The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole Page 7

  I seldom get to see Terry Wogan in the corridors as he works in Radio Two and I work for Radios Three and Four. Also his show goes on the air very early and he has usually left the building by the time I get to my desk.

  With my best wishes and again my thanks for having let me see your latest work.

  Yours sincerely,

  John Tydeman (Radio Four)

  Dear Adrian,

  John Tydeman showed me your poem ‘Norway’ and I was very moved by its sentiments. I hope you will be able to visit our country one day. It is very beautiful and you will be able to visit the Fjords and see where Ibsen and Grieg lived. As an intellectual, this should be of interest to you. Perhaps when you visit us and speak with us you will not find our vowels so strange. Remember we only have long nights and short days in winter. In June it is the opposite. So come in summer and we will make you very welcome.

  Good luck with your study of the Norwegian Leather Industry.

  Yours sincerely,

  Knut Johansen

  What a brilliant letter! ‘Considerable Development’, ‘Maturing as a Poet’! The translation was even better; it was an invitation to go to Norway! Well, almost. There was no actual mention of paying my fare, but, ‘Come in summer, we will make you very welcome’!

  My mother and Courtney Elliot read the letters. Courtney said, ‘You have a very singular son, Mrs Mole.’

  My mother’s reply was brief yet touching. ‘I know,’ she said.

  THURSDAY AUGUST 26TH

  Moon’s first Quarter

  I tackled Courtney Elliot about the late delivery of my BBC letter, which was dated July 19th so had taken over a month to travel 104 miles. Courtney said, ‘I believe that there was a derailment of the Mail Train at Kettering in July. It is possible that your letter was in one of those unfortunate mail bags that lay at the bottom of the embankment until being discovered by a homeward-bound ploughman.’

  The Post Office have always got an excuse!

  FRIDAY AUGUST 27TH

  The bank rate has been reduced to 10% so my mother has made an appointment to see Mr Niggard, the Bank Manager. She wants to borrow some money because she hasn’t got any left.

  I hope she gets a loan; I haven’t had any pocket money for two weeks.

  SATURDAY AUGUST 28TH

  Pandora is taking canoeing lessons in preparation for her River Wye holiday. She had her first lesson today and she invited me to watch and, if necessary, give her the kiss of life in case she fell out and nearly drowned.

  She looked dead erotic in her black wetsuit and crash helmet. And for the first time in yonks I felt my thing moving on its own.

  I can’t remember anything more about the lesson, so was unable to join in Pandora’s enthusiastic conversation on the way home in her dad’s car.

  SUNDAY AUGUST 29TH

  Twelfth after trinity

  Stayed in bed all day. My mother went to a picnic with some women at a place called Greenham Common. It was dark when she got back. I was dead worried.

  MONDAY AUGUST 30TH

  Last Summer Holiday (UK except Scotland)

  My mother was happy today. She cleaned the house from top to bottom (including the cutlery drawer and understairs cupboard). She sang the same song over and over again.

  You can’t kill the spirit

  She is like a mountain

  Old and strong.

  She goes on and on and on!

  It looks like her picnic did her good.

  TUESDAY AUGUST 31ST

  My mother went to see the Bank Manager this morning. I persuaded her to put a loose dress on so that he wouldn’t know she was pregnant.

  But it turned out that my father had already been whining to the bank for money and while he was there he had blabbed out all our family secrets. Mr Niggard knew that the only income my mother has is Social Security and Family Allowance so he wouldn’t lend her any more.

  He said she was a bad risk. There is nothing for it. I will have to get a Saturday job. I need money desperately, I’ve got two months’ library fines to pay.

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 1ST

  Got a card from Bert Baxter. It was a picture of Bradford Town Hall. Bert had written,

  Dear Laddo,

  Having a good laugh with the old ‘uns, we are visiting temples and going to weddings nearly every day. The grub is good but I’ve had to knock off the drink on account of the other old ‘uns’ religion.

