Dear Diary…
It can be deeply tedious being Malala Yousafzai
The writer is editorial consultant at The Express Tribune, news junkie, bibliophile, cat lover and occasional cyclist
29th March 2018. Dead of night landed in Isloo. Got a bit shaky but dad says no worries as the last thing they want is me getting shot, again, coming down the steps of the plane. Whisked off to smart hotel, wash and brush up and make sure of smart shoes and nice dupattas for the interviews in the morning. Mum says she has got an offer to do a cover for Indian ‘Vogue’. Says she is thinking about it. Coffee here is rubbish.
All got a bit weepy with the hello-hi stuff which will get shredded by my dedicated band of haters as being phony or fake in some way. Got seriously hacked off by some dingbat who claims to be representing private schools who has organised an ‘I am not Malala’ day and said teachers are to wear black armbands and condemn me and all that I do. Fine.
My spook-type handlers were not too happy about this and wanted to administer a dose of lead therapy to Mr Dingbatium but I told them to hold off till I was safely back among the dreaming spires. Cheeky monkey. Coffee still rubbish.
30th March 2018. Well that was all very jolly apart from having to say the same thing a gazillion times and look like I am saying it for the first time. It can be deeply tedious being Malala Yousafzai. That cut-and-paste PM they have in my beloved homeland these days at least seemed glad to see me, but security was as tight as a cat’s thingamajig and the hoped-for walkabout got squashed by the men with bulgy armpits. Never mind. Just wait till I am back here and in charge five years from now I’ll be hanging a few of these nasty bits of work out to dry. Would kill for a decent cup of coffee. I mean seriously.
Mum has given the OK to Vogue. Not that we need the money as our fellow conspirators take care of all that but it looks good for the liberated woman image.
31st March 2018. Yay!!! It is off to Swat and Mingora and seeing the old house. Good day apart from having to put up with some hamster-faced dogsbody that claimed she was a VIP or something and insisted on holding Mum’s hand every time a camera got pointed in our direction. Mum told her about ‘Vogue’. What’s ‘Vogue’?, she asked. Mum gave her the drop-dead look and dad did the eye-roll to end all eye-rolls. Brothers did the muffled sniggers thing.
Then it was off to the old house that I am contractually obliged to bang on about as if it was Nirvana. Ye gods and little fairies what a dump. My digs in Oxford might be cold and a bit damp but I can pop across the road for coffee and a croissant that won’t poison me. And the place in Brum at least has central heating and I don’t need a ladder to climb over the back wall and the chances of getting a bullet in the brain are considerably reduced — so all in all it’s Birmingham and Oxford any day and I’ll just ignore dad blathering on about me coming back after Uni.
Everybody posed for the photo ops looking wistfully into the middle distance. Spooky minder reminded me that there was good coffee in the US embassy. Hmm…
1st April 2018. Well that’s about it and time to pack up and get back to the UK. Not sure that I can say that this was actually fun all the way but it looks good on the CV and I was going to have to do it one day anyway if only for a future book chapter. Mum got the ‘Vogue’ contract on her iPhone that she seems much attached to these days, brothers painful and dad continues with the infatuated limpet impressions that look dodgier by the day. Am going to have a word with him about this and beginning to sense there is a split in the offing. Be good to see the PPE girls again. And brunch in Browns. Browns…killer coffee. Hmmm…
Published in The Express Tribune, April 5th, 2018.
All got a bit weepy with the hello-hi stuff which will get shredded by my dedicated band of haters as being phony or fake in some way. Got seriously hacked off by some dingbat who claims to be representing private schools who has organised an ‘I am not Malala’ day and said teachers are to wear black armbands and condemn me and all that I do. Fine.
My spook-type handlers were not too happy about this and wanted to administer a dose of lead therapy to Mr Dingbatium but I told them to hold off till I was safely back among the dreaming spires. Cheeky monkey. Coffee still rubbish.
30th March 2018. Well that was all very jolly apart from having to say the same thing a gazillion times and look like I am saying it for the first time. It can be deeply tedious being Malala Yousafzai. That cut-and-paste PM they have in my beloved homeland these days at least seemed glad to see me, but security was as tight as a cat’s thingamajig and the hoped-for walkabout got squashed by the men with bulgy armpits. Never mind. Just wait till I am back here and in charge five years from now I’ll be hanging a few of these nasty bits of work out to dry. Would kill for a decent cup of coffee. I mean seriously.
Mum has given the OK to Vogue. Not that we need the money as our fellow conspirators take care of all that but it looks good for the liberated woman image.
31st March 2018. Yay!!! It is off to Swat and Mingora and seeing the old house. Good day apart from having to put up with some hamster-faced dogsbody that claimed she was a VIP or something and insisted on holding Mum’s hand every time a camera got pointed in our direction. Mum told her about ‘Vogue’. What’s ‘Vogue’?, she asked. Mum gave her the drop-dead look and dad did the eye-roll to end all eye-rolls. Brothers did the muffled sniggers thing.
Then it was off to the old house that I am contractually obliged to bang on about as if it was Nirvana. Ye gods and little fairies what a dump. My digs in Oxford might be cold and a bit damp but I can pop across the road for coffee and a croissant that won’t poison me. And the place in Brum at least has central heating and I don’t need a ladder to climb over the back wall and the chances of getting a bullet in the brain are considerably reduced — so all in all it’s Birmingham and Oxford any day and I’ll just ignore dad blathering on about me coming back after Uni.
Everybody posed for the photo ops looking wistfully into the middle distance. Spooky minder reminded me that there was good coffee in the US embassy. Hmm…
1st April 2018. Well that’s about it and time to pack up and get back to the UK. Not sure that I can say that this was actually fun all the way but it looks good on the CV and I was going to have to do it one day anyway if only for a future book chapter. Mum got the ‘Vogue’ contract on her iPhone that she seems much attached to these days, brothers painful and dad continues with the infatuated limpet impressions that look dodgier by the day. Am going to have a word with him about this and beginning to sense there is a split in the offing. Be good to see the PPE girls again. And brunch in Browns. Browns…killer coffee. Hmmm…
Published in The Express Tribune, April 5th, 2018.