(diaryland) June 1, 2001 - 8:26 p.m.

So, I forgot to bring home the diary entry about dreaming about top hats again.

Diane is in the lounge room watching a TV show about ABBA and she is singing along vigorously and passionately to Fernando. I can feel her swaying. I know she is swaying.

She likes anything that's old.

She bought the new Bee Gees single, completely ignoring that it's a load of shit, simply because they're old. She will watch obscure forgotten shitty bands on Sounds of the Sixties who have been forgotten for a good reason, the Linkin Parks of their generation, and rave about how great they were and pretend that she knows exactly who they are, simply because they are old. Ooh, yes, yes. I know that band. They were great.

She gets crushes on older guys, simply because they are old.

She tries very hard to act like some kind of baby boomer but she doesn't realise she acts just like a 22-year-old. She is obsessed with the fact that she might be Scottish or something. OK, darling. You can be as Scottish as you want to be. Mm-hm. Yes. OK. Bye-bye.

She's really nice, though.