The Diary Of Poppy Parker

By lesley jones

Long before Bridget Jones, there was  Poppy Parker, an ordinary, insecure woman in her thirties. She was dumped unceremoniously four years ago by the love of her life and now raises her son alone. Poppy knows that her life would be perfect if she were a size 8 with a flat bottom, a large ample bosom and a man who wanted more than a quick fumble on top of the photocopier. Enter the world according to Ms Parker and chart her progress as she strives to become a 'respectable mother'. This, however, is impossible as Poppy has mastered the art of self-doubt in everything. If only she could be her mother's favourite, her bosses favourite. She even doubts she is her son's favourite parent even though he has never met his father. Poppy yearns to wake up one morning to find she has transformed into her thinner prettier sister. Will all be perfect when her son's father returns in her life? Will she finally be allowed to write 'proper' news stories at work? Will her neighbour really turn out to be a serial killer? The potential for Poppy to find happiness has always been there- it's her fault if she never realises it. This book has been compared to Bridget Jones Diary. A hilarious and a heartwarming tale of relationships and love that is perfect for lovers of romantic comedy and chick lit novels by Sophie Kinsella. Full of hysterically embarrassing moments. You will remember PoppyParker long after you have finished reading this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lesley Jones
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386730347

Book preview

Chapter One

January 1st

Dear Journal, Poppy here. Aged 32. Yes, I know Mother says I'm 34 but she hasn't been herself since she gave up wheat products. Besides, if I'm 34, how the hell can she be 38? She's been 38 years old for the past 20 years. It was a habit she got into after the divorce to attract men and still thinks she can get away with it. I have curly, natural red hair - Poppy why are you lying to your own journal? There's no need to lie, no-one is ever going to see it. Start as you mean to go on, with total honesty. So the colour isn't natural but the curl is. I was born with natural, mousy brown hair and at the age of 15, I dipped my toe in the world of wash in wash out colour.  I moved on to semi-permanent colour two years later, then threw caution to the wind and became a permanent redhead at the age of 21 and never looked back. I own a huge chest that arrived around the same time as Joey. It certainly draws unwanted attention especially from builders, well workmen in general, so I make a conscious effort to stay clear of clingy turtlenecks. I suppose people would class me as overweight, a bit podgy my Dad says, but I know he means grossly obese. I wish I could be thin but I need my daily fix of dairy fudge, more than I need to be a size zero. I am a size 14 in jeans if they are made from a stretchy material and a size 18 in tops to accommodate my ever increasing chest. I try to shop in Dorothy Perkins, as a size 18 is plentiful and the assistants don't laugh when you go to pay. Top Shop is a definite no-no. If I'm feeling especially depressed about my flab, I shop in Evans, where I am classed as a stick insect. My size doesn’t really bother me. I believe I'm allowed to be a little out of shape. I have just given birth to Joey. Joey is now three, my little soldier, my life.

I work for the local rag in town, The Brighurst Tribune. I am not a journalist yet but in my opinion, I deserve to be. I have submitted enough gossip to Jerry the editor, but he keeps harping on about slander and lawsuits. No, I work on the classified advert section. Births, deaths and marriages, plus if you need to offload any rubbish from your attic, I'm ya gal. I do badger Jerry on a daily basis to allow me to write my own news stories, and I think I'm on the verge of breaking him.

So, let me tell you a little about myself. Ms Poppy Parker, that's right Ms, not Miss. An unmarried, single mum, go on, slap my bum for the shame of it. Single mums, the scum of the earth, as we are known to some members of society. Unlike single Dads who are the heroes of society. I know Joey would hate being branded the son of a spinster, so I've mastered saying 'Ms' in a certain way that people are not quite sure if I've said Ms or Mrs, but they don't like to pry any further. All my bills are under Mrs P. Parker (stops the postman getting any funny ideas about me, I don't think it's illegal is it?) My bank account, however, is under Ms. because I think it would be a serious offence to lie to banks. Well, they deal with money, don't they? Since the Queen's face is on money, I could be charged with perjury. Perjury? No, I think that's something else, anyway it's a serious offence. I started calling myself Ms. because I came to the decision that referring to yourself as Miss over the age of 25 was just being silly. I am not 21 anymore and needed to make the transition from young, go-getting chick with a varied and regular sex life to sad, old celibate. There has been no man in my life since Joey was born. I did consider it once, but that very night, I had a dreadful dream that Joey caught me in bed with the man from the Flash advert then stabbed me repeatedly in the neck with a potato peeler, so it has put me right off even looking for a man. For the past three years, I haven’t even thought about sex, and I'll be honest with you, from past experience with men, I don't think I'm missing out on much. I did have a drunken episode about two years ago at someone's leaving party. He caught me photocopying my left boob and so I thought he deserved a quick fumble to keep him quiet. Then, I realised it was his leaving do so it was pointless really. Well, it's now 6am so I'd better get on, loads to do today. Pulling down the Xmas trimmings, stuffing the turkey with a ton of Paxo. Yes, that's right 6am on New Years Day - I know what your thinking. Sad old Ms Parker writing in her sad, old diary on New Years Day when she should still be in bed nursing a hangover. Well, it may be sad, but in my defence, the diary is leather bound.  It was an Xmas present from my younger sister Tori - the planned pretty one with a husband. My older sister Libby is the lesbian who lives away, and then there's me, the one with the child and no man. Can I just add that these labels are not chosen, but thrust on us by Mother, Pammie. Please note this is life or death information DO NOT IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCES CALL HER PAM OR PAMELA, or she'll slash your throat with her tongue. It's the name she's used since Dad left her 20 years ago. Overnight she developed a huge cleavage and legs and became 'Pammie' and over the years Pammie and Tori are gradually morphing into the same person. Like the Stepford Wives. They indulge in various cosmetic surgery procedures when Tori’s husband receives his latest sales commission. I don’t think there is anything left on their faces and bodies that they were born with, so I look nothing like them. 

