Read by Gloria Sanders
(For the full podcast of the night, please click here)
Dear Jennifer,
Hello, you fabulous little bitch. It’s me, by which I mean you, writing to you, by which I mean me, from a desk in the future and/or present. How are you? Small? Wide-eyed and innocent? Gifted and talented? I thought so.
I don't know what the point of this is but I’ve been told to question myself so … on this side of the psychological divide I’m enjoying a flat white, are you enjoying your daily sugar hit? Are you still in love with Misty from Pokemon? Are you still carrying that inflatable crocodile around? I’d forgotten it was your constant companion, but now I think about it, that seems psychologically pertinent. Perhaps you could write a note on your hand reminding you to mention it to Dr Newman in twenty years' time.
I don't know if you question your finances much there in the mid 90s, but for future reference you earn £7.50 an hour here in the dystopian hellscape of 2018. You’ve blocked out 30 minutes of that precious time to write a letter to your past self and you’ve paid a professional £80 for the privilege. So have a think about that, and try not to go mental later on.
I hope you’re spending your childhood well, running around, collecting flowers, climbing trees… whatever it was I (we?) used to do aged 9. I very much hope you’re not wasting it completing wanky, therapy homework exercises where you pretend to write to yourself through a loophole in time and you own psyche.
Yours (literally)
Jennifer
Ps. Got your teeth fixed yet, Gappy?
*
Dear Mrs Me,
You seem really, very angry for someone who earns all that money. If I had £7.50 EVERY HOUR for the next 20 years of my life I wouldn’t be anywhere near as rude as you. I think if you check you’ll see you’re a millionaire. What have you been doing with it all? Have you spent it on coffee?
That’s a joke. I’m not an idiot, and I don’t believe you’re me. I think you might be Mrs Hunter (my teacher, not that you need to be told who Mrs Hunter is, because you know, because you are her!) tricking me cause I said her creative writing homework was ‘pedestrian’.
Here are my answers to your questions.
I stopped carrying Snappy around years ago after Mum’s pushpin ‘accident’. I will not forgive her. If you can’t remember this it’s proof you’re Mrs Hunter. Also you knew about gifted and talented which is more proof.
I’m not in love with Misty from Pokemon she’s just the best Pokemon trainer, and pretty, and not scared to tell boys she is better than them.
I had two teeth out last week, and a brace plate fitting so I’m VERY gappy.
My question for you is - did something happen to us?
Love,
Jenny (you, supposedly) aged 11!
Ps. Dear Mrs Hunter - this homework was interesting and unique (good adjective!) but I wouldn’t say things like this about my future. I would disclaim, or cry, or shout (three ticks, please - brilliant synonyms!) things about my future, for example - how it’ll be great/ how I’ll become a dolphin biologist who is sane. Please do a new one with this in and I’ll reply.
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Dear Jenny,
My. God. I’m shocked… at how perfectly you captured my smug 11-year-old tone. Just goes to show that every 30 year old neurotic was the same sort of child. I actually think, Dr Newman, that this is quite unprofessional of you, but I see what you’re trying to do.
Sorry I can’t write you one about how we became a dolphin biologist but there’s very little call for them in London (or in fact anywhere. It’s an incredibly specialised field when compared to something like office admin which is what we actually do).
To answer your question - nothing happened to us at all, although everyone said it would. Maybe that’s why we went a bit mad. I suppose that was something that happened to us, but even that was less dramatic than you’re imagining.
I expect your next letter will be filled with innocent hope, and will tell me (with wisdom belying your 10 years) to be kinder to people, rediscover joy, and embrace my once well-developed positivity. I’ve dressed as Michael Caine and surrounded myself with muppets accordingly.
I await your letter,
Jennifer/ Michael
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Dear Jennifer/ Michael,
Firstly! I LOVE that film. Mrs Hunter doesn’t and wouldn’t let us watch it at Christmas because she finds muppets ‘nightmarish’ (her words), so maybe you’re NOT her? I don’t know what to think!
Secondly, I’m positive I’m not here to tell you to be nice. That’s like the sort of thing Carl Proctor would write about in English, and then afterwards everyone’s happy. It would be stupid if I’d been sent from the past to tell you to be nice. That’s definitely not how it works. Anyone who thinks that’s how it works doesn’t understand how things work. I understand that, and I’m 11 (not 10, 11!) also, I don't climb trees, or collect flowers. I don't know why you can’t remember your own life but right now it’s basically playing Pokemon and people telling you what to do.
I cant wait to grow up! Except now I’m talking to you maybe I can!
Tell me about when we went mad.
Love,
Jenny
P.S. You’re 30! That’s so old! Do we have a husband… children?
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Dear Jenny,
Since you ask, going mad was almost exactly the same as that scene from Muppets Treasure Island where they all go mad, right down to the fruit headdresses, and Tim Curry being there - you’re going to really enjoy it!
I’m joking. It’s more like someone’s told you some news that is both terrifying and very sad, but then immediately erased the memory of what they told you - so you’re just left with the horrible sensations.
You don’t have a husband or children, but that’s fine because 30 is NOT OLD AT ALL.
Everyone still tells you what to do as an adult, sorry.
