them.

Yeah. Giovanna went there. And it's so awkward and tacky.

Noticing that I've suddenly tensed up, Billy looks at me to see what's wrong. When he looks in the direction of my eyeline I hear him laugh quietly as it all becomes clear.

"Billy? Jude. I just wanted to come over and congratulate you on your win,' says Jude Law (yes, my flaming crush!) as he offers Billy his hand to shake.

I think I'm going to do a bullet point list for this. Hopefully, it won't be long:

-Maybe Sophie would have tensed up anyway, as it's canon that she has anxiety. They've had a fight about her anxiety, after all.

-If Billy looked up to see what's wrong, where was he looking in the first place? His feet? Her boobs?

-And if Billy looked up, would he not see Jude? The implication by her phrasing is that they're side by side and able to see what the other one is seeing. If he's facing her, a more valid way of needing to shift his gaze to see what she is looking at and causing her panic, then he should be looking around.

-Is Billy taller than Jude? Why is he looking at Sophie's eyeline, and not in the direction of her gaze? They're two separate planes of vision.

-Why is Billy laughing at Jude's presence? Is he laughing at Sophie's reaction? In which case, what a prick.

-What is it with the way she's made Jude make those introductions? He sounds like a twat. Jude Law is no twat. Not unless you're married to him and he's fucking the nanny, anyway.

-I'm saying nothing about the congratulations. I could, but I won't.

-Did we need the brackets? Seriously? Seriously. We know she has a crush on Jude Law, we know she said Billy wasn't as talented as Jude, we're not ignorant or stupid. I've had two weeks away from this book, and I remembered that Jude Law got mentioned when every other character in this book is made up (I can't forget shit like that, sorry Giovanna). She could, if she was so desperate to slip that info in there, made it an aside through dashes, as the subject in the brackets pertains to Billy and Sophie's reactions to Jude's presence so makes the information in them more relevant than anything put in brackets. Brackets are off-topic information, that is not. She's stiffened, she's blushing, she's staring, I got that it was a crush. Also, crush is an American term, she could have said 'the actor I fancy' or 'the one I have the hots for' or something. She could have been contemporary and said 'yes, Jude, the guy who's so bang tidy.' And the exclamation mark there can fuck right off too. She's gleeful about embarrassing herself now.

-Jude, don't you take Billy's hand, don't you dare!

I got a bit carried away at the end. Sorry. She starts waxing lyrical about Jude Law, and thanks Sophie, but I don't need the help. Seriously, I never thought Doctor Watson was fuckable until Jude Law. I loved his lisp in the Holiday. He was a great narrator in Lemony Snicket. Jog on.

After a page of how sexy Jude is, which is about three times the amount Billy got (oh, Tom, you in trouuuuuuubleeeeee!) we actually get Billy's response, and Jude gives him some advice, which doesn't sound as awesome as Jude could be. I blame the writer in this instance. And then ... why you have to fuck with Jude, Giovanna?

" ... this must be your wonderful lady." he says, turning his attention to me and shaking my hand. "Miss Sophie May, was it?"

*Exaggerated Southern Belle accent* Well, I do declare Miss Sophie May, looks like you gone got yourself a regular acting man to be taking for your husband!

*normal voice* Seriously, who the fuck is this, and what did you do with Jude? Sophie can't speak, Jude remembered her name from Billy's embarrassing PDA! Someone stops by to take a photo for some newspaper or magazine, and Billy engineers it so Sophie's next to Jude.

*holds up hand* wait a second. Just wait a second here.

Did you see what I did? Did you see Sophie go venomous because Billy was paid to simulate oral sex with an actress?

Did you see her get possessive whenever Billy touched her leg, her arm, her shoulders, even as friends?

It wasn't just me noticing that even that one girl didn't get a pass, because even though she didn't touch Billy, she smoked in their house, and dared to eat a dessert that Sophie made?

Oh, and the whole Coco shit. That was seriously annoying.

Okay now, so I just saw Billy watch Sophie meet a hero/fapstar of hers, and engineer it so that when they had their photograph taken for the tabloids, she'd be beside him.

Want to take bets on reactions? No?

Billy's grinning cheekily at Sophie. Jude touches Sophie's arm, and Sophie stops breathing and makes herself gurn at the camera.

I fucking hate you, Sophie May, you hypocritical, glory-hunting, Jude-wreaking BITCH.

Urgh, then Billy starts chatting to the photographer about getting the photo's emailed to him, even the unused ones and it's clearly as a present for Sophie so she can cut Billy out and completely live in a fantasy world and Sophie's left with making small talk with Jude. I'm impressed she didn't jam her tongue down his throat or flap about a little screeching the word 'cake' over and over. Y'know, like normal.

Jude says he loves her dress and why is Jude turning into a cross-dresser now? It's not 'that dress is flattering on you' or 'the colour brings out your gorgeous eyes' no, it's 'love the dress'. Either Sophie is butt ugly or she's implying Jude needs to come out of the closet *shoves him back in* no you don't!

It's okay, Sophie verbal-diarrhoeas at Jude and he smiles back and eases out of the conversation as Billy comes back. Billy starts to try to tease Sophie as Jude walks away and Sophie misses it in her normal clueless way by ranting about her mother and Molly being well jel, innit? Billy's like 'yeah, at least you have pictures so they'll believe you' so ... I'm jealous of this relationship. Totes.

There's a section break so we can get a bit later on in the after party, because it's just exhausting writing about people fauning over someone who's not you. Sophie talks about how as people have gotten drunker at the free bar, she's been sidelined more and more and Billy's having trouble extricating himself.

We learn that Billy and Sophie have also had champagne, but don't worry, they've been pacing themselves, they're not drunk! Honestly! *coughs*bollocks*coughs* Sophie goes to the toilet, blaming the designer dresses and not her current inebriation on the length of time it takes. Right *winks*

She makes her way to the bar afterwards, and one of the guys mentioned in the previous chapter as a competitor for Billy's award is siting there too. He is only here to serve one purpose.

Now, you and I are smart. We know he's bitter over his loss and has probably been sat at the bar for hours, watching Billy and Sophie being smarmy and drunk and completely up their own asses. He's going to tear her a new one, and I kinda envy this guy.

Sophie's too drunk stupid drunk to realise this, however much she might protest that she's not. She just hears this guy shitting on their parade and takes it personally. How is she twenty-six and still taking things personally?

Russell the other actor - says Billy's going to drop her sometime soon, when the success goes to his head, and he'll start fucking models then. I think Russell missed the bit where Billy did that already. Sophie tries to ... oh fucking hell, no, you have to read this word-vomit too:

"Now, Russell," I say, placing my arm on his shoulder in a friendly manner, acting more confident than I feel. "I've worked blooming hard to look this good today, well, a whole team of people have, in fact, it took them hours. Are you trying to say I'm not dazzling enough?"

