My precious Pandora is going out with Craig Thomas. That’s the last time you get a Mars bar from me, Thomas!
Barry Kent is in trouble for drawing a nude woman in Art. Ms Fossington-Gore said that it wasn’t so much the subject matter but his ignorance of basic biological facts that was so upsetting. I did a good drawing of the Incredible Hulk smashing Craig Thomas to bits. Ms Fossington-Gore said it was a ‘powerful statement of monolithic oppression’.
Phone call from my mother. Her voice sounded funny as if she had a cold. She kept saying, ‘You’ll understand one day, Adrian’. There was a slurping sound in the background. I expect it was that Lucas creep kissing her neck. I have seen them do it on the films.
My father wouldn’t give me a note excusing me from Games so I spent nearly all morning dressed in pyjamas diving into a swimming pool and picking up a brick from the bottom. I had a bath when I came home but I still smell of chlorine. I just don’t see the point of the above lesson. When I am grown up I am hardly going to walk along a river bank in my pyjamas am I? And who would be stupid enough to dive into a river for a boring old brick? Bricks are lying around all over the place!
My father and me had a good talk last night. He asked me who I would prefer to live with, him or my mother? I said both. He told me he had made friends with a woman at work, she is called Doreen Slater. He said he would like me to meet her one day. Here we go again; so much for the suicidal, heartbroken, deserted husband!
Rang my grandmother to tell her about Doreen Slater. My grandma didn’t sound too pleased, she said it was a common-sounding name and I am inclined to agree with her.
Got Waiting for Godot out of the library. Disappointed to find that it was a play. Still, I will give it a go. I have been neglecting my brain lately.
Nigel asked me if I wanted to stay the weekend. His parents are going to a wedding in Croydon. My father said I could. He looked quite pleased. I am going round to Nigel’s in the morning.
I broke up for the Easter holidays today. Must make sure my brain keeps active.
First Quarter
Nigel is dead lucky. His house is absolutely fantastic! Everything is modern. I don’t know what he must think of our house, some of our furniture is over a hundred years old!
His bedroom is massive and he has got a stereo, a colour television, a tapedeck, a Scalextric track, an electric guitar and amplifier. Spotlights over his bed. Black walls and a white carpet and a racing car continental quilt. He has got loads of back issues of Big and Bouncy, so we looked through them, then Nigel had a cold shower while I cooked the soup and cut the French loaf. We had a good laugh at Waiting for Godot. Nigel had hysterics when I said that Vladimir and Estragon sounded like contraception pills.
I had a go on Nigel’s racing bike. I now want onemore than anything in the world. If I had to choose between Pandora and a racing bike, I would choose the bike. Sorry, Pandora, but that’s how things are.
We went to the chip shop and had the works. Fish, chips, pickled onions, gherkins, sloppy peas. Nothing was too expensive for Nigel, he gets loads of pocket money. We walked round for a bit then we came back and watched The Bug-Eyed Monster Strikes Back on the television. I said the bug-eyed monster reminded me of Mr Scruton the headmaster. Nigel had hysterics again. I think I have got quite a talent to amuse people. I might change my mind about becoming a vet and try writing situation comedy for television.
When the film finished Nigel said, ‘How about a nightcap?’ He went to the bar in the corner of the lounge and he poured us both a stiff whisky and soda. I hadn’t actually tasted whisky before and I never will again. How people can drink it for pleasure I don’t know. If it was in a medicine bottle they would pour it down the sink!
Don’t remember going to bed, but I must have done because I am sitting up in Nigel’s parents’ bed writing my diary.
Palm Sunday
This weekend with Nigel has really opened my eyes! Without knowing it I have been living in poverty for the past fourteen years. I have had to put up withinferior accommodation, lousy food and paltry pocket money. If my father can’t provide a decent standard of living for me on his present salary, then he will just have to start looking for another job. He is always complaining about having to flog electric storage heaters anyway. Nigel’s father has worked like a slave to create a modern environment for his family. Perhaps if my father had built a formica cocktail bar in the corner of our lounge my mother would still be living with us. But oh no. My father actually boasts about our hundred-year-old furniture.
Yes! Instead of being ashamed of our antiques, he is proud of the clapped-out old rubbish.
My father should take lessons from Great Literature. Madame Bovary ran away from that idiot Doctor Bovary because he couldn’t supply her needs.
Had a note from Mr Cherry asking me when I can resume my paper round. I sent a note back to say that due to my mother’s desertion I am still in a mental state. This is true. I wore odd socks yesterday without knowing it. One was red and one was green. I must pull myself together. I could end up in a lunatic asylum.
Had a postcard from my mother. She has found a flat and she wants me to visit her and Lucas as soon as possible.
Why can’t my mother write a ktter like any normal person? Why should the postman be able to read my confidential business? Her new address is 79A, President Carter Walk, Sheffield.
I asked my father if I could go; he said, ‘Yes, providing she sends the train fare’. So I have written a letter asking her to send eleven pounds eighty.
Went to the youth club with Nigel. It was dead good. We played ping-pong until the balls cracked. Then we had a go on the football table. I beat Nigel fifty goals to thirteen. Nigel went into a sulk and said that he only lost because his goalkeeper’s legs were stuck on with Sellotape but he was wrong. It was my superior skill that did it.
A gang of punks passed unkind comments about my flared trousers but Rick Lemon, the youth leader, stepped in and led a discussion on personal taste. We all agreed it should be up to the individual to dress how he or she likes. All the same I think I will ask my father if I can have a new pair of trousers. Not manyfourteen-year-olds wear flared trousers today, and I don’t wish to be conspicuous.
Barry Kent tried to get in the fire-doors to avoid paying his five-pence subs. But Rick Lemon pushed him back outside into the rain. I was very pleased. I owe Barry Kent two pounds’ menaces money.
Got a birthday card from my Auntie Susan, two weeks late! She always forgets the right day. My father said that she’s under a lot of pressure because of her job, but I can’t see it myself. I’d have thought that being a prison wardress was dead cushy, it is only locking and unlocking doors after afl. She has sent a present via the GPO so with luck I should get it by Christmas. Ha! Ha!
Good Friday
Poor Jesus, it must have been dead awful for him. I wouldn’t have had the guts to do it myself.
The dog has mauled the hot-cross buns; it doesn’t respect any traditions.