  Queenie is coming out next week. So be a good lad and nip round and give the bungalow a bit of a tidy up.

  Yours affec’ly,

  Bert

  Pandora took her One-Star Canoeing test this afternoon. Her instructor, a bloke called Bill Sampson, said that Pandora has got ‘great canoeing potential’. He raved on about Pandora’s powerful shoulders, limp wrists and gripping thighs. Pandora passed her test easily. Bill Sampson has offered to prepare her for her Two-Star Test.

  Pandora has asked me to join her in her new hobby, but I have got a morbid dread of capsizing so I declined. I am quite happy watching from the bank thinking my intellectual thoughts and holding the towels and thermos flask.

  THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 2ND

  There is now no disguising the fact that my mother is pregnant. She sticks right out at the front and walks in a very peculiar manner. She finds it a bit difficult to bend down, so I spend half my time picking things up for her.

  Her dungarees are too tight for her, so I am hoping that she will buy a pretty flowery maternity dress. Princess Diana looked charming during her pregnancy. One of those big white collars would really suit my mother. Also it would distract attention from her wrinkly neck.

  FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 3RD

  Full Moon

  Pandora and her parents are leaving for the River Wye tomorrow. I have offered to go in and feed Marley, their big ginger cat. They have accepted my kind offer and have entrusted me with their keys. It is a massive responsibility, their house is chock-a-block with expensive electrical items and ancient antiques.

  SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 4TH

  Waved goodbye to my love today. She blew kisses from the rear windows of the Volvo Estate then vanished round the corner.

  I waited half an hour (in case they came back for something they had forgotten) then I let myself into the house, made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to watch their big colour telly. At dinner-time I made myself a tuna sandwich (must remember to replace the tin of tuna before they come back) and ate it at Mr Braithwaite’s desk.

  I couldn’t help noticing a letter on his desk:

  Dear Chairperson,

  Arthur, it is with the deepest regret that I offer my resignation as vice-chairperson of the Elm Ward Labour Party.

  The Committee has moved so far to the right recently that I now find my own moderate views are regarded by them as ‘extremist’.

  As you know I objected to the Committee sending a telegram of congratulations to Mrs Thatcher during the Falklands Crisis, and, because of my objections, I was called a ‘Stalinist’ and a ‘traitor’. Mrs Benson told me to get back to Russia where I belong.

  I know she is a stalwart party member and is indispensable at collecting the tea money, but her constant talk about the Royal Family has no place at a Labour Party meeting, especially with unemployment as high as it is.

  And finally and sadly, your own comments about Tony Benn I find absolutely repellent. Calling a member of your own party a ‘goggle-eyed goon’ is just not on, Arthur. Tony Benn has served this country well in the past, and he may well lead it one day.

  I am going on holiday for a week. I will speak to you when I get back.

  Yours,

  Ivan Braithwaite

  There was a stamped, addressed envelope lying next to the letter. Mr Braithwaite had obviously been too busy to post it himself so I posted the letter on my way home.

  SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 5TH

  I have just been to see a brilliant play at our neighbourhood centre. It was called Woza Albert. It was all about South Africa
and how cruel their government is to the black people who do all the work. I cried a bit at the end. I swear I will never eat another Cape apple as long as I live.

  MONDAY SEPTEMBER 6TH

  Labour Day (USA and Canada)

  Spent all day watering the Braithwaites’ plants. It can’t be healthy living amongst so much vegetation. It’s a wonder Pandora and her parents don’t die of oxygen starvation. If I was them I would keep a caged canary around the place.

  TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 7TH

  Went to the ante-natal clinic with my mother. We waited for two hours in a room full of red-faced pregnant women. My mother had forgotten to bring a sample of urine from home, so a nurse gave her a shiny oven tray and told her to, ‘Squeeze a few drops out for us, dear.’

  My mother had only just been to the loo so she took ages and ended up missing her place in the weighing queue. By the time her blood pressure was taken my mother was in a state of hypertension. She said the doctor warned her about doing too much and told her to relax more.

