Wednesday, April 11
Awake all night with irritating dry cough. Sweated profusely.
Thursday, April 12
TB has broken out only two kilometres from my door! And I have all the symptoms. Dr Ng was summoned. He angrily removed a red sequin from the back of my throat.
Passion play
Friday, April 13, Good Friday
Why do banks close on bank holidays? They should be open when so many are free to use them. I wished to query a statement saying I had spent £104.49 on Belgian chocolates at a shop in Lewes, so rang a call centre in Southend. I told a youth called Gary that I never bought chocolate due to the effect it has on my skin, and had never been to Lewes.
He said, "Perhaps it was an internet transaction." I repeated testily that I could not tolerate chocolate. He said, "Perhaps you bought it for someone else — it is Easter." I said angrily, "I am a poor man: £104.49 exceeds my weekly income." He snapped, "The standing order to your newsagent could keep an African village in food for a month." At this moment, Glenn shouted from the toilet that there was no paper. I put Gary on hold. When I came back, “Greensleeves” was playing, so I went to my bank, only to find the doors locked.
Glenn was miserable all day. He asked if he could paint his bedroom black. When I asked what was wrong, he said, "Why do they call it Good Friday? It weren't for poor Jesus, were it?"
He explained that he had trodden on a drawing pin this morning: "It brung it 'ome to me what it must 'ave been like on the cross." He then asked if he could have a Heroes Easter egg. William's egg of choice is Barbie. Worrying.
Saturday, April 14
Had an email from Hamish Mancini: "Yo, Adi, I'm FedExing a 100lb bag of Idaho's finest potatoes, because you don't got none in England, cos of the floods and plagues. We are praying for you and your family."
Sunday, April 15, Easter Day
Pamela came round with an egg-decorating kit. William's eggs were a riot of primary colours; Glenn's depicted Jesus on the cross. He wrote a bubble out of Jesus's mouth, "Father, why hast thou forsaken me?", which disturbed Pamela: "For God's sake, Glenn lighten up. It's Easter!"
Later, while William played with the packing of his Barbie egg and Glenn watched The Greatest Story Ever Told, she led me to my room and gave an erotic Easter egg, the centre of which contained a pair of edible knickers. She was keen for me to break it open and retrieve them. I was less keen: a glance at the ingredients told me they were choc-a-bloc with obscure chemicals and multisyllable flavourings.
Prada Wellingtons and a tweed suit
Sunday, April 22, Ashby-de-la-Zouch
Last Sunday, I forced the boys to sit and listen to Go4it, the new Radio 4 children's programme. I was annoyed when, after only five minutes, Glenn complained, "It's for posh kids, innit?" William fell asleep during the Sir Steve Redgrave interview. I woke him and said, "Sir Steve has won five gold medals for this country. The least you can do is stay awake while he's talking."
This evening, we again sat down to listen. I was enthralled by the interview with Thunderbirds creator Gerry Anderson. I was once besotted with Lady Penelope. She was the subject of my first sexual fantasy. I still like women who are a bit on the wooden side. Pandora Braithwaite MP, the love of my life, has a carved look about her. Though it is the Labour party who are now pulling her strings. Ha ha!
She was on the news tonight, wearing Prada Wellingtons and a tweed suit, trying to assure angry country folk why a massive hole containing hundreds of thousands of noxious, decomposing cows and sheep, would not become a health hazard. A reporter shouted, "Have you signed the compact, Pandora?" She snapped, "The only compact I have any use for has the name Chanel embossed on the lid."
Monday, April 23
Pandora's remark has landed her in trouble with the CRE. She's been ordered to have her photo taken with a black or brown person. She rang to ask if William was available. I said, "The child's skin is not for hire." She asked me for Mohammed's mobile number and then rang off.
Tuesday, April 24
When I went to the BP garage for a box of Coco Pops, Mohammed was bursting with the news that Pandora had rung him and had invited herself and a Newsnight crew to dinner last night. She had requested chicken tikka masala. Mohammed said, "Me missus were a bit put out, coz she usually gets fish and chips on Tuesdays, but you can't deny Pandora owt when she orders you about in that posh voice, can you?" He asked me what side Newsnight was on.
Naturellement, I viewed the programme with great interest. Pandora was wearing her Alexander McQueen-designed Punjabi suit she'd last worn to the inaugural meeting of Ashby's Anglo-Asian women's rugby team.
An Englishman's home…
Thursday, April 26, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, 10.30pm
Thank God Phoenix has been reprieved. William cried himself to sleep last night, and Glenn spoke darkly about travelling to Membury in Devon and joining the junior wing of a militant vegetarian splinter group called Sprouts, who were planning to resist evil MAFF, the calf murderers. His motives were not entirely altruistic. He has been bewitched by Joanna Lumley since seeing her pleading so eloquently for the calf's life on TV. This is worrying: Ms Lumley is enchanting, but she is old enough to be his grandmother.
Saturday, April 28
I went to the garage for milk early this morning, and was alarmed to find Mohammad being given oxygen by two paramedics. He had been overcome by the fumes emanating from a pile of the restyled Guardian Weekend magazines. I stayed until he had recovered enough to gasp, "This allergy could be the end of my career as a forecourt newsagent, Moley."
This afternoon, William ran home from the grotty recreation ground in tears, after a big white kid called him a «mongrel». I reminded him that he had in his veins the blood of a Nigerian aristocrat, a Norfolk potato farmer, a Scottish engine driver, a Welsh witch and that, by virtue of being born in this country, and as defined by the OED, he was as English as John Townend. The kid refused to be comforted, until he was invited by Glenn to watch a video of Joanna Lumley in her role as Purdey in The New Avengers.
Sunday, April 29
Filling in the census form took longer than expected. I agonised over the work-related questions. Eventually, I ticked the «Yes» box, and admitted that I had worked for three hours on my novel, Krog From Gork.
William didn't seem to belong to any ethnic group. I rang the helpline and spoke to a bloke called Len Cook. He seemed irritated by my explanation of William's various bloodlines. In the end, I settled for box B — Mixed other, and wrote British/Black African.