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January 2nd

Back in work tomorrow, and since Joey doesn’t start the nursery for another few days, I phoned my friend Carly to ask if she would look after him. She is a fantastic support to me. Her son is in the same class as Joey and is always on hand if I am ever stuck. Carly is a stay at home mum of one, whose husband provides a three bedroomed detached house, a four-wheeled drive, and numerous credit cards for her to buy pointless things with.  I, on the other hand, live in a shoebox filled with laminate flooring, pine furniture and self-help books. Carly is actually a professional shopper and can spend 6 hours in Ikea and leave with one cushion cover and a scented candle. Now that's shopping! Carly's life is planned out and perfect - everything in its place. Carly doesn’t even have a messy drawer in her kitchen - how amazing is that? All Nik naks are placed in gingham baskets around the kitchen. Utter perfection. Just think, if I had married someone like Carly's husband I would now have pretty gingham baskets. I stead I have five messy drawers and an overflowing messy cupboard that attacks me every time I dare to open it. I didn't plan my life out like Carly, that is the problem. She didn't marry for love but for a health plan, pension plan and security. I fell in bed with Pancake after half a lager and lime and the promise of a camping trip to Tenby. I had a problem with willpower even then, and I thought that if I refused him sex after he had gone to the expense on hiring a four berth tent, I would have come across as rude and ungrateful. His name isn’t actually Pancake but that's what I call him. Pancake is a complete tosser (hence the name) and Joey's sperm donor. He disappeared into the abyss when Joey was an embryo, and luckily hasn't returned. Carly did surprise me a few months ago, however, when she confessed she was unhappy in her marriage. Apparently, he works late all the time, and never shows her affection. I can't see where the problem is with that though. A man provides a home and money then buggers off for you to enjoy it in peace, that sounds fabulous to me. Plus, I've seen holiday photos of her husband, he has more hair on his back than his head so I would be breathing a sigh of relief. I am trying to lose half a stone by tomorrow because Pammie told me I had put on half a stone since Xmas, then turned the knife further by comparing me to stick insect Tori. Pammie says that overeating is the first sign of depression. I have to admit that seeing Tori on Boxing Day wearing her knee-length designer boots and denim shorts did make me depressed. What do Pammie and Tori know about flab anyway? They have never been fat and I truly believe they could start a fire if their shoulders were to rub together at speed.

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January 3rd

Back in work today. Didn't manage to lose that weight, even though I'd done 100 sit-ups and eaten no food. I had to wear my maternity skirt over my '4 peg' knickers. My 4 peg knickers usually work to keep every bit of flab under control, but today, not even they could save me. Not that anyone takes any notice of what I look like anyway. I am convinced I could turn up to work dressed as a man, with a false beard, and still be ignored. Knowing my luck they would promote 'him' to head reporter and I would have to spend the rest of my working life answering to name of Bob and using the urinals. The Brighurst Tribune was just as dull as when I left before Xmas. Although the day went quite quickly. luckily for me, quite a few people had died over the holiday. Also, we had the usual post-Xmas classifieds. They were either selling Xmas presents they didn't like or getting rid of crappy household items, to pay for more crappy household items in the sales. Even Moody Maxine smiled at me today, for the first time in two years. It could have been wind though as she was eating a bag of salt and vinegar crisps at the time, but I would like to think I am finally making a breakthrough with her. Moody Maxine is a trainee reporter, and Jerry the Editors niece. She has a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp and hates everyone and everything. Top of her list of hateful creatures is me. You see, she has a very strong character and I am very wary of her. My best friend Emma says I should stand up for myself more, but I find confrontation so hard. Emma has never had trouble with confrontation, but she is thin and pretty, so confrontation comes naturally to her. I have wondered whether Jerry has told Moody about my article writing, and she feels threatened by me (yeah right!) Either way, she has some serious mental issues which I hope and pray, she never feels the need to share with me. I have enough issues of my own.

