I am sorry to say that this is the last of my Secret Spy Diary from 1975. Sadly, my devotion to life as a spy lasted only 15 days. How I wish there were more. I think perhaps it's time to start a 2012 Spy Diary!
The content becomes sparser and less exciting towards the end...
March 12: My hair has never been so matted as now now now now!
My hair was down past my shoulders at this point in time and I hated it when my mother brushed it, because she was too rough with tangles. My Dad, on the other hand, made an art form of hair-brushing. When I was at his place, I'd sit on the floor in front of him and he'd go at my hair for 15-20 minutes straight as we watched TV. He used the same square black paddle brush that whipped is own short hair into shape every morning. He was gentle and patient and I have fond memories of the care he took. For a manly kind of man, he had quite the soft spot for me!
March 18: I am exhausted!
March 24: I am BORED!
March 31: Zandra
Briggs is a pig.
Exhaustion and boredom do not exciting subject matter make! And poor Zandra. I don't think I disliked her, rather I think I just enjoyed rhyming her surname with "pig." Sorry, Zandra!
I'D BETTER WATCH THIS BOOK!
March 18: I am going to spy. Mum gabs a lot. When I go beneath my head, I very often hit my head.
Sounds like desperation in the search for subject matter to me. Plus I liked to write poetry as a kid.
And so it ended! My career as an eleven-year-old secret spy (isn't that redundant?) was brief and thrilling, but sputtered out like a candle wick drowning in melted wax.
If only I had written more...