The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3⁄4

Summer 1981

Dominion Day, Canada. New Moon

The truant officer came round this afternoon; he caught me sitting in a deckchair in the front garden. He didn’t believe I was ill! He is reporting me to the school! The fact that I was sipping Lucozade whilst wearing pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers seemed to have escaped him. I offered to show him my yukky tonsils but he backed away and trod on the dog’s paw. The dog has got a low pain threshold so it went a bit berserk. My father came out and separated them but things could get nasty for us.

The doctor said I can go back to school tomorrow, depending on how I feel. You can depend that I won’t feel up to it.

A brown-skinned family are moving into Mr Lucas’s old house! I sat in my deckchair and had a good view of their furniture being carried out of the removal van. The brown-skinned ladies kept taking massive cooking pots into the house so it looks as if they are a large family. My father said that it was ‘the beginning of the end of our street’. Pandora is in the Anti-Nazi League. She said she thinks that my father is a possible racist.

I am reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

Independence Day, USA

The street is full of brown-skinned people arriving or departing in cars, vans and mini-buses. They keep trooping in and out of Mr Lucas’s old house. My father says they have probably got three families to each room.

Pandora and I are going round to welcome them to our district. We are determined to show that not all white people are racist fanatics.

Bert Baxter is still in hospital.

Third after Trinity

Stayed in bed until 6 PM. There was no point in getting up. Pandora has gone to a gymkhana.

Mrs O’Leary is trying to organize a street party for the Royal Wedding. The only people to put their names down so far are the Singh family.

Bert Baxter has escaped from hospital. He telephoned the National Council for Civil Liberties and they told him he could sign himself out, so he did. He is in our spare room. My father is going up the wall.

Pandora, Bert and I have put our names down for the street party. Bert is looking much better now that he can smoke as many Woodbines as he likes.

Pandora’s father has been round to talk to my father about what to do about Bert and Sabre. They both got drunk and started arguing about politics. Bert banged on the floor and asked them to keep their voices down.

My father is near to despair because of Bert’s snoring. It doesn’t bother me, I put Blu-tack in my ears.

Went to school today. I have decided to take Domestic Science, Art, Woodwork and English O levels. I am doing Geography, Maths and History for CSE.

Pandora is taking nine O levels. But she has had more advantages than me. She has been a member of the library since she was three.

School breaks up for eight weeks tomorrow. Pandora is going to Tunisia soon. How I will survive without my love is anybody’s guess. We have tried French kissing but neither of us liked it, so we have gone back to the English.

My skin is dead good. I think it must be a combination of being in love and Lucozade.

It was magic at school today. All the teachers were in good moods. A rumour went round that pop-eyed Scruton was seen laughing but I didn’t believe it myself. Barry Kent climbed up the flagpole and flew a pair of his mother’s knickers in the breeze. Pandora said it was probably the first airing they had had for years.

Scan O’Leary is nineteen today. He has invited me to his birthday party. It is only over the road so I won’t have far to go.

I am writing up my diary now just in case I have one too many. People seem to get drunk just stepping over the O’Learys’ threshold.

First proper hangover. Aged fourteen years, five months and nine days. Pandora put me to bed. She gave me a fireman’s lift up the stairs.

Fourth after Trinity

My father took me, Pandora and Bert to the Wagtails boarding kennels this morning. Mrs Kane, the proprietor, has refused to keep Sabre any longer. It was very touching to see Bert and Sabre reunited. Mrs Kane is a hard woman, she got very nasty when my father refused to pay Sabre’s boarding fees, she kept smoothing her black moustache with her horny fingers and using unladylike language.

Bert said he won’t be parted from Sabre again. He said that Sabre is his only friend in the world! After all I have done for him!! If it wasn’t for me he wouldbe a corpse by now, and Sabre would be an orphan living with the RSPCA.

Bert has been talking to Mrs Singh! He speaks fluent Hindi! He says she has found some indecent magazines under the lino in the bathroom. An heirloom from that creep Lucas!

Mr Singh is outraged. He has written to the estate agents to complain that his house has been defiled.

Bert showed me one of the magazines. They are not indecent in my opinion, but then I am a man of the world. I have put it under my mattress with the Big and Bouncys. It is called Amateur Photographer.

Bert’s social worker came round tonight. She is called Katie Bell. She talked to Bert in a stupid way. She said that Bert had been offered a place in the Alderman Cooper Sunshine Home. Bert told her that he didn’t want to go. Katie Bell said that he has got to go. Even my father said that he felt sorry for Bert. But not sorry enough to invite Bert to live with us permanently I noticed!

