The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole

by Sue Townsend

  I wrote a poem on the toilet wall at school today.

  I thought it was a good way of getting a bit of political consciousness over to my moronic fellow pupils.

  The Future

  What future is there for the young?

  What songs are waiting to be sung?

  There are no mountains left to climb,

  No poetry without a rhyme.

  No jobs to go to after school.

  We divide and still they rule.

  They give us Job Creation Schemes.

  When what we want are hopes and dreams.

  A. MOLE

  FRIDAY FEBRUARY 18TH

  I was sent to see the headmaster today. He has found out about my toilet poem. I asked him how he knew I’d written it. He said, ‘You signed it, idiot boy.’ I have been suspended for a week.

  SATURDAY FEBRUARY 19TH

  Barry Kent and his gang called for me today. Kent said, ‘We’re going down town, you can come if you like!’ I was feeling a bit nihilistic so I went.

  SUNDAY FEBRUARY 20TH

  Hung around the deserted shopping centre with Barry Kent and the lads. I feel a curious affinity with the criminal classes. I am beginning to understand why Lord Longford (another noted intellectual) spends his time hanging around prisons.

  Barry graciously gave me permission to call him ‘Baz’.

  MONDAY FEBRUARY 21ST

  washington’s Birthday Observance

  Baz took me home and introduced me to his family today.

  Mrs Kent said, ‘Ain’t you the lad what’s ‘ad all the scandal?’

  I said, ‘Yeah that’s me, but so what?’

  Mrs Kent said, ‘That’s no way to talk, young man.’

  Mr Kent said, ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head. That’s my wife you’re talking to.’ I immediately apologized and remembered my manners. In fact I got up and offered Mrs Kent the unbroken chair.

  The Kent children were swarming about in the living room, watching a television programme about the population explosion. A lurid coloured photo of Clive Kent in his army uniform stood on top of the radiogram. I asked how he was. Mrs Kent said, ‘He’s in an army hospital: his nerves is shot to pieces after the Falklands.’

  I had a nice tea with the family; chip sandwiches with tomato sauce, and once I’d got used to the funny smell in the house I was able to relax for the first time in weeks.

  TUESDAY FEBRUARY 22ND

  A note from Pandora:

  Adrian,

  As you seem to prefer the company of louts and anti-social drop-outs, I think it best if we finish. You have chosen to tread a different path from the one I intend to make my way on in the world.

  Thank you for the good times.

  Pandora Braithwaite

  WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 23RD

  Today I drew some money out of my Building Society account, and bought my first pair of Doc Marten’s. They are bully-boy brown and have got ten rows of lace holes. They add an inch to my height.

  THURSDAY FEBRUARY 24TH

  Spent the early part of the evening standing outside the off-licence with the gang. I made witty remarks about passing girls and made the gang laugh. They have started calling me ‘Brains’. Baz has hinted that I have got leader-ship qualities.

  FRIDAY FEBRUARY 25TH

  Mrs Kent has decided to have some new furniture, so the gang went to the rubbish tip to see what we could find. We came back with two almost unbroken kitchen chairs, a wicker linen basket and a fireside rug. We are going back tomorrow with Rosie’s pram to fetch a washing machine with mangle attachment.

  Mrs Kent was very pleased with our haul: she said, ‘It’s a crying shame what folks chuck away!’ Mr Kent lost his job two months ago, when the dairy closed down. He looked a bit ashamed when we brought the new furniture in. I heard him say to his wife, ‘For better or worse, eh, Ida?’

  SATURDAY FEBRUARY 26TH

  I borrowed the pram OK but unfortunately Rosie was in it. She had to be taken out and carried for our journey back from the rubbish tip.

  But she was a good kid and didn’t cry once. Mrs Kent was overjoyed with her new washing machine. It looked OK when it had been wiped down. Mr Kent unscrewed the faulty motor, and started cleaning it down on the hearth rug, and Mrs Kent didn’t murmur! My mother would have gone beserk. She won’t let my father fill his lighter in the lounge.

