having a laugh at my expense. He did work experience for me once. He used to make my coffee. Open my bloody post for me. And there he is asking me to pitch him features ideas. I should’ve . . . I should’ve—’
Fran, highly amused by my anger, grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the Teen Scene office.
bag
It’s midday and I’m at my desk. Jenny has been in meetings all morning and Fran’s now out of the office overseeing a reader photo-shoot with the fashion editor at a studio in Fulham. Together they’re making over a bunch of girls to look like their favourite female pop stars. Even though I have loads of work to do by the end of the day – some singles reviews and a telephone interview with a new Irish boy band to write up – I decide to take a break with a little light reading from my Love Doctor postbag.
According to Fran, I’m officially getting more post than ‘Ask Adam’ ever had. I grab a handful of letters from the pile I’ve been sorting through and begin to read:
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
Why is it that, given a choice between a big-chested but stupid girl with the personality of a wet envelope and a flat-chested but really funny girl, boys always without fail pick the stupid girl with the big boobs? I only ask because there’s this guy at school who I really like and who I know likes me but rather than going out with me he’s decided he only wants to be friends and has started dating a girl with a big chest who laughs like a hyena.
A confused Janet Jackson fan (14), Aberdeen
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
My dad caught me and my boyfriend lying on my bed kissing and he went ballistic. The thing is my dad didn’t even know this boy was my boyfriend because I’d told him that we were just friends. Now he says that I’m grounded for ‘the foreseeable future’, he’s banned me from using the phone and on top of all that he says I’m not allowed to have anything to do with my boyfriend any more. I’m so upset and this situation is driving me crazy. What can I do to make him see that I’m not in the wrong?
A desperate Dawson’s Creek fan (16), Cheltenham
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
My boyfriend keeps treating me like I’m the Invisible Girl all the time. Whenever we’re on our own he’s as sweet as anything but the moment we’re out in public he barely talks to me and refuses even to hold my hand. All my friends say I should dump him but they don’t know how lovely he is when we’re on our own. Why is he acting like this and what can I do to make him stop?
Anonymous (15), Liverpool
I flick through another pile of letters. Some are written in felt-tip pen, others thick black marker pen, glitter pen on black paper and in some the ink has been smudged by the tears of the author. Their topics cover everything from unrequited love and dumping techniques to love bites and hand holding. I decide to read one final letter before getting down to work again. It’s in a bright yellow envelope and inside are three pages of light blue paper accompanied by two photographs. The handwriting is neat but unmistakably that of a teenage girl.
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
It’s been a couple of weeks since your first column in Teen Scene and I’ve been meaning to write to you for ever (in more ways than one). I know you may think this is a bit strange but I’ve got a really strong feeling that you might know my mum. Her name is Caitlin O’Connell. You met her in Corfu in a nightclub, in a place called Benitses on 11 August 1986 and spent the night with her. Mum said that if things had been different (that she didn’t live in Dublin and you didn’t live in London) the two of you might have tried to make a go of it and seen each other after the holiday. All this should be old news to you.
What you don’t know is that Mum got pregnant with me. My name is Nicola O’Connell, and I’m thirteen (I turn fourteen in four months’ time). Anyway, if you’re slow on the uptake this all means you’re my
Fran, highly amused by my anger, grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the Teen Scene office.
bag
It’s midday and I’m at my desk. Jenny has been in meetings all morning and Fran’s now out of the office overseeing a reader photo-shoot with the fashion editor at a studio in Fulham. Together they’re making over a bunch of girls to look like their favourite female pop stars. Even though I have loads of work to do by the end of the day – some singles reviews and a telephone interview with a new Irish boy band to write up – I decide to take a break with a little light reading from my Love Doctor postbag.
According to Fran, I’m officially getting more post than ‘Ask Adam’ ever had. I grab a handful of letters from the pile I’ve been sorting through and begin to read:
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
Why is it that, given a choice between a big-chested but stupid girl with the personality of a wet envelope and a flat-chested but really funny girl, boys always without fail pick the stupid girl with the big boobs? I only ask because there’s this guy at school who I really like and who I know likes me but rather than going out with me he’s decided he only wants to be friends and has started dating a girl with a big chest who laughs like a hyena.
A confused Janet Jackson fan (14), Aberdeen
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
My dad caught me and my boyfriend lying on my bed kissing and he went ballistic. The thing is my dad didn’t even know this boy was my boyfriend because I’d told him that we were just friends. Now he says that I’m grounded for ‘the foreseeable future’, he’s banned me from using the phone and on top of all that he says I’m not allowed to have anything to do with my boyfriend any more. I’m so upset and this situation is driving me crazy. What can I do to make him see that I’m not in the wrong?
A desperate Dawson’s Creek fan (16), Cheltenham
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
My boyfriend keeps treating me like I’m the Invisible Girl all the time. Whenever we’re on our own he’s as sweet as anything but the moment we’re out in public he barely talks to me and refuses even to hold my hand. All my friends say I should dump him but they don’t know how lovely he is when we’re on our own. Why is he acting like this and what can I do to make him stop?
Anonymous (15), Liverpool
I flick through another pile of letters. Some are written in felt-tip pen, others thick black marker pen, glitter pen on black paper and in some the ink has been smudged by the tears of the author. Their topics cover everything from unrequited love and dumping techniques to love bites and hand holding. I decide to read one final letter before getting down to work again. It’s in a bright yellow envelope and inside are three pages of light blue paper accompanied by two photographs. The handwriting is neat but unmistakably that of a teenage girl.
Dear Love Doctor Dave,
It’s been a couple of weeks since your first column in Teen Scene and I’ve been meaning to write to you for ever (in more ways than one). I know you may think this is a bit strange but I’ve got a really strong feeling that you might know my mum. Her name is Caitlin O’Connell. You met her in Corfu in a nightclub, in a place called Benitses on 11 August 1986 and spent the night with her. Mum said that if things had been different (that she didn’t live in Dublin and you didn’t live in London) the two of you might have tried to make a go of it and seen each other after the holiday. All this should be old news to you.
What you don’t know is that Mum got pregnant with me. My name is Nicola O’Connell, and I’m thirteen (I turn fourteen in four months’ time). Anyway, if you’re slow on the uptake this all means you’re my
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