Poor Bert, what will happen to him?

Bert has moved in with the Singhs. Mr Singh fetched Sabre’s kennel so it is official. Bert looks dead happy. His favourite food is curry.

Pandora has allowed me to touch her bust. I promised not to tell anyone, but there was nothing to tell really. I couldn’t tell where her bust began through all the layers of underclothes, dress, cardigan and anorak.

I am reading Sex, The Facts, by Dr A.P.G. Haig.

11 AM. My father got his redundancy cheque today. He did cowboy whoops up and down the hall. He has asked Doreen Slater to go out with him to celebrate. Guess who Maxwell’s baby sitter is going to be? Yes, dear diary, you guessed right! It is I!

11 PM. Maxwell has only just gone to sleep, Pandora rang up at nine-thirty and asked how I was doing. I couldn’t hear her properly because Maxwell was screaming so loudly. Pandora said I should try putting vodka in some hot milk and forcing it down his vile throat. I have just done it. And it worked. He is not a bad kid when he is asleep.

Full Moon

My precious love leaves these shores tomorrow. I am going to the airport to see her off. I hope her plane won’t suffer from metal fatigue. I have just checked the world map to see where Tunisia is, and I am most relieved to see that Pandora won’t have to fly through the Bermuda triangle.

If anything happened to my love I would never smile again.

I have bought her a book to read during the flight. It is called Crash!, by a bloke called William Golden-stein, III. It is very good on what to do if the worst happens.

Pandora read the Crash! book in the coach on the way to the airport. When her flight was called she had slight hysterics and her father had to carry her up the steps. I waved to the plane until it had retreated into a large cloud, then I sadly got on a coach and came back home. How I will get through the next fortnight I don’t know. Goodnight, my Tunisian beauty.

Fifth after Trinity

Stayed in bed and looked at Tunisia on the map.

Not had a postcard from my love yet.

Bert came round this morning. He said that Tunisia is full of hazards.

Why haven’t I had a postcard yet? What can have happened?

Asked our postman about communications between Tunisia and England. He said that they were ‘diabolical’; he said that the Tunisian GPO depends on camels.

Moon’s Last Quarter

Went to see Mr Singh. He said that Tunisia is very unhygienic. Everybody but me seems to be familiar with Tunisia!

PANDORA! PANDORA! PANDORA!

She will be back in sixdays.

Sixth after Trinity

Went for tea at grandma’s. I was sad and withdrawn because of Pandora’s sojourn in Tunisia. Grandmaasked if I was constipated. I nearly said something, but what’s the use of trying to explain love to a woman of seventy-six who thinks the word is obscene?

A camel postcard! It said:

Fancy giving my present money to a filthy, idle beggar! Even our postman was disgusted.

It’s a wonder I have the strength to hold my pen! I have been on the go all day with preparations for the Royal Wedding street party. Mrs O’Leary came over and asked if I would help with the bunting. I said ‘I feel it is my patriotic duty’. Mrs O’Leary said that if I climbed the ladder she would pass the bunting upto me. I was all right for the first four or five rungs but then I made the mistake of looking down and I had a vertigo attack, so Mrs O’Leary did all the climbing. I couldn’t help noticing Mrs O’Leary’s knickers. They are surprisingly sexy for someone who goes to church every day and twice on Sundays. Black lace! With red-satin ribbons! I got the feeling that Mrs O’Leary knew that I was looking at her knickers because she asked me to call her Caitlin. I was glad when Mr O’Leary came to take over from me. Mr and Mrs Singh have hung a huge Union Jack out of their front bedroom window. Bert told me that it was one he stole when he was in the army.

Our house is letting the street down. All my father has done is pin a Charles and Diana tea towel to the front door.

My father and I watched the Royal Wedding firework display on television. All I can say is that I tried to enjoy it but failed. My father said it was one way of burning money. He is still bitter about being out of work.

I hope the Prince remembers to remove the price ticket off the bottom of his shoes; my father didn’t at his wedding. Everyone in the church read the ticket. It said: ‘91/2 reject, 10 shillings’.

ROYAL WEDDING DAY!!!!!

How proud I am to be English!

Foreigners must be as sick as pigs!

We truly lead the world when it comes to pageantry! I must admit to having tears in my eyes when I saw all the cockneys who had stood since dawn, cheering heartily all the rich, well-dressed, famous people going by in carriages and Rolls-Royces.