  SUNDAY FEBRUARY 27TH

  Good news. The washing machine is working. There was a line of grey nappies on Mrs Kent’s washing line today. I told her about ‘Ariel’ washing powder and she said, ‘I’ll buy some tomorrow when I get my family allowance.’

  MONDAY FEBRUARY 28TH

  Rosie has got her first tooth. My index finger is still bleeding.

  TUESDAY MARCH 1ST

  Spent the evening outside the Chinese chip shop chucking prawn crackers about with the gang. I haven’t read a book for ages. Instead of reading about life I am living it.

  WEDNESDAY MARCH 2ND

  St David’s Day

  We are being persecuted by the police!

  Tonight, as we were messing about in the shopping precinct, a police patrol car went by dead slowly, and the driver looked at us.

  Talk about a police state!

  THURSDAY MARCH 3RD

  The community policeman, PC Gordon, has been to see my parents, to warn them that I am running wild with a notorious gang. He is calling round tomorrow to give me a lecture on responsible citizenship.

  FRIDAY MARCH 4TH

  PC Gordon is the sort of bloke you can’t help liking. He is thin and jolly and he calls everybody ‘Bucko’. But he said things like: ‘You’re obviously a clever lad, Adrian’; and ‘You’re from a good family’ (Hal); and ‘Kent and his gang are no-hopers, they’ll do you no favours.’

  He asked me why I had suddenly gone off the rails. I said that I was an existentialist nihilist.

  He said, ‘Lads usually say they get into trouble because they’re bored.’

  I smiled cynically and said, ‘Yes, existential nihilism is just one step further.’ I could tell he was impressed by my vocabulary.

  Later on my parents came in and used cliches like: ‘He’s a good lad at home’ (my father); and ‘Barry Kent has led him astray’ (my mother).

  When he’d gone I polished my boots and went to bed with the dog.

  SATURDAY MARCH 5TH

  Grandma rang and said that it was all round the Ever-greens that I was ‘keeping bad company’. She made me go round for tea. I didn’t want to go, but there is something about Grandma’s voice that makes you obey orders so I went.

  While Grandma toasted crumpets on the electric coal fire she told me that my father had been in trouble with the police in 1953. She said, ‘He got caught scrumping apples. The shame nearly killed me and your poor dead Grandad.’

  I asked if my father had continued his criminal career.

  She said, ‘Yes, in fact he went from bad to worse, he went on to scrump pears and plums.’

  I was curious to know how my father had been persuaded from taking up a life of crime. Grandma said, ‘Your grandad gave him a good thrashing with the buckle end of his belt.’ Poor Dad! It explains why he is full of inner rage.

  SUNDAY MARCH 6TH

  Being in a gang is not as exciting as I thought it would be. All we do is hang around shopping precincts and windy recreation grounds. Sometimes I long to be in my bedroom, reading, with the dog at my side.

  MONDAY MARCH 7TH

  Just got back after a cold boring night of shouting in quiet streets. Barry Kent tipped a rubbish bin over for a laugh, but in fact it wasn’t very funny and I had to force myself to guffaw with the others in the gang. Barry Kent said, ‘If it wasn’t for me, my Uncle Pedro would lose his job!’ His Uncle Pedro is a street cleaner.

  After Barry went home I picked the broken glass up and replaced it in the bin. I wouldn’t like a little kid to fall on it.

  TUESDAY MARCH 8TH

  There was a very unpleasant incident to
night.

  Barry Kent shouted horrible names at two of the Singh kids. I said, ‘Oh, lay off em eh, Baz, they’re all right!’

  Barry sneered and said, ‘I ‘ate anyone who ain’t English.’

  I reminded him about his Uncle Pedro and he said, ‘Except Spaniels.’

  I can’t go on leading this double life for much longer.

  WEDNESDAY MARCH 9TH

  I have decided not to take my O levels. I am bound to fail them anyway so why waste all that neurosis in worrying? I’ll need all the neurosis I can get when I start writing for a living.

  THURSDAY MARCH 10TH

  The first page of my new novel:

  Precinct by A. Mole, aged 15 years 77 months Jake Butcher closed his eyes against the cruel wind that whistled over the paving slabs of the deserted shopping precinct. His cigarette dropped with a curse from his lips. ‘Damn,’ he expectorated.