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 8TH

  Realized with horror that school starts next Monday and I have only done one day’s revising for my mock exams. Took my History folder round to the Braithwaites’, fed the cat and settled down in the study. I thought perhaps the studious atmosphere might help but I can’t say it made much difference. I still can’t remember Archduke Ferdinand’s middle name, or the date of the Battle of Mons.

  THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 9TH

  Went round to Bert Baxter’s bungalow to tidy up. Queenie is coming home from hospital on Saturday. I hope the Hindus bring Bert back in time.

  Did revision for mocks until 3 a.m.

  FRIDAY SEPTEMBER I0TH

  Courtney Elliot said, ‘A billet-doux for the Young Master.’ It was a letter from Pan.

  Adrian Precious,

  We started at Builth Wells on Sunday evening and had quite an exciting paddle downstream. Mummy and Daddy were paddling an open Canadian. I was in a single kayak.

  We camped overnight at Llanstephan. It was lovely, I left the flap of my tent open and looked up at the stars and thought of you.

  Just beyond Llanstephan there is an orgiastic rapid called Hell Hole. The local people fear it and all the canoeing guides describe it as being ‘Grade Three, must be portaged’, which means you mustn’t canoe down it, but instead carry your canoe and equipment around it.

  Mummy and Daddy managed to get to the side of the river OK but the water carried me ever onwards towards Hell Hole. Honestly, Adrian, it was just like Deliverance, I half expected a Welsh halfwit to appear on the bridge and start twanging a harp.

  Anyway I went rushing into Hell Hole and the canoe turned upside down, but I managed to get out after a while. My boat was smashed in half, but I regained consciousness and swam to the bank.

  See you on Sunday.

  All my love,

  Pandora P.S. Mummy’s nerves are off again.

  I felt ill after reading Pandora’s letter. I had to take a junior aspirin and lie down.

  SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 11TH

  Had horrible nightmares all night. I kept seeing Pandora’s body floating under the remains of Skegness Pier.

  SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 12TH

  Fourteenth after Trinity

  Everybody returned home today apart from my father.

  Ironed my school uniform: it is much too small for me, but my mother can’t afford a new one.

  MONDAY SEPTEMBER 13TH

  I am now a fifth-year and have the privilege of using the side entrance of the school. I can’t wait until next year when I will be able to use the front entrance (sixth formers and staff only).

  Perhaps I have got a perverted streak, but I really enjoyed watching the first-, second-, third- and fourth-years cramming through their low status entrance at the back of the school.

  I informed Mrs Claricoates, the school secretary, that once again I am on free school dinners. As usual she was full of empathy for me and said, ‘Never mind, pet, it’ll all come out in the wash.’

  Had mock English exam. I was the first to finish. It was a doddle.

  TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 14TH

  I have got a new form teacher. His name is Mr Lambert. He is the kind of teacher who likes being friendly. He said, ‘Consider me a friend, any problems to do with school or home, I want to hear them.’

  He sounded more like a Samaritan than a teacher. I have made an appointment to see him after school tomorrow.

  My mother is thirty-eight today. I bought her a card which said ‘Happy 18th Birthday’, but, I cunningly changed the number one into a three by the use of Tipp-Ex and dried lentils. So it read ‘Happy 38th Birthday!’ Unfortunately the verse on the inside didn’t match my mother’s lifestyle much.

  A-tremble on the edge of life,

  One day to be a mum and wife.

  But now it’s discos fun and laughter:

  Why should you care what’s coming after?

  The picture on the front was of a teenage girl going mad to sounds coming out of a record player. On reflection, I think it was a bad choice of card. I wish I wasn’t an impulse buyer. Her present was some underarm hair remover. I noticed that the stuff she usually uses had run out.

  My father sent a card picturing a sad cat. He had written inside ‘Yours as ever, George’. That stinking rat Lucas sent a card from Sheffield. It was in a box and had a cartoon mouse on the front eating a piece of cheese (Edam I think). Inside Lucas had written: ‘Pauline, I’ll never forget that night in the pinewoods. Yours with undying love, Bimbo.’