Grandma and Bert Baxter came to our house to watch the wedding because we have got a twenty-four-inch colour. They got on all right at first but then Bert remembered he was a communist and started saying anti-royalist things like ‘the idle rich’ and ‘parasites’, so grandma sent him back to the Singhs’ colour portable.

Prince Charles looked quite handsome in spite of his ears. His brother is dead good-looking; it’s a shame they couldn’t have swapped heads just for the day. Lady Diana melted my heartstrings in her dirty white dress. She even helped an old man up the aisle. I thought it was very kind of her considering it was her wedding day. Loads of dead famous people were there. Nancy Reagan, Spike Milligan, Mark Phillips, etc., etc. The Queen looked a bit jealous. I expect it was because people weren’t looking at her for a change.

The Prince had remembered to take the price ticket off his shoes. So that was one worry off my mind.

When the Prince and Di exchanged rings my grandma started to cry. She hadn’t brought her handkerchief so I went upstairs to get the spare toilet roll. When I came downstairs they were married. So I missed the Historic moment of their marriage!

I made a cup of tea during all the boring musical interval, but I was back in time to see that Kiwi woman singing. She has certainly got a good pair of lungs on her.

Grandma and I were just settling down to watch the happy couple’s triumphant ride back to the palace when there was a loud banging on the front door. We ignored it so my father was forced to get out of bed and open the door. Bert and Mr and Mrs Singh and all the little Singhs came in asking for sanctuary. Their telly had broken down! My grandma tightened her lips, she is not keen on black, brown, yellow, Irish, Jewish or foreign people. My father let them all in, then took grandma home in the car. The Singhs and Bert gathered round the television talking in Hindi.

Mrs Singh handed round some little cornish pasties. I ate one of them and had to drink a gallon of water. I thought my mouth had caught fire! They were not cornish pasties.

We watched television until the happy couple left Victoria station on a very strange-looking train. Bert said it was only strange-looking because it was clean.

Mrs O’Leary came in and asked if she could borrow our old chairs for the street party. In my father’s absence I agreed and helped to carry them out on to the pavement. Our street looked dead weird without cars and with flags and bunting flapping about.

Mrs O’Leafy and Mrs Singh swept the street clean. Then we all helped to put the tables and chairs out into the middle of the road. The women did all the work, the men stood around on the pavement drinking too much and making jokes about Royal Nuptials.

Mr Singh put his stereo speakers out of his lounge windows and we listened to a Des O’Connor LP whilst we set the tables with sandwiches, jam tarts, sausage rolls and sausages on sticks. Then everyone in our street was given a funny hat by Mrs O’Leary and we sat down to eat. At the end of the tea Mr Singh made a speech about how great it was to be British. Everyone cheered and sang ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. But only Mr Singh knew all the words. Then my father came back with four party packs of light ale and two dozen paper cups, and soon everyone was acting in an undignified manner.

Mr O’Leary tried to teach Mrs Singh an Irish jig but he kept getting tangled up in her sari. I put my Abba LP on and turned the volume up high and soon even the old people of forty and over were dancing! When the street lamps came on Scan O’Leary climbed up and put red, white and blue crepe paper over the bulbs to help the atmosphere and I fetched our remaining candles and put them on the tables. Our street looked quite Bohemian.

Bert told some lies about the war, my father told jokes. The party went on until one o’clock in the morning!

Normally they get a petition up if you clear your throat after eleven o’clock at night!

I didn’t dance, I was an amused, cynical observer. Besides my feet were aching.

I have seen the Royal Wedding repeats seven times on television.

New Moon

Sick to death of Royal Wedding.

Pandora, the beggar’s friend, is coming home tomorrow.

Postcard from my mother, she wants me to go on holiday with her and creep Lucas. They are going to Scotland. I hope they enjoy themselves.

Pandora’s flight has been delayed because of a baggage-handlers’ strike in Tunis.

Seventh after Trinity

The baggage-handlers are still on strike and Pandora’s father has had his American Express card stolen by a beggar!

Pandora said that her mother has been bitten by a camel but is recovering in the Ladies’ toilet at Tunis airport. It was wonderful to hear Pandora’s voice on the telephone, we talked to each other for over half an hour. How clever it was of her to arrange a reverse-charge call from Tunisia!

Bank Holiday in Scotland and Rep. of Ireland

The Tunisian baggage-handlers have agreed to go to arbitration. Pandora says that with luck she’ll be home by Thursday.

The Tunisian baggage-handlers can see light at the end of the tunnel.

Pandora is surviving on packets of dates and Polo mints.

The Tunisian baggage-handlers are now handling baggage. Pandora home FRIDAY EVENING!