*chokes* the sentence that would never end, the patience she pretends she has, the out-of-character arm around the shoulder, the way she takes credit for her look, the dazzle reference *chokes again* I feel sick.

 

Russell starts chatting shit about how she needs to make herself part of a power couple and she'll end up on the used pile if she doesn't. This sounds like something Giovanna actually had to deal with, hence the out of character reactions, but still, who the fuck is Russell to Sophie and why the fuck should she give a shit when he's clearly bitter? It's yet another thing that might work if Giovanna hadn't changed the parameters of her relationship with Tom to make this story.

Anyway, so Sophie acts all gracious as she leaves him, but wipes away a single tear (to cry artfully) and then stomps up to Billy, who's grinning like he doesn't realise she might be going into harpy mode. She starts trying to rationalise Russell's words as she chats with Billy, but she clearly won't because she's Sophie May. They decide to go home because there's too many people at the bar.

Sidenote here - mcfly were banned from after-parties for years. Their management had just had Busted break up on them and they were party animals, so they were harsher when mcfly came around. Giovanna wouldn't have been to an after-party for about three years of Tom's career. This scene makes no sense to me, applying Sophie or Giovanna's story to it.

Anyway, new section break, and they both sit on their phones on the way home, because that's what you do in the throes of a new relationship when one of you has succeeded in your career. No heavy petting on the backseat, or anything. Molly screeches out some crap about Sophie being gorgeous and Billy being gorgeous and Sophie's hair not being a plait and here's Sophie's mother. And then Sophie's Mum starts talking, but since she has no real character she has nothing to say that hasn't been said. Nice waste of words again, Giovanna.

Sophie waxes on about them all sitting around watching the ceremony which I've already pointed out wouldn't happen yet, because of continuity. It's all self-aggrandising shit again, what did they think of me, did they notice my face, blahblahblah. I'm fast-forwarding.

Her mother left another blahblah message that didn't need to be because I guess Giovanna fell short of her word count the first time, and then Andrezj is there, talking about meeting up which is well lolz because I wouldn't contact a former employee who fucked me over that way. And the only people I've ever worked with on my facebook page are pretty much ex-employees.

So then, the ground opened up and I was proved wrong. That Mary Lance, the first named person of this story, has left a message, asking to meet up. She got Sophie's number from her mother. Her mother was probably ecstatic that Sophie might have a friend. She asks to hang out, and Sophie thinks about it while checking her texts.

Has Billy disappeared at this point? Just wondering.

So Sophie has a text from Carla Daily! *shrugs* who the fuck is Carla Daily? Oh, wait, we get some exposition later. Someone Sophie went to school with, who was popular but never talked to Sophie. Her text explains that she's friends with MaryLance and wants to hang out with both of them too. Potentially, this is because Carla and Mary are now BFFs and do everything together, but Sophie thinks it's suspicious. The next few messages are from other members of the old popular crowd, so her suspicion increases.

*sighs* you know what? The popular crowd don't think of themselves as the popular crowd. They're friends, and they happen to be confident, and if you don't have that confidence then that's your shit to deal with. They're not rubbing anything in, you're just taking their agenda personally. You're not even on their agenda, why are they on yours?

Billy twigs about the messages being from old school friends (oh, there's Billy, hey Billy!) and tells her to invite them over. Sophie pulls a face, because he said the word friends maybe? And Billy gets confused about why she wouldn't want to interact with anyone. You should've seen her with Russell earlier, Billy. Anyway, Sophie shuts that down because who needs friends? Even old friends who share your earlier history? Billy tries to talk her around, but I guess he forgot he was talking to Sophie.

She neatly *ahem* changes the subject to Paul's message, and Paul's so happy. He's not even angry about Billy not sticking to the speech. Apparently, everyone thinks it's hilarious.

*holds hand up again* Wasn't Billy doing the stage play - I'm not going to even try and remember the shit name - to be taken seriously as an actor? Wasn't the role he was nominated for an attempt for the same thing, hence why he even got into that category? If he now looks like

 

 

 

then why is his manager and the company behind the nominated film role finding this funny?

All Sophie does is get sceptical that Paul could have been nice to her, but wisely keeps her mouth shut for once. Billy says apparently people want to know about Sophie

and that she could get into modelling or acting now. Fucking hell, is his fame just giving her EVERYTHING on a plate now? They ramble about the new film, and how Sophie will actually be on set for this one because who needs to be consistent ever? I am skipping so much shit right now, right up until the next section break, because I really need to be sick reading it.

Sophie can't sleep, at the new section break. Everything's been so amazing and her life is incredible and she bagged an award-winning actor and it was all the better for actually being at his side and not sidelined like last time. Yeuch. But not everything is perfect, not even meeting Jude Law (or whatever the hell that was) because Russell's words won't leave Sophie alone. She wangsts for three pages about everything she's said so far, but now she can blame Russell, not her own lack of self esteem. Fantastic.

I fucking hate this book. Until chapter seventeen ... which is also part three. Happy happy joy joy.

Taking a break

First of all, I'm sorry, I said I'd spork/recap chapter fifteen of Billy and Me today, but I've seriously not had the chance. I still(!) have this chest infection (they stopped calling it bronchitis. That's pretty telling to me) and I've had a full-on week at work with a bunch of really empathetic, compassionate people who totally understand that when you cough until the point your doctor prescribes you an inhaler and you still puke because you have no muscle control, that you are likely to pull various muscles in your torso (read: they bitched me out for not being physically able to walk into our chiller or freezer to cover their asses, not able to lift heavy things or mop the floor. I love my work.). Today was the only day I had left to pack for me and the boy. Trust me, nothing is more painful then bending over a suitcase, even one on your bed, when you have back and chest pains. It took me four attempts.

So, I will get on with it. I read ahead, and apparently Jude Law is in this chapter. Yeah, Giovanna's wishlist is showing. Woo. Sophie's as charming as ever, I promise you.

On the plus side, I've been reading Das Sporking a lot lately, and they mention supernatural about twenty times a post, and recently my friend Cat's been sharing quotes from the show, and they had the first season in HMV for £8 today when I was looking for an Italian phrase book for kids (in my town, HMV and Waterstones are in the same store. They combined when they had the same parent company but then HMV went into liquidation and they separated from the parent company, but they left our store combined. I guess it's a benefit, because it reduces rent and that way my town can have an HMV) so anyway, I bought it. Only watched the pilot episode because of my holiday tomorrow, but it's pretty good so far. Dean Winchester is completely bangable.

See you in about a week!

