I phoned Pandora's mother, Tania, for the inside story and she told me that Maurice's computerised feed-a-pet feeding bowl had developed a fault and had refused to open up and feed the ravenous beast. Some of the headlines were harsh: "Pan's pet starved alone", "Drug MP's cat horror", and "Pan's pussy shock".
In my role (unpaid) as Pandora's advisor on Middle England, I rang the House of Commons to offer my help. Unfortunately, she was not able to take my call as she was in emergency talks with Alastair Campbell. I left a message with her private secretary, Nigel Hetherington, "Tell her to make a large donation to the Cat Rescue Mission." Nigel said: "How very, very original. Thank you for your extremely naff idea, Moley."
It still rankles with me that Pandora chose Nigel to be her right-hand man rather than me. Okay, so he may have three degrees — in management, business and fashion — but I feel that he lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. I am extremely experienced when it comes to dealing with the media. In 1993, for five months I was the Ashby Bugle's poetry correspondent (unpaid) until the editor was sacked for gross subordination (throwing an empty vodka bottle at the proprietor). Unfortunately, the new editor was obsessed with sport and turned my weekly column into a Spot The Ball competition, to the detriment, in my opinion, of Ashby-de-la-Zouch's cultural landscape. William is not eating. I suspect he is seeking attention.
Sunday, October 22
Millbank released a photograph of Pandora and Maurice today together with a condemnation of computerised feeding bowls. Pandora is calling for an enquiry into their reliability. She has vowed to use a cat-sitter in future. When asked about her relationship with Keith Allen, she said: "Mr Allen and I were in Ayia Napa on a fact-finding mission. We were investigating the swamping of the British Consulate by penniless British youngsters demanding their airfare home.
Monday, October 23
The police in Nottingham are now strolling about in the city centre with guns. How long will it be before Ashby-de-la-Zouch rings to the sound of the Kalashnikov? Surely we are on a slippery slope.
Tuesday, October 24
Eddie rang today to complain that I haven't turned up for work. I explained about my childcare problems during half-term. He said: "I'm tryin' to run a bleedin' caff 'ere. I don't give a toss about yer private life, Mole." This is typical of Britain's and Eddie's attitude towards children. It's no wonder that three of Eddie's offspring are currently enjoying custodial sentences and that one, Shane, is dancing with the Royal Ballet. Glenn has begged to be in charge of cooking in future. I was happy to pass on the Mole apron. I hadn't realised that he was interested in the culinary arts.
Wednesday, October 25
William's appetite has picked up. Glenn has bought Jamie Oliver's Naked Chef book with the money he has made guarding the cars of the social workers visiting the estate.
In good spirit
Friday, October 27, Ashby-de-la-Zouch
Ivan Braithwaite is home from the mental hospital and is now confined in the box room at Wisteria Walk. My mother is acting as his nurse. I say «acting» because she is most ungracious about her new role. I overheard her talking on the phone to her brother, Pete, who lives in Norwich. It was a self-pitying monologue which I reproduce here, though it gives me no pleasure. .
"When I married Ivan I expected my life to change. As you know, Pete, Ivan is upper-lower-middle-class and he promised to stretch my horizons, but the only horizons I've seen lately have been the view from the fourth floor of the mental hospital and the vista of the back of my own back garden. I've blown it, Pete. I've turned into a bleddy nursemaid. I'm looking after our Adrian's kids as well, while he's at work.
[Pause]
"No, he's not paying me! He bought me a bunch of forecourt flowers last night and then complained because I'd given the kids lobster nuggets and oven chips for their tea instead of the stupid health stuff he'd brought round in the morning. They're growing lads, Pete. They need more than a few beansprouts and a lump of tofu. Anyway, I'd better go. I'm sorry we've not spoken for over 20 years, Pete, but Mum did promise me her charm bracelet when she died and your wife, Yvonne, had no right to claim it and wear it on her fat wrist at Mum's funeral.
[Pause]
"No! Mum promised it to me, Pete!
[Sobbing]
"She hated Yvonne. She used to call her Nixon. .
[Pause]
". . because of her five o'clock shadow, that's why!
[Pause]
"Oh, I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't know that Yvonne had died recently. How recently?
[Pause]
"Yesterday! Oh, my god! Oh, Pete. That's awful!
[Pause]
"So, you'll send me that charm bracelet in the post will you, Pete? Remember to register it."
At this point the call was disconnected at the Norwich end.
Saturday, October 28, The Dome, Greenwich
I am sitting here in Harry Ramsden's, waiting for Glenn and William, who are in the queue for the Body Zone. The waiting time is an hour and a quarter. When I suggested an alternative — that we visit the Prayer Zone, which did not have a single visitor — Glenn said, "You go in an' do a prayer, Dad. Me and Will'll catch you later."
The boy is getting to be more assertive by the day. He has already taken over the cooking at home and this morning I found a note in a milk bottle on our doorstep: "No milk today. Gone to the Dome. Cheers milkman, Glenn Bott-Mole". How long has Glenn had a double-barrelled name? And why is «Mole» second? Glenn Mole-Bott has a much more refined ring to it.
The Prayer Zone was still empty. The woman vicar in the pastel tracksuit was obviously grateful to see me and hear my religious views. I told her I had recently become a tree worshipper and asked if there was an organisation I could join. She looked through her index of the Book Of World Religions, without success before saying, "The Liberal Democrats may be your best bet."
Sunday, October 29
The scenes at St Pancras Station were pitiful last night, as desperate East Midlanders milled around on the concourse before setting off on their detours around the broken rails of Midland Main Line.
Monday, October 30
I woke at 3.30am to find that a twister was spiralling down our street. Several wheelie-bins were overturned and a lousy, stinking tree demolished my shed.
Frog leap
Tuesday, October 31, 2000. Ashby-de-la-Zouch
Pandora's weekend home, Lock Keepers Cottage, on the banks of the river Severn has been flooded out. She had to be rescued by a fireman in a Canadian canoe. The rescue was filmed by Midlands Today. Apparently, she and a 19-year-old youth called "Scottish Sandy" had been marooned for a day and a night in Pandora's bedroom. According to her, Sandy had been stacking sandbags against her doorstep when the torrent overtook them and they were forced to flee upstairs. When asked by Julia Snoddy, Midlands Today's weather correspondent, why Pandora had not alerted the emergency services earlier, the controversial MP replied, "I knew how busy they were and did not want to add to their workload."