My father refused a reverse-charges call from Tunisia. Our lines of communication have been cut.

Moon’s First Quarter

I rang Tunisia whilst my father was in the bath. He shouted down to ask whom I was phoning. I told a lie. I said I was phoning the speaking clock.

Pandora’s flight left safely. She should be home around midnight.

At 7 AM Pandora rang from St Pancras station. She said that due to electrification of the track at Flitwick she would be delayed.

I got dressed and went down to the station, got a platform ticket, waited on platform two for six cold, lonely hours. Went home to find a note from Pandora. This is what it said:

Went to Pandora’s house. Explained. Had an emotional reunion behind her father’s tool shed.

Eighth after Trinity

Touched Pandora’s bust again. This time I think I felt something soft. My thing keeps growing and shrinking, it seems to have a life of its own. I can’t control it.

Pandora and I went to the swimming baths this morning. Pandora looked superb in her white string bikini. She has gone the same colour as Mrs Singh. I didn’t trust my thing to behave so I sat in the spectators’ gallery and watched Pandora diving off the highestdiving board. Got back to my house. Showed her my black room. Lit a joss stick. Put Abba LP on, sneaked a bottle of Sanatogen upstairs. We indulged in a bit of light petting but then Pandora developed a headache and went home to rest.

I was racked with sexuality but it wore off when I helped my father put manure on our rose bed.

Got another postcard from my mother.

The postman said that if my mother was his wife he would give her a good thrashing. He doesn’t know my mother. If anybody laid a finger on her she would beat them to pulp.

Pandora thinks a trial separation will do us good. She says our light to medium petting will turn quite heavy soon. I must admit that the strain is having a detrimental effect on my health. I have got no energy and my sleep is constantly interrupted with dreams about Pandora’s white bikini and Mrs O’Leary’s knickers. I might go to Scotland after all.

My father has decided to go to Skegness on the fifteenth. He has booked a four-berth caravan. He is taking Doreen and Maxwell with him! He expects me to go!

If I go people will automatically assume that Doreen is my mother and Maxwell is my brother!

I am going to Scotland.

Had tragic last night with Pandora. We have both sworn to be true. I have done all my packing. The dog has been taken round to grandma’s with fourteen tins of Pedigree Chum and a giant sack of Winalot.

I am taking Escape from Childhood, by John Holt, to read on the train.

Full Moon

My father, Stick Insect and Maxwell House saw me off at the station. My father didn’t mind a bit that I chose to go to Scotland instead of Skegness. In fact he looked dead cheerful. The train journey was terrible. I had to stand all the way to Sheffield. I spoke to a lady in a wheelchair who was in the guard’s van. She was very nice, she said that the only good thing about being handicapped was that you always got a seat in trains. Even if it was in the guard’s van.

My mother and creep Lucas met me at Sheffield. My mother looked dead thin and has started dressing in clothes that are too young for her. Lucas creep was wearing jeans! His belly was hanging over his belt. I pretended to be asleep until we got to Scotland.

Lucas mauled my mother about even whilst he was driving.

We are at a place called Loch Lubnaig. I am in bed in a log cabin. My mother and Lucas have gone to the village to try to buy cigarettes. At least that is their story.

Ninth after Trinity

There is a loch in front of the cabin and a pine forest and a mountain behind the cabin. There is nothing to do. It is dead boring.

Did some washing in a log cabin launderette. Spoke to an American tourist called Hamish Mancini; he is the same age as me. His mother is on her honeymoon for the fourth time.

Rained all day.

Sent postcards. Phoned Pandora, reversed charges. Her father refused to accept them.

Played cards with Hamish Mancini. His mother and stepfather and my mother and her lover have gone to see a waterfall in the car. Big deal!

Walked two and a half miles into Callander to buy Mars bar. Played on Space Invaders. Came back, hadtea. Phoned Pandora from log cabin phone box. Reversed charges. She still loves me. I still love her. Went to bed.

Moon’s Last Quarter

Went to see Rob Roy’s grave. Saw it, came back.

Tenth after Trinity

My mother has made friends with a couple called Mr and Mrs Ball. They have gone off to Stirling Castle. Mrs Ball has got a daughter who is a writer. I asked her how her daughter qualified to be one. Mrs Ball said that her daughter was dropped on her head as a child and has been ‘a bit queer’ ever since.