A quick update

Hey, so ... I feel like I haven't been around lately, and that kinda sucks. I've been feeling really rough still. Like, my back hurts and my chest hurts and I went back to the doctor. She gave me more drugs and an inhaler for when I hyperventilate after coughing (because I have that shit going on) and I've puked after coughing a couple more times. The antibiotics and things really don't feel like they're doing anything. I can barely move.

But I have been trying to go to work as much as I can despite all the absolute pain. I even made my boy a birthday cake yesterday, a little early because he won't be able to have a cake on the plane when we go away ... but it took me seven hours and hurt like a bitch to mix the cake.

I'll show off now. I made a wheat-free Minion, from Despicable Me?

Yeah, I know the fondant work is a little crappy, I've not used it before, couldn't find the right colour so I had to mix a lot of gel colours into white fondant so it's a little over-worked. I cheated on the eyes, that's a mask ... and the hair is Mikado sticks, so it's not entirely wheat-free, but the sponge inside is.

Anyway, what do you expect from a girl who's spent a month suffering from bronchitis and all the complications it brings?

Also, I feel this backs up any claims I make about Sophie May in my review/sporking of Billy and Me. Which I will get back to, but I might only update next Sunday before I go away, and then not again until I'm back. We'll see.

I'm so going to enjoy Rome feeling this crap. We've booked a trek up Vesuvius as well, so yay for doing that when it takes me ten minutes to manage to get out of bed, and five to turn over in bed because I'm uncomfortable. I can't even mop the floor at work right now ... I am full of win.

Not that I'm a hypochondriac or anything ...

... although it'd be totally allowed to be, post-TTP ... but I think I have pneumonia.

I realise I sound exactly like a hypochondriac, but let me explain, the bronchitis hasn't gone away. My laryngitis is sometimes there, sometimes not. My coughing has got so bad that I've puked several times. My back hurts so bad I can't lay down easily, but it hurts to stand up.

On the NHS website (not NHS direct) it says people with auto-immune problems can have bronchitis develop into pneumonia. Hey, guess what TTP is? And pneumonia, unlike bronchitis, lists nausea and pains and breathing problems (which I also have) as symptoms. So it's really just math.

And someone I work with said she thinks I have it too, without prompting.

I actually hope we're wrong. I'm meant to be in Italy in 10 days. We are currently at the five year anniversary of my transfer from my local hospital to the specialist one (oh yeah, I can track this sort of shit) - it's the worst time for me to be sick.

I fucking hate my body.

Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and me, Chapter 15

Alternative title: What Tom should have done when mcfly won a Brit. Or any award.

Yes, this is the chapter about the awards ceremony. And it's funny, I just read a book by Keris Stainton called 'Emma hearts LA' and there is a brief, brief bit with a celebrity, but the way she wrote getting papped was a lot more emotive and discriptive than this whole chapter. Which is ridiculous, because Keris hasn't lived this, Giovanna has. What in the actual hell?

Anyway, the chapter opens with Sophie and Billy in a Rolls Royce. Limo's are so passe. Sophie's angsting over the impact the award would have on Billy's career (because so many film roles speculate 'has won obscure awards' on criterion for actors). There's an odd description that I can't quite picture:

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, tilts his head backwards and sighs quickly, causing his lips to blow a raspberry.

I don't know what she's written. A sigh does not sound like a raspberry. Sighs don't often cause raspberries ... what is this?

Anyway, they're both so nervous, and ohmigosh, isn't that the funniest? And then they have a brilliant conversation of 'what's the worst that could happen?' which leads to Billy saying 'if I lose' on one of the instances and Sophie being all 'if!'

 

I love Hercules ... anyway, Billy stops panicking enough to say he won't sweat it once he's there, so I'm really confused about all the emoing.

Sophie then starts gushing about her makeover and how beautiful she feels and how flawless she looks with her makeup and how amazing it was she could stay home and how wonderful the beauticians (sorry, 'beauty therapists') were. She bitches out the spray tan she had, saying she was embarrassed that she had to wear her tiniest underwear in a tent in the bathroom and I fail to see what's so embarrassing. She also says she turned bright orange and had no faith that the colour would calm down like the beauticians Goddamn told her it would. She then bangs on about her hair and how it's amazing but 'sadly not the plait style Molly had suggested' which I thought she bitched out?

Sophie then starts giggling about how she's upgraded from working and getting covered in ingredients to being not much more than a socialite, and how her life is so much better now, then acts like she can laugh at herself by making out she's going to fall over and make an idiot of herself. Oh, as if, Mary Sue! And if that happened, you'd cry and act mortified, not laugh like a smug bitch like you are right now.

And ... oh my God, these two are smug, self-involved assholes.

... admiring his smart black tux and the way his hair is slicked up in the quiff style he had when we first met. He looks simply divine and every inch the Hollywood movie star.

Ugh, I get it, you bagged an A-lister. Well fucking done. You know, the one good thing about tearing this book apart in such detail is that I'm now inspired to write a celebrity story. It's on my futures pile. But I'm thinking more a story like if Britney Spears first husband could write, that sort of 'a celebrity shat on me for publicity' story. But different. You'll see, if it ever gets published.

Oh, and there's more vom-inducing sugary-sweet crap. You get to see it too, you lucky things:

I can't help but beam at him as I take in his gorgeousness. I know that my move to London hasn't been easy so far, but being here with him, on his special night, makes it all worthwhile. I wish I could bottle the feelings of love inside me and save them for a rainy day - to remind myself of their magnitude in those moments of doubt.

They're in love? Why do I have such difficulty in believing that? I see nothing between them that signifies love, past the meet-cute.

We get a description, very vaguely, of them arriving at the ceremony, and the main focus is on the crowd. Somehow, Sophie can see that there are about ten rows of people behind the partitions. She doesn't guess, she makes a statement of fact. She rambles on about the screaming, and the car creeping towards where they need to get out. Sophie wangsts that she wishes she saw this at home, rather than being part of it, out of nowhere, and then they're on the carpet.

Everyone starts screaming at Billy, and of course to Sophie the screams are way louder than they were before (although, apply logic here Sophie, the screams previously were heard through a car. You are now out of the car, and no longer have glass and metal between you and the noise acting as a muffler) and somehow two girls break out of the barrier to try to get to Billy. Really?

Then, we get my favourite line of the whole book.

Paul was right: it's loud and scary.

Did you see that? I'll put that again.

Paul was right.

PAUL WAS RIGHT.

Remember you said that, please, Sophie.

