Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

New deal in the turkey shed

Tuesday, December 7, 1999 Wisteria Walk, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicester

My mother returned from her honeymoon tonight, she complained about the cold weather in Pompeii and talked about suing Cheapo Tours. She has already filled in one of their official complaint forms with the lie that she was forced to buy a cashmere sweater, pashmina shawl and a Gucci leather jacket in an attempt to keep warm. When I pointed out to her that it was ludicrous to have expected blue skies and hot sun in December, she said that she was led to believe that Vesuvius would give off "some residual heat". "By whom?" I asked. "A geologist I met on the net," she replied. I advised her to drop her claim.

Wednesday, December 8, 1999

William has changed his mind about the Barbie Hairdressing Salon. He is now demanding the same present that Brooklyn Beckham is getting — a £45,000 toy Ferrari from Harrods.

I admit to feeling bitter and resentful about this. Beckham junior is nine months old and has never done a stroke of work in his life, yet he'll soon be driving around in the lap of luxury. Whereas I'm an involuntary pedestrian. Where is the justice in that?

Thursday, December 9, 1999

Job Centre New Deal appointment, 10.15. Catherine Root is my personal job advisor. She is personable enough, though somebody should tell her that it is possible to cure a squint these days. Ms Root wrote down my work experience and qualifications:

Librarian, civil servant with responsibility for newt and natterjack toad statistics, offal chef and TV presenter. "Quite an eclectic mix," I said, anxious to impress on her that I was not just any old job-seeker but had an extensive vocabulary and would be wasted sweeping leaves in the ground of an institution.

"Do you have a degree?" she enquired, almost looking me in the eye. "No," I admitted, "but I did once share a flat in Oxford with Doctor Pandora Braithwaite MP." This was a mistake, Ms Root turned out to be a critic of Pandora's, remarking coldly that, in her opinion, she had lost touch with her constituents. When I asked for proof of this, Ms Root said she turned down a request to open the Job Centre's new toilet block, disappointing many. I left with an appointment to see a Mr Nobby Brown of Brown's Poultry at 11am tomorrow.

Friday, December 10

I am now employed as a turkey plucker. For £3.50-an-hour, I pull the feathers out of recently deceased birds. I work with six women in an ill-lit shed. The noise and cackling is indescribable and the turkeys being butchered next door kick up their own hideous din, too.

11 pm

Went to Glenn's school tonight to see their Christmas musical Jesus In Las Vegas — A Star is Born, written by Roger Patience the headmaster. Glenn played a croupier who helped at the birth.

Some of the audience were obviously taken aback when Mary made her entrance in a strapless sequinned evening dress, to be joined by Joseph in his tuxedo singing “All Shook Up”, but I took it in my stride. I have been to the Royal Court Theatre in London several times.

Sunday, December 12

I asked Costas in the kebab shop why he was in such a bad mood tonight. "S'that bleddy Tony Blair," he said, hacking angrily at the doner turning on the split. "'E broke 'is bleddy promise init?"

"On what?" I asked. "Onna bleddy Elgin Marbles, init?" he snarled. I mentioned to him that Turkey was about to join the EU, but not until I was leaving and was halfway through the door.