  It was his last cigarette. He ground the forlorn fag under the sole of his trusty Doc Marten’s boot. He dug both fists into the womb-like pockets of his anorak, and with his remaining hand he adjusted the fastening on his Adidas sports bag.

  Just then a sudden shaft of bright sunlight illuminated the windows of Tesco’s. ‘Christ,’ said Jake to himself, ‘those windows are the same yellow as in Van Gogh’s sunflower painting!’ Thus, ruminating on art and culture, did Jake pass the time.

  Quite soon a sudden clap of thunder announced itself. ‘Christ,’ said Jake, ‘that thunder sounds like the cannons of the 1812 Symphony!’

  He bitterly drew his anorak hood over his head, as raindrops like giant’s tears fell on to the concrete wasteland. ‘What am I doing here?’ questioned Jake to himself. ‘Why did I come?’ he anguished. ‘Where am I going?’ he agonized. Just then a sudden rainbow appeared.

  ‘Christ,’ said Jake, ‘that rainbow looks like…’

  I had to stop there; I don’t know where Jake came from, or where he’s going either.

  FRIDAY MARCH 11TH

  Pandora Braithwaite is going out with Brain Box Henderson. I hope they’ll both be very happy. Nigel says they spend all their time together talking about higher mathematics.

  Did a bit of shouting outside the Youth Club doors tonight.

  Rick Lemon pretended not to hear us, but I noticed that the vein in his temple was throbbing. Why don’t my parents notice that I am turning into a yob?

  SATURDAY MARCH 12TH

  Saw Danny Thompson, the white Rasta, outside the Chinese chip shop tonight. He asked me if I’d written any lyrics for the group yet. I said I’d go home straight away and write some. I was glad of an excuse to leave. I was tired of Barry Kent shoving his prawn balls down my trousers.

  SUNDAY MARCH 13TH

  Mothering Sunday

  Rat fink Lucas sent my mother a mother’s day card signed ‘Rosie’.

  Grandma sent Stick Insect a card signed ‘Brett’.

  My mother sent Grandma Mole a card signed ‘George’.

  My father sent my Grandma Sugden a card signed ‘Pauline’.

  I didn’t send the woman who gave birth to me a card this year. Interpersonal relationships in our family have gone completely to pot. This is what living with the shadow of the bomb does to you.

  MONDAY MARCH 14TH

  Commonwealth Day

  Barry Kent has been arrested for vandalizing hyacinths in the town hall square yesterday morning at 7 a.m.

  He is pleading extenuating circumstances; they were to be a gift for his mother.

  TUESDAY MARCH 15TH

  Reasons for living Reasons for not living

  Things might get better You die anyway

  Life is nothing but anguish

  There is too much cruelty in

  the world

  ‘O’ levels in June

  My parents hate me

  I’ve lost Pandora

  Nobody leaves Barry Kent’s

  gang alive

  WEDNESDAY MARCH 16TH

  Elizabeth Sally Broadway keeps snatching my school scarf from round my neck and running away with it, forcing me to chase her. This is a sure sign that she is romantically interested in me. I can feel my hormones stirring for the first time in months.

  THURSDAY MARCH 17TH

  St Patrick’s Day

  Elizabeth grabbed my executive brief case and sprinted across the sports field during the afternoon break.

  I caught up with her in the shrubbery where we had a very enjoyable tussle which lasted five minutes and climaxed in me removing her glasses and hair pins.

  She looked different unspectacled and with her hair down her back.

  I said, ‘But Elizabeth, you’re beautiful.’

  God knows what would have happened if the bell hadn’t rung for the next lesson.

  2 a.m. Can’t sleep for the noise of Irish bagpipes leaking out of the O’Learys’ house.

  4 a.m. Just woken up by the sound of breaking glass.

  6a.m. A police car has just left the O’Learys’ house taking Sean O’Leary with it. Sean looked quite cheerful, in fact he was singing a song about Forty Shades of Green.

  FRIDAY MARCH 18TH

  At last! My parents have noticed that I am out of control, and have banned me from going out after school.

  Spent the evening re-reading Black Beauty for the fifth time.