It is Mrs Ball’s birthday so they all came back to our log cabin to celebrate. I complained about the noise at 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM, and 4 AM. At 5 AM they decided to climb the mountain! I pointed out to them that they were blind drunk, too old, unqualified, unfit and lacking in any survival techniques, had no first-aid kit, weren’t wearing stout boots, and had no compass, map or sustaining hot drinks.

My protest fell on deaf ears. They all climbed the mountain, came down and were cooking eggs and bacon by 11.30 AM.

As I write Mr and Mrs Ball are canoeing on the loch. They must be on drugs.

Went to Edinburgh. Saw the castle, the toy museum, the art gallery. Bought a haggis. Came back to log cabin, read Glencoe, by John Prebble. We are going there tomorrow.

The massacre of Glencoe took place on February 13th 1692. On February 14, John Hill wrote to the Earl of Tweeddale, ‘I have ruined Glencoe’.

He was dead right, there is nothing there. Glasgow tomorrow.

We drove through Glasgow at 11 AM in the morning yet I counted twenty-seven drunks in one mile! All the shops except the DIY shops had grilles at the windows. Off-licences had rolls of barbed wire and broken glass on their roofs. We had a walk round for a bit, then my mother nagged Lucas creep into taking her to the Glasgow art gallery. I intended to sit in the car and read Glencoe, but because of all the drunksstaggering around I reluctantly followed them inside.

How glad I am that I did! I might have gone through life without having an important cultural experience!

Today I saw Salvador Dali’s painting of the Crucifixion!!! The realone! Not a reproduction!

They have hung it at the end of a corridor so that it changes as you get nearer to it. When you are finally standing up close to it you feel like a midget. It is absolutely fantastic!

Huge! With dead good colours and Jesus looks like a real bloke. I bought six postcards of it from the museum but of course it is not the same as the real thing.

One day I will take Pandora to see it. Perhaps on our honeymoon.

Oban today. Bumped into Mr and Mrs Swallow who live in the next street to me. Everyone kept saying, ‘It’s a small world isn’t it?’ Mrs Swallow asked creep Lucas how his wife was. Lucas told her that his wife had left him for another woman. Then everyone blushed and said what a small world it was and parted company. My mother went mad at Lucas. She said ‘Do you have to tell everyone?’ and ‘How do you think I feel living with a lesbian’s estranged husband?’ Lucas whined onfor a bit but then my mother started looking like my grandma. So he kept quiet.

Fort William today. Ben Nevis was another disappointment. I couldn’t tell where it began or stopped. The other mountains and hills clutter it up. Lucas fell in the burn (Scottish for ‘little river’) but unfortunately it was too shallow to drown in.

Full Moon

Went for a walk around the loch with Hamish Mancini. He told me that he thinks his mother is heading for her fourth divorce. He is going home tonight; he has got an appointment with his analyst in New York on Monday morning.

I have finished my packing and I am waiting for my mother and creep Lucas to come back from their furtive love-making somewhere in the pine forest.

We leave at dawn.

Eleventh after Trinity

I made Lucas stop for souvenirs at Gretna Green. I bought Pandora a pebble shaped like an otter, Bert a tam-o’—shanter, the dog a tartan bow for its neck, grandma a box of tartan fudge, Stick Insect tartan biscuits, Maxwell a tartan sweet dummy. I bought my father a tartan tea towel.

I bought myself a tartan scribbling pad. I am determined to become a writer.

Here is an extract from ‘My thoughts on Scotland’ written on the M6 at 120 mph:

The hallowed mist rolls away leaving Scotland’s majestic peaks revealed in all their majesty. A shape in the translucent sky reveals itself to be an eagle, that majestic bird of prey. Talons clawing, it lands on a loch, rippling the quiet majesty of the turbulent waters. The eagle pauses only to dip its majestic beak into the aqua before spreading its majestic wings and flying away to its magisterial nest high in the barren, arid, grassless hills.

The Highland cattle. Majestic horned beast of the glens lowers its brown eyed shaggy haired majestic head as it ruminates on the mysteries of Glencoe.

There are a couple too many ‘majesties’. But I think it reads rather well. I will send it to the BBC when it’s finished. Got home at 6 PM. Too tired to write more.

Bank Holiday in UK (except Scotland)

Everyone is broke. The banks are closed and my father can’t remember the secret code on his plastic money-card. He had the nerve to borrow five pounds from Bert Baxter. Fancy asking an old age pensioner for money! It lacks dignity.

Pandora and I are now insanely in love! The separation only served to fuel our passion. Our hormones are stirred every time we meet. Pandora slept with the otter pebble in her hand last night. How I wish the otter pebble could have been me.

