The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole (18 page)

Got up at 5 AM to have a ride on my racing bike. My father paid for it with American Express. I couldn’t ride it far because of the snow, but it didn’t matter. I just like looking at it. My father had written on the gift tag attached to the handlebars, ‘Don’t leave it out in the rain this time’—as if I would!

My parents had severe hangovers, so I took them breakfast in bed and gave them my presents at the same time. My mother was overjoyed with her egg-timer and my father was equally delighted with his bookmark, in fact everything was going OK until I casually mentioned that Bert and Queenie were my guests for the day, and would my father mind getting out of bed and picking them up in his car.

The row went on until the lousy Sugdens arrived. My grandma and grandad Sugden and Uncle Dennis and his wife Marcia and their son Maurice all look the same, as if they went to funerals every day of their lives. I can hardly believe that my mother is related to them. The Sugdens refused a drink and had a cup of tea whilst my mother defrosted the turkey in the bath. I helped my father carry Queenie (fifteen stone) and Bert (fourteen stone) out of our car. Queenie is one of those loud types of old ladies who dye their hair and try to look young. Bert is in love with her. He told me when I was helping him into the toilet.

Grandma Mole and Auntie Susan came at twelve-thirty and pretended to like the Sugdens. Auntie Susan told some amusing stories about life in prison but nobody but me and my father and Bert and Queenie laughed.

I went up to the bathroom and found my mother crying and running the turkey under the hot tap. She said, ‘The bloody thing won’t thaw out, Adrian. What am I going to do?’ I said, ‘Just bung it in the oven’. So she did.

We sat down to eat Christmas dinner four hours late. By then my father was too drunk to eat anything. The Sugdens enjoyed the Queen’s Speech but nothing else seemed to please them. Grandma Sugden gave me a book called
Bible Stories for Boys
. I could hardly tell her that I had lost my faith, so I said thank-you and wore a false smile for so long that it hurt.

The Sugdens went to their camp beds at ten o’clock. Bert, Queenie and my mother and father played cards while I polished my bike. We all had a good time making jokes about the Sugdens. Then my father drove Bert and Queenie back to the home and I phoned Pandora up and told her that I loved her more than life itself.

I am going round to her house tomorrow to give her the deodorant and escort her to the pantomime.

Bank Holiday in UK and Rep. of Ireland (a day may be givenin lieu). New Moon

The Sugdens got up at 7 AM and sat around in their best clothes looking respectable. I went out on my bike. When I got back my mother was still in bed, and my father was arguing with Grandad Sugden about our dog’s behaviour, so I went for another ride.

I called in on Grandma Mole, ate four mince pies, then rode back home. I got up to 30 mph on the dual carriageway, it was dead good. I put my new suede jacket and corduroy trousers on (courtesy of my father’s Barclaycard) and called for Pandora; she gave me a bottle of after-shave for my Christmas present. It was a proud moment, it signified the
End of Childhood
.

We quite enjoyed the pantomime but it was rather childish for our taste. Bill Ash and Carole Hayman were good as Aladdin and the Princess, but the robbers played by Jeff Teare and Ian Giles were best. Sue Pomeroy gave a hilarious performance as Widow Twankey. In this she was greatly helped by her cow, played by Chris Martin and Lou Wakefield.

First after Christmas

The Sugdens have gone back to Norfolk, thank God! The house is back to its usual mess. My parentstook a bottle of vodka and two glasses to bed with them last night. I haven’t seen them since.

Went to Melton Mowbray on my bike, did it in five hours.

I am in trouble for leaving my bike outside last night. My parents are not speaking to me. I don’t care, I have just had a shave and I feel magic.

My father is in a bad mood because there is only a bottle of V.P. sherry left to drink. He has gone round Pandora’s house to borrow a bottle of spirits.

The dog has pulled the Christmas tree down and made all the pine needles stick in the shag-pile.

I have finished all my Christmas books and the library is still shut. I am reduced to reading my father’s
Reader’s Digests
and testing my word power.

All the balloons have shrivelled up. They look like old women’s breasts shown on television documentaries about the Third World.

The last day of the year! A lot has happened. I have fallen in love. Been a one-parent child. Gone Intellectual. And had two letters from the
BBC
. Not bad going for a 14¾-year-old!

My mother and father have been to a New Year’s Eve dance at the Grand Hotel. My mother actually wore a dress! It is over a year since she showed her legs in public.

Pandora and I saw the New Year in together, we had a dead passionate session accompanied by Andy Stewart and a bagpiper.

My father came crashing through the front door at 1 AM carrying a lump of coal in his hand. Drunk as usual.

My mother started going on about what a wonderful son I was and how much she loved me. It’s a pity she never says anything like that when she is sober.

Bank Holiday in UK, Rep. of Ireland,
USA
and Canada

These are my New Year’s resolutions:

1. I will be true to Pandora.
   

1. I will bring my bike in at night.
   

1. I will not read unworthy books.
   

1. I will study hard for my O levels, and get Grade ‘A’s.
   

1. I will try to be more kind to the dog.
   

1. I will try to find it in my heart to forgive Barry Kent his multiple sins.
   

1. I will clean the bath after use.
   

1. I will stop worrying about the size of my thing.
   

1. I will do my back-stretching exercises every nightwithout fail.
   

1. I will learn a new word and use it every day.
   

Bank Holiday in Scotland (a day may be given in lieu
)

How interesting it is that Aabec should be an Australian bark used for making sweat.