We get a few pages of the wonders of posing for photos and Billy tells Sophie what to do as the paps start calling out shit, and the emcee announces them (but Sophie has no class and doesn't realise that he is an emcee, he's 'a man in a suit who I'm guessing has to announce every person who arrives to avoid confusion' ... Goddammit, my son almost got us announced as 'Superman and his mummy' by the emcee at the last ladies night I went to, you can be announced as anything!) and then we get reminded about why the hell they're there.

I swear, in this chapter, I see 'best actor' and 'twisted drops' and that sort of shit about ten times.

Anyway, the cameramen start yelling out directions for how to stand, and then they start shouting ... I think it's meant to be abuse?

"Your bird scrubs up well, Billy!"
"Didn't you feel like wearing your apron tonight, darling?"
"Are you nervous?"

And a few jokes about coffee orders, and how Billy should give the bitch money, and I'm like; really, this is insulting? Nothing about her eyes being close together, or the make up being slapped on, or cellulite, or being a gold digger, or a bunny boiler ... I'm meaner than these guys. Billy's all smile, it pisses them off more, and Sophie has to spell this out because apparently she's fucking thick and we are too by proxy.

Billy then starts doing interviews, and Sophie describes herself as gormless so she is on fire, this chapter, when it comes to self-awareness. Billy apparently keeps talking about her, and pointing at her, so she smiles and waves, because that doesn't seem twattish at all. They then finally, finally sit down in their assigned seats, but oh, on the way absolutely everyone has stopped them to say good luck to Billy. Everyone loves Billy!

Sophie starts orgasming about the architecture while only describing the seats which ... it's about on par with this book. She doesn't bother to talk about the painting on the ceiling, or the cornices and intricate coving ... and that's all she really needs to describe. She calls the rest of the crowd 'glamorous' and I am really, really starting to fucking hate that word. There are other words! Ostentatious, glitzy, intimidating, stylish ... and they all give different aspects of this glamour so it works on a whole other level. Glamour/glamorous no longer holds any meaning for me, after going over this book. And then, out of nowhere, we get more gold:

"How's my loser face?" asks Billy, grabbing my attention as he tilts his head to the side in earnest whilst nodding and clapping with a knowing smile.

The first time I read, I didn't understand the description after the question, because I genuinely thought there was something like a pimple on his face. Then I realised it was badly phrased and him actually pulling his 'I'm a gracious loser' face. He wasn't calling himself a loserface. I wish he was, but no. Someone didn't think about the way she put words together here!

This is the segue for them to talk about how he should practice his winner's face, and does he have a speech? No, he really is just happy to be here. Gag. And Billy's like 'oh, in the very rare chance I will actually get the award, I'll wing it with a list of names Paul gave me' and I'm like *swoons* that Paul! Because he knew these two would be that brain dead and he knew who would be insulted if Billy forgot them. He's amazing!

But they haven't got time to love Paul like I do. Instead ...

"Have I told you how beautiful you look yet?" he asks, changing the subject.
"You might have mentioned it."
"Good," he says with a smile.
"Time for some finishing touches," I say, picking a strand of hair from his suit jacket and straightening his tie.

I mean, really?

Anyway, so then the ceremony starts and some fake-Bruce Forsyth is presenting. I fucking hate Bruce Forsyth, like I fucking hate Terry Wogan. So anyway, he starts warming up the crowd, and it's basically one big Billy-Buskin fest. We have lols about how Billy's not at the nickelodeon awards, so no gunge here Billy! And I'm trying not to

 

because there is nothing else in the opening, just how Billy wasn't meant to have a career, but now he's up for best actor thanks to Twisted Drops.

 

Then we get to rush through all the awards that don't matter, until we get to best actor. Because this story is honestly just about Sophie and Billy. The title did not lie. The previous winner of the award comes out and is even more self-centred than our protagonists, shoving his own award in people's faces and reading out the names in a really gay way. They're all made up actors, they're all made up films ... so how comes we could name Jude Law before?

Anyway, so I don't want to ruin the amazing twist for you, but - spoiler alert - Billy won. I know, right? He takes a minute to remember he has to go collect the award, and instead dry-humps Sophie as the cameras are pointing at them. She reminds him to go get the statue, and boy is he lucky she's there, huh? He goes, and acts like Paul gave him the names and he left them at home, but he'll thank everyone in private. Arrogant prick, your success came from a great director and producer, a casting agent with a good eye, amazing wardrobe and make up, great researchers, your acting teacher, your supportive parents, Paul, all the other actors on the film ... fuck you. Like you're going to see all those people again anytime soon?

Instead, Billy says there's only one person he wants to thank. He wants to thank Sophie. He calls her his better half which alarms me. She's a better award than this pathetic trinket. She completes him.

 

Then he leaves the podium, she cries, and he goes against stage directions (best actor, indeed) to go running up to her, pulling her into a hug and basically putting a middle finger up to everyone:

He scoops me up and embraces me, holding me tightly as though there is nowhere else he would rather be. We ignore the clapping and cheering around us and focus on this special moment together.

Which gives us the alternate title. When has anyone ever behaved like that at an awards ceremony? But I bet this is how Giovanna pictured it when Tom got his first award with the band, and they all went up, and Dougie was baffled and Danny made jokes and Tom thanked most of their actual colleagues and Harry filled in the gaps. And then they did some press backstage and finally returned to Giovanna afterwards. She concocted this then, I would put money on it.

Five years

**warning, major emo in this post**

Five years ago today, I got put in hospital.

Five years ago today, I started living a freaking nightmare.

I was in a lot of pain, as far as I could remember, and I don't think I was far off being a vegetable.

I've been thinking a lot about this stuff, because my doctors said after your first case of TTP, if you're going to relapse it'll be within ten years, so I'm at the halfway mark of the danger zone (or nearly, anyway).

When I first came out of hospital, even though I was exhausted and slow and couldn't understand simple things, I didn't feel all that different. It took a few days for reality to bitchslap me. And then I got really into my writing and reading, trying to recreate some form of a brain cell, or part of my personality. I took on anything and everything, just trying to prove that I would NOT be beaten by this illness. And yes it took most of my blood, and a lot of my memory and energy levels, and yes it gave me a lot of fatigue, but I'd survived and I wasn't going to let it affect me.

And I think I realised, some time in the last year, that I just tried to take on too much to compensate. I get too tired too easily, and I just cover issues rather than understanding I have to work around them. I think I'm getting better about it, but I still take on a little too much.

I'm not having a great time on this 'anniversary' ... I still have bronchitis, and I've pulled a muscle in my back. I've coughed so hard I've puked. Back pain and vomiting were part of the reason I got hospitalised five years ago, so it's probably the shittiest way to mark the halfway point.

I think in the next five years, I'm going to try to get more of a balance. Like I've started doing. Realising your limits and re-evaluating what's possible is difficult when you can't remember what the limit was in the first place.