Mr Singh has had to return to India to look after his aged parents, so Bert has been told that he will have to move back into his dirty old house! Mr Singh says that he cannot trust his womenfolk to be alone in the house with Bert. How stupid can you get? Bert doesn’t mind too much; he said that it is ‘quite a compliment’. Pandora and I are going to clean Bert’s house and help him move back. He owes the council two hundred and ninety-four pounds in rent arrears. He has got to pay the arrears off at fifty pence a week, so it is a certainty that Bert will die in debt.

Pandora and I went to look at Bert’s house today. It is a truly awesome sight. If Bert took all his empty beer bottles back to the off-licence he might get enough money on the empties to pay off his rent arrears.

My father helped us to move all of the furniture out of the ground floor of Bert’s house, the woodworms came out to sunbathe. When we lifted the carpets we discovered that Bert had been walking about on a layer of dirt, old newspapers, hairpins, marbles and decomposed mice for years. We hung the carpets on the washing line and beat them all afternoon, but the dust billowed out non-stop. Pandora got excited at about 5 PM, she claimed she could see a pattern emerging on one carpet, but closer examination showed it to be squashed fairy cake. We are going back tomorrow with Pandora’s mother’s carpet-shampooer. Pandora said it has been tested by Which?, but I bet it has never had to clean a filthy hovel like Bert Baxter’s before.

I have just witnessed a miracle! This morning Bert’s carpets were dark grey in colour. Now one is a red Axminster and the other is a blue Wilton. The carpets are hanging on the clothes line to dry. We have scraped all the floors clean and washed the furniture down with a fungicide disinfectant. Pandora took the curtains down but they fell to pieces before she could get them to the sink. Bert has been sitting in a deckchair criticizing and complaining. He can’t see what’s wrong with living in a dirty house.

What is wrong with living in a dirty house?

My father took Bert’s bottles to the off-licence this morning. The boot, back seat and floor of the car were filled with them. The car stank of brown ale. He ran out of petrol on the way and called the AA. The AA man was most uncivil, he said it wasn’t the Automobile Association my father needed, it was Alcoholics Anonymous!

Twelfth after Trinity. Moon’s First Quarter

Bert’s house looks great. Everything is dead clean and shiny. We have moved his bed into the lounge so that he can watch television in bed. Pandora’s mother has done very artistic arrangements with flowers, and Pandora’s father has made an alsatian flap in the back door so that Bert doesn’t keep having to get up to answer the door to Sabre.

Bert is moving back tomorrow.

Labor Day, USA and Canada

An airmail letter from Hamish Mancini.

I showed it to Pandora, my father and Bert but nobody understands it. Bert doesn’t like Americans because it took them too long to come into the war or something.

Bert now in his clean house. He hasn’t said thank-you, but he seems happy.

Lousy stinking school on Thursday. I tried my old uniform on but I have outgrown it so badly that my father is being forced to buy me a new one tomorrow. He is going up the wall but I can’t help it if my body is in a growth period can I? I am only five centimetres shorter than Pandora now. My thing remains static at twelve centimetres.

Grandma phoned, she has found out about Doreen and Maxwell going to Skegness. She is never speaking to my father again.

Here is my shopping list:

My father can easily spare a hundred pounds. His redundancy payment must have been huge, so why he is lying on his bed moaning I don’t know. He is just a mean skinflint! He hasn’t paid with real money anyway! He used his American Express card.

Pandora admired me in my new uniform. She says she thinks I stand a good chance of being made a prefect.

A proud start to the new term. I am a prefect! My first duty is as, late duty prefect. I have to wait by the gap in the railings and take the name of anyone sneaking late into school. Pandora is also a prefect. She is in charge of silence in the dinner queue.

My new timetable was given to me today by my new form tutor, Mr Dock. It includes my O level and CSE lessons, and it is compulsory to do Maths, English, PE and Comparative Religion. But they do give you a choice of Cultural and Creative subjects. So I have chosen Media Studies (dead easy, just reading newspapers and watching telly) and Parentcraft (just learning about sex, I hope). Mr Dock also teaches English Literature, so we are bound to get on, by now I am surely the best-read kid in the school. I will be able to help him out if he gets stuck.

Asked my father for five pounds fifty for school trip to the British Museum. He went berserk and said, ‘What happened to free education?’ I told him that I didn’t know.

Had a long talk with Mr Dock. I explained that I was a one-parent-family child with an unemployed, bad-tempered father. Mr Dock said he wouldn’t care if I was the offspring of a black, lesbian, one-legged mother and an Arab, leprous, hump-backed-dwarf father so long as my essays were lucid, intelligent and unpretentious. So much for pastoral care!

