was just like old times with everybody shouting at once. I took the dog to the shops and bought five boxes of candles. Mr Lucas lent me the money.
When I got back I stood in the hall and heard my mother say, ‘No wonder you can’t pay the bills, George; just look at all these flowers. They must have cost a fortune’. She said it very kindly. Mr Lucas said he would lend my father a ‘ton’ but my father was verydignified and said, ‘All I want from you, Lucas, is my wife’. My mother complimented my father on how nicely he was keeping the house. My father just looked sad and old. I felt dead sorry for him.
I was sent outside while they talked about who was getting custody of me, the arguing went on for ages. In fact until it was time to light the candles.
Lucas spilt candle-wax over his new suede shoes. It was the only cheerful incident in a tragic day.
When my mother and Lucas had gone off in a taxi I went to bed with the dog. I heard my father talking to Doreen Slater on the phone, then the front door slammed and I looked out of my window to see him driving off in the car. The back seat was full of flowers.
Didn’t get up until half-past four this afternoon. I think I am suffering from depression. Nothing happened at all today, apart from a hail storm around six o’clock.
Bert Baxter offered to lend us a paraffin heater. Our gas central heating won’t work without electricity. I thanked him but refused his kind offer. I have read that they are easily knocked over and our dog would no doubt cause a towering inferno.
If it gets out that our electricity has been cut off, I will cut my throat. The shame would be too much to bear.
Had a long talk with Mr Vann the Careers teacher today. He said that if I want to be a vet I will have to do Physics, Chemistry and Biology for O level. He said that Art, Woodwork and Domestic Science won’t do much good.
I am at the Crossroads in my life. The wrong decision now could result in a tragic loss to the veterinary world. I am hopeless at science. I asked Mr Vann which O levels you need to write situation comedy for television. Mr Vann said that you don’t need qualifications at all, you just need to be a moron.
Had an in-depth talk about O levels with my father, he advised me to only do the subjects that I am good at. He said that vets spend half their working life with their hands up cows’ bums, and the other half injecting spoiled fat dogs. So I am rethinking my future career prospects.
I wouldn’t mind being a sponge-diver, but I don’t think there is much call for them in England.
Miss Sproxton told me off because my English essay was covered in drops of candle-wax. I explained that I had caught my overcoat sleeve on the candle whilst doing my homework. Her eyes filled with tears and she said I was ‘a dear brave lad’, and she gave me a merit mark.
After supper of cream crackers and tuna fish, played cards in the candlelight. It was dead good. My father cut the ends off our gloves, we looked like two criminals on the run.
I am reading
My grandmother has just made a surprise visit. She caught us huddled round our new Camping-gaz stove eating cold beans out of a tin. My father was reading
Helped grandma with the weekend shopping. She was dead fierce in the grocer’s; she watched the scales like a hawk watching a fieldmouse. Then she pounced and accused the shop assistant of giving her underweight bacon. The shop assistant was dead scared of her and put another slice on.
Our arms were dead tired by the time we’d staggered up the hill carrying big bags of shopping. I don’t know how my grandma does it when she’s alone. I think the council ought to put escalators on hills; they would save money in the long run, old people wouldn’t go about collapsing all over the place. My father paid the electricity bill at the post office today, but it will be at least a week before the computer gives permission for our electricity to be reconnected.
My grandma made us get up early and go to church with her. My father was made to comb his hair andwear one of his dead father’s ties. Grandma held both our arms and looked proud to be with us. The church service was dead boring. The vicar looked like the oldest man alive and spoke in a feeble sort of voice. My father kept standing up when we were supposed to sit down and vice versa. I copied what grandma did, she is always right. My father sang too loudly, everyone looked at him. I shook the vicar’s hand when we were allowed outside. It was like touching dead leaves.
After dinner we listened to my grandma’s records of Al Jolson, then grandma went upstairs for a sleep and my father and me washed up. My father broke a forty-one-year-old milk jug! He had to go out for a drink to recover from the shock. I went to see Bert Baxter but he wasn’t in, so I went to see Blossom instead. She was very pleased to see me. It must be dead boring standing in a field all day long. No wonder she welcomes visitors.
Grandma is not speaking to my father because of the milk jug. Can’t wait to get home where things like milk jugs don’t matter.
My father is in trouble for staying out late last night. Honestly! He is the same age as the milk jug so surely he can come in what time he likes!
Told my father about being menaced today. I was forced to because Barry Kent seriously damaged my school blazer and tore the school badge off. My father is going to speak to Barry Kent tomorrow
Barry Kent denied all knowledge of menacing me and laughed when my father asked him to repay the money. My father went to see his father and had a serious argument and threatened to call the police. I think my father is dead brave. Barry Kent’s father looks like a big ape and has got more hair on the back of his hands than my father has got on his entire head.
The police have said that they can’t do anything without proof so I am going to ask Nigel to give them a sworn statement that he has seen me handing menaces money over.
Barry Kent duffed me up in the cloakroom today. He hung me on one of the coathooks. He called me a ‘coppers’ nark’ and other things too bad to write down. My grandma found out about the menacing (my father didn’t want her to know on account of her diabetes). She listened to it all then she put her hat on, thinned her lips and went out. She was gone one hour and seven minutes, she came in, took her coat off, fluffed her hair out, took PS27.18 from the ariti-mugger belt round her waist. She said; ‘He won’t bother you again, Adrian, but if he does, let me know’. Then she got the tea ready. Pilchards, tomatoes and ginger cake. I bought her a box of diabetic chocolates from the chemist’s as a token of my esteem.
It is all round the school that an old lady of seventy-six frightened Barry Kent and his dad into returning my