I won't be posting when it's officially my fifth anniversary of remission by the way, which is in about two weeks, because I'll be in Italy with my son and parents. Hopefully, I won't still be ill and in pain. I can't be doing with cancelling this trip, I had to cancel a trip to Disneyland five years ago because of the TTP.

And I also want to be well enough that I can do my hospital's annual bridgathon in September (it's a half-marathon walk across the bridges along the Thames) ... you'd think that'd be enough time, right? Although, this bronchitis has stuck around for three weeks now, so who Goddamn knows (and hey, it's acute bronchitis up to three weeks, and chronic after three weeks, so even more awesome for me right now!).

On a slightly unrelated note, it's almost my son's sixth birthday. It's also almost the fifth anniversary for my sister getting some crappy health news, and the sixth anniversary of my brother officially being diagnosed as type 1 diabetic.

My family is clearly full of win.

Siobhan's Sporking: Billy And Me, Chapter 14

So hey, Chapter fourteen! Chapter fourteen starts at 48% ... we're half way through the book! Good news! Not so good news - we still have twice as much to go as we've already done. There's always a cloud to go with the silver lining.

It's a very surreal experience when, two weeks later, dresses of all shapes, colours and sizes get dropped off for me to try on, as well as shoes, bags, bangles, necklaces and earrings to complete the look.

I fail to see how this is surreal. You knew it was going to happen, you were given prep time. You've bought clothes before ... yes?

Paul has decided to come over and assist Billy and me in picking out the perfect ensemble.

I don't blame him, it's the image of his management company at stake as much as it is Billy's image. He has an investment in this going right. Hands up who thinks Sophie will use this against him in some way, some lack of faith in her choices?

I did try and suggest I'd be more comfortable trying on the dresses alone, but neither man took the hint.

Because for you, it's a pretty dress but for them, it's an investment in their image. Dolt.

The good thing is that Paul decided to bring his PA Samantha with him to help me get in and out of the dresses with ease.

What's a PA Samantha? I think we forgot a comma, again. And note how she says 'with ease'? That's probably going to come back and bite us in the ass.

I must admit that, although I wasn't keen on having her here (and seeing me in my underwear), she's been a godsend.

So a PA Samantha is another way of saying angel? Or did I miss something? And calm down Sophie, she's really not there to ogle your jubblies.

I'd have had no idea how to put on half of these outfits without her, with all their clasps, wraps and fancy lacing - in fact, even the weight of some of them has been a struggle for us both to deal with.

Uh-huh, 'with ease'. And since the majority are dresses, and therefore types of gowns, I think there's a limited way of getting into them. You'd really just need her assistance for doing up the back, no?

I'd never have coped.

Nothing new there, then.

Samantha hardly speaks as she changes me from one dress into another, and doesn't walk out with me when I show Billy and Paul what I'm wearing.

Because she's so ashamed that God sent her to do this idiot's bidding. I think He is really testing Samantha's angelic commitment, or something. And I don't blame her for staying in the bedroom, away from Sophie's spectacle.

Instead, she stays in the bedroom preparing the next outfit for me to try on and hauls the dresses around the room, which is no easy task for her tiny five-foot frame.

Because dresses often weigh the same as cement and are as cumbersome as furniture. And being five foot means you can't do jack.

"Bill, I think this is too much," says Paul, shaking his head at the heavily beaded cream dress I'm currently wearing, as he walks around me to take in the whole vision.

I'll say, Sophie clearly isn't the designer-dress type. And what up with calling yourself a vision? Surely 'as he walks around me to make sure the dress is demure and flattering enough for the cameras'?

At the start of the afternoon I felt self-conscious every time Paul walked around me like this, examining every detail with a frown on his face - but now, after trying on twenty or more dresses, I'm starting to get used to his scrutiny.

He's not checking out your ass, dolt. It's all about the image that comes across.

"But she looks perfect," exclaims Billy.

Really? I think Billy is the worst person to have in this scene of dress angst that will probably last half the chapter. Also, if he was exclaiming? He'd have a Goddamn exclamation mark. Giovanna fails at writing, she really does.

"Oh yes, she looks great, gorgeous even, but it's too attention-grabbing," Paul says, shaking his head at me and the dress. "People will assume that she is purposefully trying to steal the limelight from you and it could backfire on her. You don't want that."

I love Paul's logic, because it's so sound. But I guarantee later Sophie will be like 'and Paul didn't want me to get any attention, wah, wah, wah!'

I didn't realise picking a dress to attend some awards-show thingy would be so political - if a dress is too revealing or eye-catching then it's perceived that you're trying to pull a Liz Hurley and making it 'all about you'; if it's nothing special then you're unsupportive and a sap.

Did she just talk smack about Liz Hurley, who has her own career and was accused of upstaging her equally famous other half? Does she think that being papped twice is the equivalent of being an actress in her own right?

You've got to strike a balance and this is obviously why Paul felt we needed his insight.

Then why isn't she taking his constructive criticism, and explaining to Samantha what exactly was wrong with the dress and using a little slice of logic to go through the rack for something that counter-balances and thus cutting out the time and effort that is apparently being expounded here?

"But I want her to have the limelight. I want people to notice her," argues Billy.

Of course you do, Gary Stu.

"Actually," I say, butting in on their decision and reminding them that I too have an opinion. "I'm not so sure about this one. I like it, but I don't love it."

And of course Mary Sue has an opinion. Of course she has to seem modest and mature by wanting to step back from the limelight that others are trying to thrust her into. We should really play some Mary Sue Bingo with this book.

 

I count Sophie has having twelve so far. Or maybe badfic bingo?

 

I count nine, but I'll give a ten because of all the goddamn exclamation marks.

Guys, these are fanfic bingo cards. And collectively, Sophie scores 21 out of 49 (ignoring the free space) is this what I'm doing wrong?

"Well, in that case, take it off, my darling," says Billy with a theatrical finger snap in the air, becoming more like Franck Eggelhoffer from Father Of The Bride. "If you 'like' it you take it off and we never speak of it again. If you 'love' it, you wear it!"

And an obscure reference to someone we're not likely to remember! That's missing from both of those cards. That's taking the free space. 22 out of 50 ... and counting.

I laugh as I head back into the bedroom.

Because Billy was like, so funny.

"It's coming off!" I shout to the men as I turn around and let Samantha unhook me from it.

No one wants that mental image.

I peel myself out of that tight number and turn my attention to the rails of dresses lined up in front of me, which Samantha has kept in order so that we know how far we've got.

Anyone else getting an image of Sophie in a spangled banana suit there? And I hope Samantha's keeping track, because all but one of these dresses are getting returned and I would be pissed if I got sent some other designer's work instead of my own. I would set out to trash Billy for that shit.

