Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

Passion play

Friday, April 13, Good Friday

Why do banks close on bank holidays? They should be open when so many are free to use them. I wished to query a statement saying I had spent £104.49 on Belgian chocolates at a shop in Lewes, so rang a call centre in Southend. I told a youth called Gary that I never bought chocolate due to the effect it has on my skin, and had never been to Lewes.

He said, "Perhaps it was an internet transaction." I repeated testily that I could not tolerate chocolate. He said, "Perhaps you bought it for someone else — it is Easter." I said angrily, "I am a poor man: £104.49 exceeds my weekly income." He snapped, "The standing order to your newsagent could keep an African village in food for a month." At this moment, Glenn shouted from the toilet that there was no paper. I put Gary on hold. When I came back, “Greensleeves” was playing, so I went to my bank, only to find the doors locked.

Glenn was miserable all day. He asked if he could paint his bedroom black. When I asked what was wrong, he said, "Why do they call it Good Friday? It weren't for poor Jesus, were it?"

He explained that he had trodden on a drawing pin this morning: "It brung it 'ome to me what it must 'ave been like on the cross." He then asked if he could have a Heroes Easter egg. William's egg of choice is Barbie. Worrying.

Saturday, April 14

Had an email from Hamish Mancini: "Yo, Adi, I'm FedExing a 100lb bag of Idaho's finest potatoes, because you don't got none in England, cos of the floods and plagues. We are praying for you and your family."

Sunday, April 15, Easter Day

Pamela came round with an egg-decorating kit. William's eggs were a riot of primary colours; Glenn's depicted Jesus on the cross. He wrote a bubble out of Jesus's mouth, "Father, why hast thou forsaken me?", which disturbed Pamela: "For God's sake, Glenn lighten up. It's Easter!"

Later, while William played with the packing of his Barbie egg and Glenn watched The Greatest Story Ever Told, she led me to my room and gave an erotic Easter egg, the centre of which contained a pair of edible knickers. She was keen for me to break it open and retrieve them. I was less keen: a glance at the ingredients told me they were choc-a-bloc with obscure chemicals and multisyllable flavourings.