Second after Christmas. Moon’s First Quarter

I wouldn’t mind going to Africa and hunting an Aardvark.

Whilst in Africa I would go south and look out for an Aardwolf.

And I would avoid tangling with an Aasvogel.

Epiphany

I keep having nightmares about the bomb. I hope it isn’t dropped before I get my
GCE
results in August 1983.1 wouldn’t like to die an unqualified virgin.

Nigel came round to look at my racing bike. He said that it was mass produced, unlike his bike that was ‘made by a craftsman in Nottingham’. I have gone off Nigel, and I have also gone off my bike a bit.

Got a wedding invitation from Bert and Queenie, they are getting married on January 16th at Pocklington Street Register Office.

In my opinion it is a waste of time. Bert is nearly ninety and Queenie is nearly eighty. I will leave it until the last minute before I buy a wedding present.

It has started snowing again. I asked my mother to buy me some green Wellingtons like the Queen’s but she came back with dead common black ones. I only need them to walk Pandora to our gate. I am staying in until the snow melts. Unlike most youths of my age, I dislike frolicking in the snow.

Full Moon

Nigel said the end of the world is coming tonight. He said the moon is having a total collapse. (Nigel should read
Reader’s Digest
and increase his word power.) True enough it did go dark, I held my breath and feared the worst but then the moon recovered and life went on as usual, except in York where fate has flooded the town centre.

First after Epiphany

I can’t understand why my father looks so old at forty-one compared to President Reagan at seventy. My father has got no work or worries yet he looks dead haggard. Poor President Reagan has to carry the world’s safety on his shoulders yet he is always smiling and looking cheerful. It doesn’t make sense.

I’ve been looking through last year’s diary and have been reminded that Malcolm Muggeridge never did reply to my letter about what to do if you are an intellectual. That is a first-class stamp wasted! I should have written to the British Museum, that’s where all the intellectuals hang out.

Pandora and I went to the youth club tonight. It was quite good. Rick Lemon led a discussion on sex. Nobody said anything, but he showed some interesting slides of wombs cut in half.

Pandora’s parents have had a massive row. They are sleeping in separate bedrooms. Pandora’s mother has joined the
SDP
and Pandora’s father is staying loyal to the Labour Party.

Pandora is a Liberal, so she gets on all right with them both.

Pandora’s father has come out of the closet and admitted that he is a Bennite. Pandora is staying loyal to him, but if the Co-op Dairy find out he will be finished.

Thank God the snow is melting! At last I can walk the streets in safety, secure in the knowledge that no one is going to ram a snowball down the back of my anorak.

Moon’s Last Quarter

Bert got married today.

The Alderman Cooper Sunshine Home hired a coach and took the old ladies to form a guard of honour with their walking-frames.

Bert looked dead good. He cashed his life insurance in and spent the money on a new suit. Queenie was wearing a hat made of flowers and fruit. She had a lot of orange make-up on her face to try and cover the wrinkles. Even Sabre had a red bow round his neck. I think it was kind of the
RSPCA
to let Sabre out for his master’s wedding. My father and Pandora’s father carried Bert’s wheelchair up the steps with Bert a single man and then down again with Bert a married man. The old ladies threw rice and confetti and my mother and Pandora’s mother gave Queenie a kiss and a lucky horseshoe.

A newspaper reporter and photographer made everyone pose for photographs. I was asked my name, but I said I didn’t want publicity for my acts of charity to Bert.

The reception took place back at the home. Matron made a cake with ‘B’ and ‘Q’ written in Jellytots.

Bert and Queenie are moving into a bungalow on Monday, after they have had their honeymoon in the home.

Honeymoon! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Second after Epiphany

Last night I dreamed about a boy like me collecting pebbles in the rain. It was a dead strange dream.

I am reading
The Black Prince
, by Iris Murdoch. I can only understand one word in ten. It is now my ambition to actually enjoy one of her books. Then I will know I am above the common herd.

School. First day of term. Loads of
GCE
homework. I will never cope. I am an intellectual but at the same time I am not very clever.

Brought four hundred and eighty-three copies of
The Voice of Youth
home in my satchel and Adidas bag. Mr Jones needs the games cupboard.

Two-and-a-half hours of homework! I will crack under the strain.

My brain is hurting. I have just had two pages of
Macbeth
to translate into English.

I am destined to become a manual worker. I can’t keep working under this pressure. Miss Elf said my work is perfectly satisfactory, but that isn’t good enough when Pandora keeps getting ‘Excellent’ in red pen on everything she does.

Stayed in bed until five-thirty to make sure I missed Salisbury’s. Listened to Radio Four play about domestic unhappiness. Phoned Pandora. Did Geography homework. Teased dog. Went to sleep. Woke up. Worried for ten minutes. Got up. Made cocoa. I am a nervous wreck.

Third after Epiphany

My mother blames my bad nerves on Iris Murdoch.

She says painful adolescence shouldn’t be read about when one is studying for O levels.

New Moon

Couldn’t do my Maths homework. Phoned the Samaritans. The nice man on the end of the phone told me the answer was nine-eighths. He was dead kind to someone in despair.

The stupid Samaritan got the answer wrong! It’s only seven-fifths. I only got six out of twenty. Pandora got them all right. In fact she got a hundred per cent.

My mother is holding her women’s rights meetings in our lounge. I can’t concentrate on my homework properly with women laughing and shouting and stamping up the stairs. They are not a bit ladylike.