I've already tried on at least half of them, but nothing has stood out to me yet.

Because you're not taking the advice you're getting and making it work for you. I'm surprised Paul is as calm as he is, still.

They're all gorgeous, of course they are, but I want to wear something that keeps me looking like me, and just turns me into a glammed-up version of myself.

Of course designers only do gorgeous dresses, never anything hideous! Maybe if I talk up designers and their abilities, I'll get some free shit! But only if it works with my body, and looks like sparkly jeans and plaid shirts made with gold thread. Or some shit.

All these dresses dazzle on their own, but I want to be the thing that dazzles.

On its own? That sounds like a line from twilight.

 

Quite simply, I don't want the dress to overpower me.

I'm now picturing Sophie and a dress cage fighting. And the dress wins.

Samantha pulls out the next one for me to try; a dark teal strapless dress.

We're getting a description. I think this might be *the* dress!

Figure hugging to the knees, it then flicks out dramatically with a trail.

It sounds like a nice cut, even if dark teal sounds vom.

And this is what the dress sounds like so far:

 

It's a real statement piece.

Or a bridesmaids dress ...

I squeeze into it and breathe in as Samantha does up the corset at the back, followed by a trail of tiny buttons leading from my shoulder blades to just below my bottom.

*confused* why are there two full-back fastenings?

I look at myself in the mirror, letting out a little sigh, finding the tight fit extremely over-exposing and restrictive.

Something about the description sounds almost conflicted. If she's over-exposed, that means a lot of flesh is showing, but restrictive clothing implies that the material covers her in a way that restricts her movement. I'm aware she's wearing a corset, and they are restrictive, but it still sounds like some weird type of oxymoron.

Even though I know I've lost weight lately, to me, my hips are my worst feature still and this dress accentuates them and draws attention to that problematic area.

Mary-Sue faux flaw! 23 out of 50! Almost halfway through those cards (and almost three-fifths through the Mary Sue one alone).

I notice that even Samantha is frowning at it slightly.

Since this is the first physical description of PA Samantha we've had, I have no idea what to make of that information. Is it mean to agree with Sophie, or does she always have a face like a smacked arse, or is there something else going on in PA Samantha's head that we're not privy to?

I decide to let the judges have a look anyway and so waddle out to Billy and Paul, feeling like a mermaid gone wrong.

Half-breed! 24!

I've got my tongue stuck out of the side of my mouth and am frowning heavily as I concentrate on how to walk in this difficult fishtail design - it's not easy.

That is one sexy face. I'd tap that.

The only way that seems to work is to flick my feet with each step, helping to move the heap of material lying on top of them.

You'd think she was wearing brick, not cloth.

It's too much effort for someone like me who likes her comfort.

*seethes*

 

Thank you, Zac. Seriously, I said last posting that I live in jeans and t-shirts, but my dad's a freemason and I've been to ladies nights. I love finding posh dresses to wear for those things, and being pampered beforehand, dolling myself up. The fun of those nights is the prepwork (and all the old guys at my dad's lodge buying the drinks in because of misogyny, so free drinks all night out of politeness to my lady parts, woo! Also, I get a present just because I was blessed with breasts.) so I don't buy into this whole 'woe is me for having to leave my creature comforts for one night!' garbage.

I can't help but laugh when I look up to see the men gawping at me.

Because she lives for being gawped at by men. Although, read it back. She's laughing at nothing with her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she stumbles along the hallway. Paul's inner monologue is probably going 'fuck, what is wrong with Billy for wanting to hit that?' and Billy's inner monologue is probably going 'um, I might have made a mistake ...'

They look as confused as I feel.

I think I nailed the inner monologues, then.

"Gosh, we definitely don't want that face on the red carpet," declares Paul with a mortified expression.

I'll say. Most women look demure and give small, closed-mouth smiles on the red carpet. They don't pull an expression like a panting dog.

 

 

She's not helping my statement in my last post, is she?

"Not my favourite ..." admits Billy, although he looks pained to say anything negative.

Yeah, that's why he's pained, because he wants to be positive. The pain is probably a) because you are a huge mistake or b) because you would be a whiny bitch if he wasn't at least attempting to be tactful right now.

"Yep, I agree. Awful!" I tut. "I don't want to have to worry about how to walk in the blooming thing. I'm going to be nervous enough as it is!"

Only one of you is talking about the dress ...

As I turn to leave I hear Paul say quietly to Billy, "Good job. Did you realize it's quite similar to the one Coco wore to the Oscars last year - when she looked sensational? It would be horrific if people compared the two."

I totally love Paul in this story. He's the only character with any depth or complexity, I swear.

Horrific for me, I think.

Yeah, that's what Paul meant.

 What normal girl would want to be compared to a model, after all?

Actually, I think most normal girls would love the comparison, because that phrasing makes it sound like a normal girl is being told she could be comparable as a model. That's the dream for a lot of girls.

I don't bother waiting for Billy's reply.

Who says romance is dead?

I just want to get out of this dress as quickly as possible.

This just got kinky!

I huff my way into the bedroom, ready to try on what feels like the millionth dress, to find that Samantha has the next one laid out on the floor, ready for me to step into.

*gobsmacked* she left a designer dress ON THE FLOOR?

It's what I would call vintage pink.

I googled that colour. It's what I know of as dusty rose.

Not so pink that it screams at you in a sickly sweet Barbie type of way, instantly making you look like a three-year-old - it's more subtle than that and less garish against my skin tone.

Just in case you can't imagine 'vintage pink' or dusty rose or whatever, we get her talking around the colour. This feels like the stiletto debacle all over again.

The actual design is floaty and free, with one piece of fabric going over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare.

This sounds like a Grecian style dress.

It's fitted at the waist - without the need of a corset - and then has multiple layers of fabric in various lengths making up the lower half of the dress, like waves, making it free and whimsical.

Hear that, the non-fashion savvy? Your dress normally can only fit at the waist with the help of a corset! Also, we've had a description of the shoulder strap and the skirt, but not the bodice part. this sounds like a skirt and strap, not a dress. This is a Jodie Marsh piece, surely?

It's stunning, elegant and feminine and makes me feel like a princess the moment I slide into it.

Hang on a second, we've had a detailed description of this dress ... as it's in a pile on the floor. What the actual hell?

Before walking out to show it off to Billy and the dragon that is Paul, Samantha stops me and hands me a pair of light grey shoes from a box beside her.

Uncalled for slight on Paul, there. And why does this dress specifically get a mention of shoes?

Surprisingly, they don't look too high, and, once she'd helped me into them, they're comfortable enough to make me think I might get away with staying upright in them.

