The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole (11 page)

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!

Oh! my love,

My heart is yearning,

My mouth is dry,

My soul is burning.

You’re in Tunisia,

I am here.

Remember me and shed a tear.

Come back tanned and brown and healthy.

You’re lucky that your dad is wealthy.

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:

Dearest,

Economic conditions here are quite dreadful. I was going to buy you a present but instead I gave all my money to a beggar. You have such a generous heart Adrian that I feel sure you will understand. All my love into infinity.

For ever,

Pandora

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: ‘9½ 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!