Wrote lucid, intelligent and unpretentious essay about Scottish wildlife in the morning. In afternoon did shopping in Sainsbury’s with my father. Saw Rick Lemon dithering at the fruit counter; he said selecting fruit was an ‘overtly political act’. He rejected South African apples, French golden delicious apples, Israeli oranges, Tunisian dates, and American grapefruits. In the end he selected English rhubarb, ‘Although,’ he said, ‘the shape is phallic, possibly sexist’. His girlfriend, Tit (short for Titia), was cramming the trolley with pulses and rice. She had a long skirt on but now and again I caught a glimpse of her hairy ankles. My father said he preferred a nice shaven leg any day. My father likes stockings, suspenders, mini-skirts and low necklines! He is dead old-fashioned.

Thirteenth after Trinity

Went to see Blossom. Pandora doesn’t ride her now because her feet drag on the ground. Pandora is having a proper horse delivered next week. It is called Ian Smith. The people who are selling it used to live in Africa, in Zimbabwe.

Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. She is thirty- seven.

Full Moon

Phoned my mother before school. There was no answer. I expect she was lying in bed with that stinking rat Lucas.

School dinners are complete crap now. Gravy seems to have been phased out along with custard and hot puddings. A typical menu is: hamburger, baked beans, chips, carton of yoghurt, or a doughnut. It’s not enough to build healthy bone and sinew. I am considering making a protest to Mrs Thatcher. It won’t be our fault if we grow up apathetic and lacking in moral fibre. Perhaps Mrs Thatcher wants us to be too weak to demonstrate in years to come.

Barry Kent has been late three times in one week. So it is my unfortunate duty to report him to Mr Scruton.

Unpunctuality is the sign of a disordered brain. So he cannot go unpunished.

Our form is going to the British Museum on Friday. Pandora and I are going to sit together on the coach.

She is bringing her Guardian from home so that we can have some privacy.

Had a lecture on the British Museum from Ms Fossington-Gore. She said it was a ‘fascinating treasure house of personkind’s achievements’. Nobody listened to the lecture. Everyone was watching the way she felt her left breast whenever she got excited.

2 AM. Just got back from London. Coach driver suffered from motorway madness on the motorway. I am too shaken by the experience to be able to give a lucid or intelligent account of the day.

The school may well want a clear account by an unprejudiced observer of what happened on the way to, during and coming back from our trip to London. I am the only person qualified. Pandora, for all her qualities, does not possess my nerves of steel.

Class Four-D’s Tripto the British Museum

7 AM Boarded coach.

7.05 Ate packed lunch, drank low-calorie drink.

7.10 Coach stopped for Barry Kent to be sick.

7.20 Coach stopped for Claire Neilson to go to the Ladies.

7.30 Coach left school drive.

7.35 Coach returned to school for Ms Fossington-Gore’s handbag.

7.40 Coach driver observed to be behaving oddly.

7.45 Coach stopped for Barry Kent to be sick again.

7.55 Approached motorway.

8.00 Coach driver stopped coach and asked everyoneto stop giving ‘V signs to lorry drivers.

8.10 Coach driver loses temper, refuses to drive onmotorway until ‘bloody teachers control kids’.

8.20 Ms Fossington-Gore gets everyone sitting down.

8.25 Drive on to motorway.

8.30 Everyone singing ‘Ten Green Bottles’.

8.35 Everyone singing ‘Ten Green Snotrags’.

8.45 Coach driver stops singing by shouting veryloudly.

9.15 Coach driver pulls in at service station and is observed to drink heavily from hip-flask.

9.30 Barry Kent hands round bars of chocolate stolenfrom self-service shop at service station. Ms Fossington-Gore chooses Bounty bar. 9.40 Barry Kent sick in coach.

9.50 Two girls sitting near Barry Kent are sick.

9.51 Coach driver refuses to stop on motorway.

9.55 Ms Fossington-Gore covers sick in sand.

9.56 Ms Fossington-Gore sick as a dog.

10.30 Coach crawls along on hard shoulder, all other lanes closed for repairs.

11.30 Fight breaks out on back seat as coach approaches end of motorway.

11.45 Fight ends. Ms Fossington-Gore finds first-aid kit and sees to wounds. Barry Kent is punished by sitting next to driver.