*sighes* It IS the stiletto debacle again. Mid shoes. Say it with me. Mid shoes.

Looking at the complete ensemble in the mirror I can't help but smile at my reflection.

Have you noticed that of the last seven pages of this fourteen page chapter, it's been about her trying on dresses? Guess what? The next page is part of this scene, and then we get six pages of them talking about this God damn dress. I fucking called it.

This is the one.

You know, this might have more impact if we didn't have all that shit about the teal dress.

I won't have anyone else tell me differently.

*coughs*Mary Sue*coughs*

I feel extremely beautiful and special in it.

My brain wants to explode.

I quickly glance at Samantha, who's standing behind me, and notice she's also smiling.

 

Because when the Mary Sue approves, everyone approves.

Catching her eye, I give her a wink and a little giggle before walking out to Billy and Paul with pride.

... is she flirting with PA Samantha?

"That smile says it all!" beams Billy. "It's perfect!"

I really, really wish Billy would actually get laid. Or come out of the closet. Both, really.

"Nice," says Paul.

Which, given his extreme criticism thus far, means a hell of a lot. It's actually far more gushing than Billy, in comparison.

"Thank you," I say, not caring that he doesn't sound overly enthused. "I love it," I gush, unable to remove the grin from my face.

Oh, of course Paul's opinion gets overlooked, on the perception that it's not as enthusiastic as everyone else. Bitch.

"You 'love' it?" queries Billy, using his weird Franck accent again, causing me to laugh and nod my head. "You wear it!" he booms.

Ugh, this whole bit. The shitty reference, the gay accent, that he does something and it CAUSES her to do something, him booming in lower case - it's all there just to piss me off.

I can't help but fling my arms around in the air in excitement.

Pictured: Sophie finding 'the one' in dress form.

"And I must say, you have remarkable taste for someone who supposedly knows nothing about fashion - it would've been the most expensive of the bunch," Paul informs us. "It's designed by none other than Vera Wang."

Is Vera Wang that incredibly expensive in comparison to other designers? And I know she's an incredible designer, but her name, to me, is synonymous with wedding couture. I also googled for a pink, one shoulder, Vera Wang dress, and got white wedding dresses, or a short one that would look out of place at an awards ceremony.

Plus, isn't Sophie meant to be curvy? You don't change a Vera Wang to fit you, you change yourself to fit Vera.

"Ooooh! Good choice!" says Billy knowingly.

Of course it's knowingly, he wears a different Vera Wang every month!

I smile at them both, without a clue who this Vera lady is ... although I do love what she's done with this dress!

*blinks* *blinks a lot* ... of course you know who Vera is. You can reference Father Of The Bride and not know Vera? Fuck off already! I don't even care how old that film is, a bridal film will reference Vera. It's like the law. Like, how the virgin always lives in horror films, or Harry Potter will always survive. How Ron was contracted to say 'Bloody Hell, Harry' once per film. And especially if you mention the wedding planner in a wedding film, he is going to revere Vera. *grinds teeth*

One evening the following week, I'm at home cleaning out Billy's food cupboard of the various cans and jars that are past their use-by dates when the house phone rings.

He lives in America. He barely uses this house. He, until recently, hired someone to do this sort of thing for him. I don't understand how he has expired items in his cupboards. When does he even grocery shop? Three years ago?

I pick it up to find Paul on the other end.

And suddenly, you can now see other people at the end of a landline. Also, with the above criterion, why is Billy wasting money on a landline in a house he rarely uses? A mobile phone is far more pragmatic, and he can have a business and social handset. Also, Sophie has a mobile, so what is the need for the landline?

"Billy's at the theatre, I'm afraid," I say, trying my best to remain cheerful and friendly even though I know he's not my biggest fan.

Ugh, she is such a fake bitch.

"Yes, I know that," he says with a hint of annoyance. "I was calling to speak to you actually."

Of course Paul would know that, he manages Billy's career! He'd do a shoddy job if he couldn't keep up with that.

The fact that he has waited for Billy to be at work before calling is not a good sign.

Or maybe he's busy with his actual work, and now that Billy is in the theatre his schedule has cleared enough that he can fit this call in.

Neither is the fact that he is calling me when he never has done before.

Maybe because he forgot about you, because Billy appeared to move on, and it's only really since the mention of this awards ceremony that he's realised Billy is still with you, thereby removing a reason to call. But now there is this awards ceremony (albeit three months too late) and an agenda by which to call you.

"Oh, OK. What's up?"

She sounds so God damn ungrateful.

"Nothing ..."

He's probably thinking 'she's such a cranky bitch. I've had enough stress today, I don't need some jumped up fangirl that Billy's shagging giving me crap too. I need a drink.'

The silence that comes from the other end of the line unsettles me.

He's regrouping. And pouring a whisky, straight up.

While I wait for him to speak I start to peel the label off a jar of pickles, trying to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel.

Fun fact: peeling labels off of jars, bottles and cans is a sign of sexual frustration. It also makes me think of that Sheryl Crow song, which is even funnier because the guy's called Billy ('And Billy pulled the labels off his bottles of Bud') so ... it must be a lack-of-sex-with-Billy's thing.

"Is there something I can help you with, Paul?"

Such a Mary Sue line, but not often uttered in such spite. New low Sophie, well done.

"No."

*sighs* Paul, don't stoop to her level.

OK ...

How sarcastic was that? And also, thanks for two of my most hated bits of this fic in six characters.

"But I thought we could have a quick chat about next weekend."

And Paul is back! Hurrah!

"Oh?"

How can one word come across as so defensive?

"I had a call to say you can keep hold of your dress as a thank you for choosing to go with the Vera number," he says flatly.

He's probably pissed at your attitude, so this happy news seems a little anti-climatic. Like, yeah you little bitch, you get everything, all over again. Except manners, it seems. What did you chuck coffee over a guy for, again?

Although I'm delighted that I'm allowed to keep it, I've already been told by Paul and Billy that I can only wear the dress once - so, what am I meant to do with it?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Wear it to clean the house?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Do the weekly shop in it?

YOU'VE BEEN GIVEN A FREEBIE DRESS - A FREEBIE VERA AND YOU'RE GETTING A FUCKING ATTITUDE ABOUT IT?

Or perhaps float around in it on my walks around the park?

Go fuck yourself, Sophie May, you sarcastic entitlement whore.

Nope the reality is that it'll just sit in my wardrobe, sadly gathering dust.

Or you could wear it to museums, have a dinner party for Molly and your mother and wear it then ...

"That's great! Thanks for letting me know," I say, hoping to get off the phone as soon as possible.

