Fan site for the BBC miniseries North & South, starring Richard Armitage. Diary of a North and South addict. Humor.
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Red Queen, a treasured member of C19, wrote these whimsical diary entries, which follow her struggles as a North and South addict. Originally posted on C19, republished here with permission.
Diary of an Addict by Red Queen
13 January 2005 12:32
0700: Alarm goes off. First thought of the day definitely not about a handsome cotton mill owner nor what it might be like to kiss said HCMO awake. No indeed: chez Red Queen there is a highly disciplined regime of breakfast eating, teeth cleaning and general getting ready for work.
0830-0930: Journey to work on train. Unfavourable comparisons made between train journeys taken by highly fortunate young women named Margaret and train journeys taken by self. When alighting from train, have a quick peek around platform in case there are any HCMOs lurking. There aren't. Complete journey to work on foot wondering if investing in frisbee style hat might improve chances of meeting HCMO. Decide not.
0930-1300: oh God - work is here. Spend morning exuding calm efficiency and effortless concentration. Thoughts of HCMO do not break concentration nor do visits to a messageboard cause strange squeaks of delight and/or laughter which have to be concealed from increasingly bemused colleagues.
1300-1400: lunch with friend. Actually manage not to think about HCMO for a while. Although when friend asks why she's been having difficulty reaching me by telephone in the evening, feign ignorance. Cannot face dear friend's look of incredulity when she hears scale of problem.
1400-1730: see entry for 0930-1300. Have a little daydream in lift on way to meeting. Daydream-inspired smile scares two people who join me in lift on second floor.
1730-1830: train journey home. Still no sign of HCMO on platform. Or train.
1830-1930: visit supermarket for provisions. Stand at fruit display noticing how colourful it all is. Have surreptitious look around to see if a fellow addict might be lurking but can only see people with lives going about their business and avoiding mad woman who is smiling at fruit.
1930-2300: get home and do all chores on 'To Do' list. Yeah right. Avoid chores. Check TV pages of newspaper. Doesn't appear to be much on. Ho hum. Two videotapes on shelf miraculously fly into hand. Orgy of play and rewind commences. Phone rings and rings a bit more. Probably just someone trying to sell car insurance. Phone still ringing. Pick up: it is a friend. "You're hard to get hold of these days" he says. Definitely not telling him why.
2300: return to duvet. Think pure thoughts. Fall asleep. Smiling.
Diary of An Addict (Part 2)
17 Jan 2005 15:42
0700: Alarm goes off. I'm not thinking about the Handsome Cotton Mill Owner (HCMO) again. Yesterday he was asleep (being a fantasy, he's untroubled by my alarm) but today he's awake, sleepily smiling at me in an unhelpful manner. No! This is not happening. Today I am going to visit real friends who really know me and really love me (anyway). Am not going to make myself ridiculously late by …
0730: Aaaaahh, I'm going to be ridiculously late.
0845: Settle flustered self, luggage, newspaper, coffee, doughnut and frisbee hat on train. OK, I lied about the hat but I'm an N&S addict on a train so I'm under considerable psychic stress.
0846: Open newspaper.
0846 and a half: Stare out of window. Compose rhetorical question (challenging intellectual exercise, most certainly not daydream). Suppose Red Queen replaced MH in last scene of N&S: is it realistic to suppose that RQ would unglue herself from HCMO any time soon and start worrying about left luggage?
0915: Having studied problem from every rhetorical vantagepoint, decide unglueing option totally unfeasible. Luggage would have to take its chances in Lost Property Office.
0916: Realise train has left original station platform and is now at first stop. Pesky rhetorical questions: how they take up a girl's time. Also realise that although train is busy, no-one has sat next to or opposite me. Strange. Glance out of window again. Catch sight of spaced out looking woman with glazed eyes and inane smile. Drugs probably. Tragic really. Suddenly realise am staring at own reflection.
1100: Arrive at destination. Fall into reassuring embrace of friend and her three darling children.
1245: Sitting in friend's kitchen. Having lovely time. Thoughts untroubled by HCMO. Idly leaf through newspaper. Comment on horror of tsunami, venality of politicians, ill-advised behaviour by junior members of Royal Family. Arrive at TV pages. "Not much on is there?" I muse. Friend agrees. Pause. And I can't help myself. I just have to say it. "I think the last decent thing on TV was N&S." Well, she's playing it very cool I must say. We spend the next five minutes agreeing that it was a good adaptation and making admiring remarks about set design, costumes, sound effects, lighting. Yes, the end credits were very good. Very comprehensive. I crack first: "But what did you think about HIM?!!" I squeak. She toys with the idea of pretending that I'm referring to Third Millworker From The Left in Episode 2 but the Cult of the HCMO is too much for her. I won't trouble you with the rest of our conversation: you know the drill!
1330: Friend's husband arrives home. Unsupervised children running riot, visitor luggage causing tripping hazard in hallway, lunch unthought of, much less cooked. "Hello trouble" he says to me "What have you been up to?" Friend and self exchange guilty smiles. He's a dear and lovely man but the secrets of the sisterhood are sometimes best kept from the sane and hungry.
Diary of An Addict (Part 3)
19 Jan 2005 12:19
Some ungodly hour of Sunday morning: for once the Handsome Cotton Mill Owner (HCMO) is not first in my thoughts as the day (quite literally) dawns. He has been pipped to the post by the four-year-old son of the friends I'm staying with. Four-year-old is claiming my attention by prising open slumbering eyelids (mine not his) and asking if Auntie Red Queen would like to read a story. Auntie Red Queen would not like to read a story. Auntie Red Queen would like to go back to sleep. Auntie Red Queen explains this to child. Blond moppet's grasp of spoken English obviously substandard (must speak to friends about this) because he climbs onto bed, book in hand.
Two minutes later: you would think that in my semi-conscious state, contending as I am with a four year old and his reading matter, all thoughts of the HCMO would be far far away. But my addiction is profound and the ways of the HCMO are many and determined. Suddenly another small, cute blond boy reading from a book pops into my mind - as of course does the HCMO who takes an interest in him. I stretch out a sleepy hand for today's book of choice and - oh, this is hopeless - it is about that perennial favourite of childhood literature: the comical animal (or should that be an-i-mal?). Experience heart-melting vision of HCMO in his good-with-children mode. Cross-eyed with desire and dismay at lack of mental self-discipline, I turn over two pages of Wibbly Pig at once (hope HCMO wasn't expecting Plato at this hour of the morning) and am soundly reprimanded for this error by blond moppet who is reassuringly real. And loud.
More reasonable hour of Sunday morning: father of blond moppet hears me reading aloud the comical animal story and sticks his head round the door to say 'good morning'. If you knew, dear reader, how I longed to look up, nod my head towards the little lad sitting next to me, and say: "He's not had his breakfast this morning he's been telling me." you would weep/laugh/call the police. Happily I manage to restrain myself. I wish my friend 'good morning', counterfeit the smile of a wholly sane person and accept his very kind offer of cup of tea.
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