11.50 Coach breaks down at Swiss Cottage.

11.55 Coach driver breaks down in front of AA man.

12.30 Class Four-D catch London bus to St Pancras.

1 PM Class Four-D walk from St Pancras through Bloomsbury.

1.15 Ms Fossington-Gore knocks on door of Tavistock House, asks if Dr Laing will give Barry Kent a quick going-over. Dr Laing in America on lecture tour.

1.30 Enter British Museum. Adrian Mole and Pandora Braithwaite awestruck by evidence of heritage of World Culture. Rest of class Four-D run berserk, laughing at nude statues and dodging curators.

2.15 Ms Fossington-Gore in state of collapse. Adrian Mole makes reverse-charge phone call to headmaster. Headmaster in dinner lady strike-meeting, can’t be disturbed.

3 PM Curators round up class Four-D and make them sit on steps of museum.

3.05 American tourists photograph Adrian Mole saying he is a ‘cute English schoolboy’.

3.15 Ms Fossington-Gore recovers and leads class Four-D on sightseeing tour of London.

4 PM Barry Kent jumps in fountain at Trafalgar Square, as predicted by Adrian Mole.

4.30 Barry Kent disappears, last seen heading towards Soho.

4.35 Police arrive, take Four-D to mobile police unit, arrange coach back. Phone parents about new arrival time. Phone headmaster at home. Claire Neilson has hysterical fit. Pandora Braithwaite tells Ms Fossington-Gore she is a disgrace to teaching profession. Ms Fossington-Gore agrees to resign.

6 PM Barry Kent found in sex shop. Charged with theft of ‘grow-it-big’ cream and two ‘ticklers’.

7 PM Coach leaves police station with police escort.

7.30 Police escort waves goodbye.

7.35 Coach driver begs Pandora Braithwaite to keep order.

7.36 Pandora Braithwaite keeps order.

8 PM Ms Fossington-Gore drafts resignation.

8.30 Coach driver afflicted by motorway madness.

8.40 Arrive back. Tyres burning. Class Four-D struck dumb with terror. Ms Fossington-Gore led off by Mr Scruton. Parents up in arms. Coach driver charged by police.

Fourteenth after Trinity. Moon’s Last Quarter

Keep having anxiety attacks every time I think about London, culture or the Mi. Pandora’s parents arelodging an official complaint to everyone they can think of.

Mr Scruton complimented Pandora and I on our leadership qualities. Ms Fossington-Gore is on sick leave. All future school trips have been cancelled.

The police have dropped charges against coach driver because there is ‘evidence of severe provocation’. The sex shop are not pressing charges either because officially Barry Kent is a child. A child! Barry Kent has never been a child.

Mr Scruton has now read my report on the trip to London. He gave me two merit marks for it!

It was on the news today that the British Museum is thinking of banning school parties.

Pandora and I are enjoying the last of the autumn together by walking through leaves and sniffing bonfires. This is the first year I have been able to pass a horse-chestnut tree without throwing a stick at it. Pandora says I am maturing very quickly.

Went out conkering with Nigel tonight. I found five big beauties and smashed Nigel’s into pulp. Ha! Ha! Ha!

Took Blossom to see Bert. He can’t walk far these days. Blossom is being sold to a rich family, a girl called Camilla is going to learn to ride on her. Pandora says Camilla is so posh as to be unintelligible. Bert was dead sad, he said, ‘You and me will both end up in the knacker’s yard, gel’.

Fifteenth after Trinity

Blossom went off at 10.30 AM. I gave her a sixteen-pence apple to take her mind off the heartbreak. Pandora ran after the little horse-box shouting, ‘I’ve changed my mind’, but it carried on.

Pandora has also changed her mind about Ian Smith. She never wants to see another pony or horse again. She is guilt-ridden about selling Blossom.

Ian Smith turned up at 2.30 PM and was turned away. There was an evil look on his black face as he stood in his horse-box and was driven away. Pandora’s father is going to his bank early tomorrow to cancel the cheque he wrote out last Thursday. There was an evil look on his face as well.

New Moon

Bert has got something wrong with his legs. The doctor says he needs daily nursing. I went in today but he is too heavy for me to lug about. The district nurse thinks that Bert will be better off in the Alderman Cooper Sunshine Home. But I don’t think he will. I pass by it on my way to school. It looks like a museum. The old people look like the exhibits.

Bert doesn’t get on with his district nurse. He says he doesn’t like having his privates mauled about by a woman. Personally, I wouldn’t mind it.

I am glad September is nearly over, it has been nothing but trouble. Blossom gone. Pandora sad. Bert on his last legs. My father still out of work. My mother still besotted with creep Lucas.