Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

It has taken away the little bit of sense he had

Saturday, September 1, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicestershire

I am powerless to make my boys either happy or unhappy. External forces dictate their mood. Namely, sport. As Glenn settled down in front of the television with a bag of nachos and a cheese dip to watch Leicestershire play Somerset, in the final of the Cheltenham and Gloucester Trophy at Lord's, he said, "Don't do no Hooverin' in 'ere, Dad, I gotta concentrate on the match."

I pleaded with him to turn down the sound on the TV and listen to the commentary on Radio 4. I said, "At least that way you will hear some erudite conversation." I brought in the Sony portable and switched it on to hear Henry Blofeld and Jonathan Agnew discussing a chocolate cake sent in by a listener, a Mrs Daphne Calf, from Wolverhampton. Then Blofeld said, "Aggers, my dear old thing, you're looking frightfully smart today."

Glenn rolled his eyes at William, who grabbed the TV remote and turned up the sound. I took the radio into the kitchen and fiddled the knob until I found Classic FM. I washed up to the sound of Gershwin's “Rhapsody In Blue,” which always reminds me of Skegness. It was playing when my father confessed to my mother that he had sired a child by another woman.

As I dried up, I wondered where my half-brother Brett was, and what he was doing. I worked out that he'd be about 19 by now. William came out of the living room during the advert breaks to snatch bits of food and to go to the toilet. But Glenn stayed glued to the TV, groaning and occasionally shouting ferociously at the screen. I heard his cry of despair when Leicestershire lost. I went in to see him and William in tears.

My parents came round later to watch the England-Germany match. When, after six minutes, Germany scored, my father shouted, "I blame Posh Spice for this. It's her fault Beckham strained his groin. She should be put in purdah before a big match!"

At half-time, in the kitchen, I asked my father about my brother, Brett Mole. He said, "Not now, Adrian, England are 2–1 up." At full time, I tried again. But my father was incoherent with xenophobic joy.