Bitch. BITCH! 'Oh, thanks for the really expensive dress for free, thanks for hooking me up with a dress I've fallen in love with that flatters my figure, now fuck off of the phone line, I simply must know what's in Rochester's attic. I have no idea! Also, can I eat these out of date pickles without Billy finding out? Why am I calling them pickles and not gherkins? I'm not American, lolz!'

"I'm sure it'll make quite a classy addition to your current wardrobe," Paul adds.

True that, her black floral dress is going to be intimidated by Vera's presence.

Deciding to ignore the dig, I remain silent.

What dig? You've told him you don't normally wear designers, or follow fashion. He's seen your style a few times now. You've made it clear you wouldn't normally buy a dress like that. And that dress is Vera Fucking Wang.

I hate you, you judgemental, opinionated bitch.

"Also, you might want to wear your shoes around the house."

Paul's good on the advice front, despite her frostiness. I love Paul.

"To stop them from rubbing? Yes, I've already been doing that," I say politely.

'Chuh, Paul, I know these things, okay? I have the ovaries and everything!'

"And to practice being elegant."

Now, that was a dig. But Paul, you're better than that! Save yourself from stooping to her level, you'll through your back out!

Ahh ...

Did she just orgasm over that?

"Is there anything else, Paul?" I ask, my patience deserting me.

... she was patient to begin with?

"Yes. There is," he says, his voice failing to hide a sour tone. "I just wanted to tell you that there's nothing to worry about. It'll be busy, loud and manic there - but try and enjoy it. Billy should be with you every step of the way. But then, obviously, for him this is work. It's not all fun."

Great advice, and although he's upset at her rudeness, that's a good save from his. He's taking her thoughts and feelings into consideration and making sure she understands what's expected of her.

"I know that, Paul."

Hence the rudeness. Still.

"Good. It's an important night." He sighs before changing his tone to a seemingly warmer one. "Sophie, I know you have a tendency to feel self-conscious and to panic - you shouldn't worry. On Sunday all eyes will be on the A-listers around you. Not on you."

And this would be great advice if she truly hated attention. But she's a Mary Sue, and as such, she is meant to claim to not want attention, whilst being the centre of attention. So she still gets to be a bitch, because he's giving her what she says she wants, not what she actually wants.

"Right."

"Obviously, I would love to say that I'd be there if anything were to go wrong but, well, as you've taken my ticket - you're on your own."

That's what took so long on the phone with Billy then. Billy was like 'Paul, I want Sophie there!'And Paul went 'Billy, the tickets sold out ages ago. I've only got my ticket and your ticket.''I want you there too, Paul!''Well then, Billy, you have a choice to make. Sophie, or me.''I love you like a father ... but if Sophie comes she might actually fuck me. Paul, this is a hard one!''It's really not.''I think I'm going to go with the frigid bitch. Can she have your ticket?'

"I'm sorry Paul, but is there a problem here?"

Yes, and she's called Sophie May.

"Not at all, Sophie. But one thing ..."

"Yes?"

"Don't fuck up," he says, before hanging up.

*laughs* I love you, Paul.

Later that night when we're crawling into bed I decide to talk to Billy about the conversation.

Crawling like army men?

"Paul phoned tonight," I start.

Yep, she sure is starting ...

"Yeah, he said."

Because guess what, fuckface? Billy and Paul talk!

"He did?"

Was it a fucking secret?

"Yeah. Great news about the dress! I bet you're thrilled."

Ah, sweet, moronic Billy. How can you be so naive?

"I am ..." I turn to face him. "Billy, have you told him about my panic attacks?"

What did ... where did that come from?

"Not really - just about how we met," he says with a shrug.

Which makes sense. 'So Billy, this Sophie girl ... I thought she was just for Opening Night. Where did you meet her?''In her village, when I was doing that book film thing? She worked at the only coffee shop in town I could go in without being screamed at. It's funny, she almost passed out when we first met, but she didn't have a clue who I was! Can you imagine?'

"Why did you tell him that?"

Because it's kind of a sweet story when told the right way, you Harpy.

"Why shouldn't I? He's my manager. I tell him everything."

Yeah, go Billy, defend your manager! Bro's before Ho's!

"But this isn't your thing to tell, Billy. It's personal to me. I really don't want Paul knowing that sort of thing about me."

Their cute-meet is personal to her? It might mean something to him too, bitch!

Billy's top lip curls up under his nose, clearly confused.

That's a sneer, my dear. He's disgusted with your behaviour towards his manager. With good reason.

"I don't understand what your problem is with Paul. He's nothing but nice about you. Why are you so off about him?"

*claps* *stands up* *claps above her head* *whoops*

"I'm not!"

FUCKING LIAR!

"You are. Sophie, you have to understand how important Paul is to me."

She's not going to. Paul is her competition to your pants, here.

"I do."

She doesn't.

"Paul phoned to check you were OK and comfortable with the plans for the weekend - that's the kind of decent guy he is."

*another standing ovation* *wipes tear* beautiful, absolutely beautiful!

No, he didn't, I think to myself. It seems that Paul's main purpose was to make me aware of what he knows and to rile me enough so that I would say something to Billy - ultimately causing friction between us.

Bitch, that's what I think you're attempting to do to Billy and Paul, personally. What exactly would Paul gain by doing that?

How clever.

It's almost like something you cooked up, it's so clever!

"I was just shocked he knew," I say, trying to alleviate the tension between us.

No, you weren't. You were pissed off that you weren't in control.

"To be honest, Sophie, I don't even know much about your panic attacks - only what I saw when we first met. Every time I ask you about them you clam up."

*cheers again* Oh, by the way Sophie, this is a beautiful segue to start explaining, talking about your dad, but asking for Billy's discretion.

"I don't like talking about them."

Because we can't possibly reveal this sort of information halfway through the book!

"Fine," he says with a huff as he rolls over, facing away from me.

I'd do the same thing, Billy. Or sleep on the couch, that could work too.

"Billy!"

'How dare you stop giving me attention, and how dare you act hurt when I won't share information about myself with you when you're clearly stumped as to how to proceed?'

"It's fine, Soph - but just know that all any of us want to do is be there for you. We love you."

Because Mary Sue's are there to be loved. But Billy's right, everyone's making an incredible effort with her - for Billy - and she's throwing it back at him. She is doing nothing for the perception of women.

"I know."

Because of course Sue's get love! They can't exist in a world without it!

There is absolutely no way that I want to open up now with this horrible atmosphere surrounding us. I curl up under the covers and wonder how the conversation spiralled out of control so quickly.

My guess is, it spiralled like that because you're a mega bitch.

 

Until next time, guys. I think it's the awards ceremony itself, so we're either going three months back in time, or nine months forward. Although Paul said Sunday, so who knows when the fuck we are in this book.