  SATURDAY MARCH 19TH

  I have written a letter to Barry Kent, resigning from the gang.

  Dear Baz,

  The crumblies have said I’ve got to stay in for a week. So I’ll have to give hanging about with you and the lads a miss. Also Baz, they are forcing me to take my stinking exams in June, so I’d better resign from my place in the gang and leave it open for somebody who needs it. I hope your court case goes well. No hard feelings eh?

  Yours Fraternally,

  Brains

  SUNDAY MARCH 20TH

  British Summer Time begins

  8 p.m. Rained solidly all day.

  10.30p.m. How can it rain ‘solidly?’ What a strange mis-tress is the English language.

  MONDAY MARCH 21ST

  My parents have hardly spoken to me since Friday night. They are too busy watching Rosie’s manual dexterity develop.

  Every time the kid grabs a plastic brick or shoves a rusk in her mouth, she gets a round of applause.

  TUESDAY MARCH 22ND

  I have decided to leave home.

  Nobody will care. In fact my parents probably won’t notice that I’ve gone. I have given the Building Society one week’s notice of my intention to withdraw £50. There is no point in losing interest unnecessarily.

  WEDNESDAY MARCH 23RD

  I am making preparations to leave. I have already written my goodbye letters.

  Pandora,

  I may be gone for some time.

  Adrian

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  By the time you read this I will be far away. I know I am breaking the law in running away before my 16th birthday, but, quite honestly, a life as.a fugitive is preferable to my present miserable existence.

  From your son,

  A. Mole

  Dear Bert,

  I’ve taken your advice and gone off to see the world. You don’t need me now that you’ve got all those wimpy volunteers hanging around you. But watch out, Bert, you are only popular because they think you are a character. Any day now they will find out that you are bad-tempered and foul-mouthed. I will send you a postcard from one of the corners of the world.

  Adios Amigo,

  Adrian

  P.S. Give my love to Sabre, and don’t forget to give him his Bob Martins.

  Dear Grandma,

  Sorry to worry you but I have gone away fora bit. Please stop feuding with Mum and Dad. ‘They know not what they do.’ Rosie is lovely now, she would really like to see you.

  Lots of love,

  Adrian

  Dear Mr Scruton,

  By the time you read this I will be miles away from your scabby school. So don’t bother sending the truant officer
round. I intend to educate myself in the great school of life, and will never return.

  A. Mole

  P.S. Did you know that your nickname is ‘Pop-Eye’? So-called because of your horrible manic sticking-out eyes. Everybody laughs at you behind your back, especially Mr Jones the PE teacher.

  P.P.S. I think you should be ashamed of the fact that Barry Kent still can’t read after spending five years in your school.

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  I’m sorry that I have to leave just as our love was bursting into bud. But a boy has to do what a boy has to do.

  Don’t wait for me, Elizabeth. I may be gone for some time.

  Yours with regrets and fondest memories,

  Aidy Mole

  Baz,

  I’ve blown town. The pigs will be looking for me. Try and put ’em off the scent, will you?

  Brains

  Nige,

  Good luck with being gay. I, too, am different from the herd; so I understand what it is like to be always out of step.

  It’s the ordinary people who will have to learn to accept us.

  Any road up as we say in these parts.

  Rock on, Tommy!

  Your old mate,

  Aidy

  THURSDAY MARCH 24TH

  Five days to go. I am growing a beard.

  I have borrowed my dead grandad’s suitcase. Luckily he had the same initials as me. His name was Arnold.

  Grandma thinks I am using it for a camping trip with the Youth Club. The truth would kill her.

  FRIDAY MARCH 25TH

  I have started packing my case. A certain amount of rationalization has had to take place regarding clean socks and underwear.

  I will have to lower my standards and only change them every other day. No sign of the beard yet.

  SATURDAY MARCH 26TH

  Courtney Elliot has been instructed by my father not to deliver any letters with a Sheffield postmark. But he brought one into the kitchen this morning saying, The Royal Mail has to get through, Mr Mole. We’re like the Pony Express in that respect!’

  My father ripped the letter into tiny pieces and foot-pedalled them into the bin.