I realise this is not a heartening letter,
Yours,
Jennifer
Ps. Have you met Izzy yet?
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Hi Jennifer,
I didn't realise that in the future 30’s not old! When did they extend the human life span?
I don’t know who Izzy is, and you’re right, everything sounds horrid. Especially the bit about people still telling you what to do. I thought the point of being 30 was that doesn't happen any more!
Mrs Hunter’s always telling me what to do, and that I shouldn’t speak back, and that I’m not as clever as I think I am. But you do sound clever (if bitter and twisted like a sad witch). I wish there were a way to show her what I’ll grow in to.
Maybe you could write one in response where you show you’re clever but also pretend to be very successful?
Love,
You
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Dear Jenny,
It’s me here, by which I mean you, writing to you by which I mean me, from a castle you purchased in the future with the money you earned from being clever and showing off even when people told you not to.
You sit writing this astride a golden throne, looking at the award you won for speaking back to people in a professional capacity. Every morning you turn to Izzy (who you’ll meet this summer and love) and you say ‘thank god I didn’t listen to Hunter, Izzy’ and the pair of you embrace!
Recently you discovered how to bend the laws of space and time to your will. It won you a Nobel Prize and you sent this note backward to show to the naysayers!
Yours brilliantly,
Professor Lady Dame Jennifer Grey, Ph. D, OBE, HRH
*
Dear Me,
I’ve made a mistake. I gave our letters to Mrs Hunter. All of them not just the last one (which was great!) I thought maybe she’d admit it was her writing them all along.
Anyway, she took me to the headmistress, and called Mum, and the school councillor. He said it was concerning. But Mrs Rowe said I’m talented, I just need to look at my attitude, and if I carry on like this I’m in danger of being like James Jenkins (who is AWFUL).
On the way home Mum said sometimes it’s important to know when to shut up, and that no one will likes people who don’t. She said I’m lucky because I can sit back, ace the tests, go to university, and be a dolphin biologist, and it will be easy but i’ve got to learn to stop doing stunts like the letters.
I do want to be a dolphin biologist rather than working in an office and going mad. Maybe this is the reason you wrote to me in the first place? So I could avoid growing in to you.
I’m going to stop doing stunts like the letters, starting with the letters.
Bye x
*
Jenny
They’re lying.
I’m mean they’re not, obviously, if these letters have proven anything its that you are an insufferable know-it-all and probably quite unlikeable. And yes, if you keep quiet you’ll be a good student, and everything will be easy, and they’ll be happy with you and that will be validating. But it won’t equal a more dolphin-y future. That sequence part was definitely a lie. And the first part’s a trap because it’s only great for a while!
Eventually they won’t be there any more, and their structures where everything was easy wo’nt be there any more. And you’ll be a grown-up, with no one to set you tasks to do, and you’ll be on the back foot, just when you need all your self-assertion, and willfulness, and confidence. All those things you have now, that they’re saying its not nice or attractive for you to display! And you’ll suddenly see the mechanisms at work, and you’ll wish you could've been James Jenkins or even Carl Proctor.
I don’t know if this is making sense.
Also, it ok to grow into me! There’s loads I didn’t mention. You don't have children or a husband but you found a Misty, and she’s wonderful, and pretty, and a fantastic trainer on something called Pokemon Go (which you will love) and you have a pug named Snappy, and not everything is bad!
But I think things could be even better if you very specifically didn’t learn to shut up!
Please write back.
Jenny
*
Hi Jennifer,
Thank you for completing the assignment and sorry you couldn’t be at this week’s session.
I think you might do well to consider who you’re trying to impress and why when you submit something like this as your homework.
Dr Elizabeth Newman
P.S. Be careful not to externalise. Being told to behave is a necessary lesson, not the source of all women’s problems. No one is responsible for our lives except us.
*
Dear Dr Newman,
Dad says he doesn't know whats happened but he thinks the AOL server got confused by our similar names and I got your email annnnd …
Ok, he’s left, so I can type what I really think, which is mostly WOW but also… why are we a therapist in the future and not a horse behavioural specialist? It’s not a bad second. People are a bit like horses, I guess.
Do you think though, maybe we should watch our tone? Your email is not the sort of thing Dr Wildhooves would send (he’s the horse horse-therapist in the Choose Your Own Equine Adventure Book 3 - The Horses Take Manhattan) He would send an email that is kind, but fair.
I suspect the real reason you emailed me is nothing to do with the AOL, and everything to do with me being sent from the past to tell you to be nice!
So, be nice!
Yours,
Lizzie Newman
P.S. Have we got our teeth fixed yet?
(c) Anna Savory, 2018
Anna Savory was born in Medway (the only bit of Kent which isn’t lovely) and now lives in Brixton. She’s a comedy writer and sometimes a proper comedian on stages. She inherited a cursed library from Dennis Wheatley once but she almost never mentions it. Follow her on twitter at @AnnaSavory
Gloria Sanders trained at Drama Studio London. She regularly narrates audiobooks for the RNIB and recently joined the cast of Time Will Tell's Dracula at Whitby Abbey. She often works as an historical interpreter at heritage sites around the country and has continued her training in clowning and historic fooling.
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