Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

Carol stingers

Tuesday, November 28, Ashby-de-la-Zouch

My mother has signed up to be an Earth Watch volunteer. She is hoping to count birds migrating over a lake in Kenya. Frankly, I am disgusted. My mother is abusing a worthy conservation project. To my sure knowledge, she has never shown the slightest interest in birds, Kenya or counting. She is obviously hoping to get a free holiday. Earth Watch should be informed: she can't even count. The figures for migrating Kenyan birds could be hopelessly confused for years to come. This could lead to stress and trauma amongst ornithologists and their possible premature deaths.

I confided in Glenn my worries about the orphans of the Kenyan ornithologists. He furrowed his brow: "Why are you worrying about somethin' that 'asn't 'appened yet, Dad." I had no satisfactory answer. Later, my therapist, Angela House, asked me precisely the same question. Perhaps I should give her £25 fee to Glenn. At least it would keep the money in the family, and save me the trouble of driving to Mrs House's house, thus avoiding the attendant parking problems and the embarrassment of overhearing Mr House urinating in the downstairs cloakroom.

Wednesday, November 29

I rang my mother's house this morning, and was astonished and outraged to learn that she was in Paris! Ivan Braithwaite told me she had gone to the hotel where Oscar Wilde died 100 years ago this week. How dare she swan about on the Eurostar when people are starving? It is disgusting. Especially when it is me who is the Wildean expert.

Few who saw it will ever forget my depiction of Lady Bracknell in the sex-swap performance of The Importance of Being Earnest at Neil Armstrong Comprehensive School in 1982.

Friday, December 1

Brick Eagleburger has asked his solicitor, Peter Elf, to take a civil action against the American government. Brick is now convinced that his postal vote has been violated. Apparently, Mr Elf was reluctant at first to take on the US, being more used to doing a little light conveyancing in the Hampton Wick area.

Saturday, December 2

I have resigned from my position at Eddie's Layby Cafi. The work was very unfulfilling and I never properly came to terms with the constant smell of rancid fat on my clothes. Eddie took my resignation with equanimity. He said, "I knew you weren't cut out for the caterin' industry the first time I clapped eyes on yer. You ain't got the wrists for it." I asked him in what way my wrists were deficient. He answered, "They gotta be flexible for the butterin' and the fryin', an' your wrists are about as flexible as a lump of bleedin' coal."

I related this conversation to Glenn as we prepared lobster nuggets for our dinner. He asked, "What's a lump of coal?" I said, "It was a piece of black, shiny rock that we used to set fire to and burn in fireplaces." He laughed long and hard. The lad thinks that central heating has always been around. He probably thinks that Jesus had a double radiator in the manger.

Sunday, December 3

The rabble on the estate have formed themselves into a choir and are going from door to door demanding money for singing a few discordant notes of Slade's “Merry Christmas Everybody”. Those of us refusing to hand over a few silver coins are threatened that our wheelie bins will be pushed down the road and possibly overturned. I phoned Greg Dyke, our community policeman, but could only get his voicemail.

Monday, December 4

William has been chosen to play third shepherd in the school Nativity play. I went to Habitat tonight and bought him a new tea towel for his headdress. Only the best is good enough for my son.