  She had ten other cards, all from women and all with pictures of flowers on the front. I don’t know why women are so mad about flowers. Personally they leave me cold. I prefer trees.

  WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 15TH

  My father phoned up before I went to school this morning. He wanted to speak to my mother, but she refused to talk to him. Brett was crying. In the background, it sounded as if Grandma and Stick Insect were quarrelling. Somebody (it could only have been Maxwell I suppose) was playing a toy xylophone. My father sounded dead miserable. He said, ‘I know I did wrong, Adrian; but the punishment hardly fits the crime.’

  Had a long talk with Mr Lambert after school. He took me to a café and bought me a cup of tea and a vanilla slice. As we parted he said, ‘Look, Adrian, try to detach yourself from the mess your parents are in. You’re a gifted boy and you mustn’t let them drag you down to their level.’

  ‘A gifted boy’! At last someone apart from Pandora has recognized my intellectual prowess.

  Had mock biology exam. I was the last to finish.

  THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 16TH

  Barry Kent has made an appointment with Mr Lambert to talk about his family problems!

  I hope Mr Lambert has got twenty-four hours to spare. Ha! Ha! Ha!

  Had mock geography exam. Just my luck - there were no questions about the Norwegian Leather Industry.

  FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 17TH

  New Moon

  Nearly everyone in our class has made an appointment to see Mr Lambert about their family problems. Even Pandora, whose mother is a Marriage Guidance Counsellor!

  Mr Lambert is going about the school biting his nails and looking worried. He has stopped taking people to the café.

  SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 18TH

  A Tydeman letter! Alas, yet another rejection. The gods are not yet smiling on me.

  British Broadcasting Corporation

  17th SEPTEMBER

  Dear Adrian Mole,

  Thank you for your latest letter (undated - you must, if you are going to be a writer - and even if you are not - date your letters. We file them, you know. The BBC has lots of files, some of which are kept in warehouses in Ware, Herts, others of which are at Caversham, nr Reading. Some of the files are very valuable).

  The country seems to have made you gloomy. It often makes poets gloomy, people like Wordsworth & Co. On other occasions it uplifts them - skylarks singing, lambs bounding, daffodils daffing, waterfalls crashing. It prov
okes odes and things in them. So forget gloom and suicide and write something cheerful.

  I’m afraid that the poem is not yet up to broadcast standard but it does show a poetic advance, so keep on trying. We will naturally respect your copyright in your work. (The BBC is usually very good about things like that.) Copyright is dealt with by a special department and we do not bother the Director General directly with such matters. However, you have not got your break (chance) - yet.

  Do not kill yourself because of another rejection. If all poets killed themselves because of early rejections there would be no poetry at all.

  Yours most sincerely,

  John Tydeman

  SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 19TH

  Fifteenth after Trinity

  Took a deep breath and went to see Bert and Queenie today. They were hostile to me because I’ve neglected them for a week.

  Bert said, ‘He’s not bothered about us old ‘uns no more, Queenie. He’s more interested in gadding about.’

  How unfair can you get? I can’t remember the last time I gadded about. Queenie didn’t say anything because she can’t speak properly because of the stroke, but she certainly looked antagonistic.

  Bert ordered me to come back tomorrow to clean up. Their home help comes on Tuesdays and Bert likes the place to be tidy for when she comes.

  MONDAY SEPTEMBER 20TH

  Courtney Elliot didn’t bring my mother’s Social Security giro this morning. I went to school worrying about it and hoping it would come in the second post. I was amazed to learn that I’d only got average marks for my mocks. Surely there has been a serious error.

  TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 21ST

  My mother and Courtney Elliot had a row over the missing giro this morning. Courtney said, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger because the news is bad or non-existent, Mrs Mole.’

  My mother tried to ring the Social Security office all day, but the line was permanently engaged.