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January 5th

Sorry, I didn't write anything yesterday, but it was Joey's first day back in the nursery, and I became a little emotional as usual. I have always had issues letting him go to nursery. When he first started I used to pop in and see him every few hours until his teacher told me to stay away. Apparently, I was distressing him, because every time he saw me, he thought I was coming to take him home. I did wonder why Joey would get distressed if he thought he wasn't going home if, as the teacher said, he was having a great time. Obviously, he wasn't enjoying school, so I set up a new plan to carry out my surveillance. A park which overlooked the yard of the school. I'd sit there on my lunchtimes every day to check on Joey. After a few weeks, I concluded that Joey wasn't being bullied and had plenty of friends so I stopped. Still, I find his first day always stressful so I take a handful of Kalms just to take the edge off the hysteria. I still couldn't speak without crying so I used the sign language I have developed to give his teacher instructions. I have to say, the teacher is getting to grips with it quite well now, fair play to her. She even took the camera without the usual argument and promised she would take random snaps of him throughout the day so I could check he was happy. I will take the photos to one of those hour developing places once I've picked him up. If I see just a hint of sadness on Joey's face, he will stay home tomorrow. Pammie, of course, doesn’t approve. She called me soft, of all things. Pammie has the art of keeping silent on the phone so I feel I have to fill the silences with news I don't want her to know about. N.B. Make note when Pammie rings, do not divulge any news, just answer yes or no to her questions, however long her silences. Pammie, of course, would think I was soft since she would drag me to school no matter how ill I was. I remember being bullied once and she took the bully's side, reminding me that of course I would be bullied if I 'aggravated people". Got into trouble at work when Jerry found out I had taken my toilet break at the park overlooking Joey's school. I think Moody told on me. He called me into his office and gave me a right dressing down on the seriousness of my actions, and how it was unprofessional to leave my desk without permission. I did try to push one of my articles on Christmas poverty into his 'to do' tray but he caught me and threw it into his bin. Bastard.

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January 6th

Joey looked happy in his photos yesterday, so he went to school today. He's met two new friends (both girls by the way, but I feel a lesson in safe sex is not needed as yet).  I must introduce myself to their Mums, as I feel it is important to know what sorts of backgrounds your son's friends come from. This usually means I have to bump 'accidentally' in the schoolyard and put them in such an awkward position, they feel they have no choice but to invite me around. Once there, I can investigate what the domestic set up is, and more importantly, find out if their child has any toy that Joey might need. Before I have any new child in my home I must be sure that Joey will not feel let down by my lack of knowledge in the toy department. Work was the same as always, although the deaths have died down (pardon the pun). Birthdays are on the up, mostly among 50-year-olds. I bet they are thanking their families for advertising the fact they have reached the big 50. Moody got herself into a sticky situation with Jerry when an article she wrote on reducing your heating bills included a helpline number which turned out to be a gay dateline. The office was full of people complaining about it. You should have seen her face trying to explain that one. Jerry said she will have to write an apology ready for publication into this weeks' edition. By the way, it wasn't a smile on her face the other day, it was wind. I could hear her telling some old dear that she is on this bran diet. Every time she moves lately, she makes a noise like a whoopee cushion, and the smell is disgusting. I have had to sit with the window open all day.

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January 7th

My day started smoothly enough. Dropped Joey off at school as normal, bumped into his new friend's mother as planned. I didn't even have to force her to invite me round for a coffee though, she just asked me. So we arranged that I would go around after I had collected Joey. Her name is Donna and is also a single mother, which was nice, as I felt we shared something special. But the similarities ended there. I just wished I had been warned about Donna before I entered her flat. To be honest, I felt quite empowered when I first met her. She was at least a size 20 and just by looking around her flat, I could tell instantly, that homemaker was way down on her list of priorities. At the door to greet us, was her beloved Rottweiler, Rory, who thrust his nose into my crotch, and led me backwards onto the threadbare sofa, to land on something sticky. Rory then stared at me while I tried to sip the dirty mug of dishwater called coffee, whilst avoiding the floating cigarette ash. I tried to break the silence by asking Donna what she did for a living. She looked at me with such disgust, you could have sworn I had stripped naked and performed star jumps. Apparently, Donna hasn't time for work as she has to take her medication four times a day, and then goes to bed. Although her knowledge of This Morning and Jeremy Kyle were second to none. Finally, Joey and his friend had finished their game, and Joey asked if he could go home. I could have cried with relief. Donna asked if we wanted to stay for dinner, as she could always chuck in another box of microchips, but I lied and said I had prepared dinner earlier. Thankfully, Joey backed me up. Rory, always the gracious host, pushed his nose up my bottom and led me to the door. Donna said maybe she could pop around to my home for a 'catch up'. I said of course and handed her a bogus mobile number. Quick thinking Poppy that could have been a tricky situation. See, I can be clever and cunning when the time calls for it. NB Stop talking to yourself Poppy it is quite unnerving.

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January 8th

I have to apologise in advance for this pathetic entry. God, I sound like Pancake. Anyway, this is going to be short because Joey and I have come down with the most horrendous illness. There can only be two culprits in all of this. Moody's flatulence, because I had to spend all day with the window open in Winter, or some tropical disease from Donna's hell pit.  Every bone and muscle in my body feel as if they are being tortured, and the only plus I can see from all of this pain at the moment, is that I must have lost half my body weight down the toilet. Joey is, presently performing a scene from the Exorcist so Goodbye, and I hope I am here tomorrow to see another day.

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