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After tea my mother casually mentioned that she was going to wear her fox-fur coat to the school concert tomorrow. Shock! Horror! I immediately went round to Pandora’s house to get the mangy coat, only to find that Pandora’s mother has borrowed it to go to the Marriage Guidance Christmas dinner and dance! Pandora said that she hadn’t realized that the coat was only on loan; she thought it was a lover’s gift! How can a 143/4-year-old schoolboy afford to give a fox-fur coat as a gift? Who does Pandora think I am, a millionaire like Freddie Laker?
Pandora’s mother won’t be back until the early hours so I will have to go round before school and sneak the coat into its plastic cover. It’s going to be difficult, but then nothing in my life is simple or straightforward any more. I feel like a character in a Russian novel half the time.
Woke up with a panic attack to see that it was eight-fifty by my bedside digital! My black walls looked unusually light and sparkly; one glance outside confirmed my suspicions that indeed the snow lay outside like a white carpet.
I stumbled through the snow to Pandora’s house in my father’s fishing boots but found that the house was devoid of humans. I looked through the letterbox and saw my mother’s fur coat being mauled about by Pandora’s ginger cat. I shouted swear-words at it butthe lousy stinking cat just looked sarcastic and carried on dragging the coat around the hall. I had no choice but to shoulder-charge the laundry-room door and rush into the hall and rescue my mother’s coat. I left quickly (as quickly as anyone can wearing thigh-length fishing boots, four sizes too big). I put the fur coat on to keep me warm on my hazardous journey home. I nearly lost my bearings at the corner of Ploughman’s Avenue and Shepherd’s Crook Drive, but I fought my way through the blizzard until I saw the familiar sight of the prefabricated garages on the corner of our cul-de-sac.
I fell into our kitchen in a state of hypothermia and severe exhaustion; my mother was smoking a cigarette and making mince pies. She screamed, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing wearing my fox-fur coat?’ She was not kind or concerned or anything that mothers are supposed to be. She fussed about, wiping snow off the coat and drying the fur with a hair dryer. She didn’t even offer to make me a hot drink or anything. She said, ‘It’s been on the radio that the school is closed because of the snow, so you can make yourself useful and check the camp beds for rust. The Sugdens are staying over Christmas.’ The Sugdens! My mother’s relations from Norfolk! Yuk, Yuk. They are all inbred and can’t speak properly!
Phoned Pandora to explain about the fox-fur and the damage, etc., but she had gone skiing on the slope behind the Co-op bakery. Pandora’s father asked me to get off the line, he had to make an urgent phone call to the police station. He said he had just comehome and discovered a break-in! He said the place was a shambles (the cat must have done it, I was very careful), but fortunately the only thing that was missing was an old fox-fur coat that Pandora had lined the cat’s basket with.
Sorry Pandora, but this is the final straw that broke the donkey’s back! You can find yourself another Joseph, I refuse to share the stage with a girl who puts her cat’s comfort before her boyfriend’s dilemma.
School was closed this morning because the teachers couldn’t manage to get in on time because of the snow. That will teach them to live in old mill houses and windmills out in the country! Miss Elf lives with a West Indian in a terraced house in the town, so she bravely turned out to prepare for the school concert in the afternoon. I decided to forgive Pandora for the fox-fur in the cat’s basket incident after she had pointed out that the cat was an expectant mother.
The school concert was not a success. The bell ringing from class One-G went on too long, my father said ‘The Bells! The Bells!’ and my mother laughed too loudly and made Mr Scruton look at her.
The school orchestra was a disaster! My mother said, ‘When are they going to stop tuning-up and start playing?’ I told her that they had just played a Mozart horn concerto. That made my mother and father and Pandora’s mother and father start laughing in a veryunmannerly fashion. When ten-stone Alice Bernard from Three-C came on stage in a tutu and did the dying swan I thought my mother would explode. Alice Bernard’s mother led the applause, but not many people followed.
The Dumbo class got up and sang a few boring old carols. Barry Kent sang all the vulgar versions (I know because I was watching his lips) then they sat down cross-legged, and brainbox Henderson from Five-K played a trumpet, Jew’s harp, piano and guitar. The smarmy git looked dead superior when he was bowing during his applause. Then it was the interval and time for me to change into my white T-shirt-and-Wranglers Joseph costume. The tension backstage was electric. I stood in the wings (a theatrical term—it means the side of the stage) and watched the audience filing back into their places. Then the music from
The three punks/wise men made too much noise with their chains and spoiled my speech about the Middle East situation, and the angels representing Mrs Thatcher got hissed by the audience so loudly that their spoken chorus about unemployment was wasted.
Still, all in all, it was well received by the audience. Mr Scruton got up and made a hypocritical speechabout ‘a brave experiment’ and ‘Miss Elf’s tireless work behind the scenes’, and then we all sang ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas’!
Driving home in the car my father said, ‘That was the funniest Nativity play I have ever seen. Whose idea was it to turn it into a comedy?’ I didn’t reply. It wasn’t a comedy.
I will have to go out carol singing, there is nothing else I can do to raise finance.
I made PS3.131/2 plus an Irish tenpence and Guinness bottle-top. I’m going out again tomorrow. I will wear my school uniform, it should be worth a few extra quid.
Took Bert’s Woodbines round to the home. Bert is hurt because I haven’t been to see him. He said he didn’t want to spend Christmas with a lot of malicious old women. Him and Queenie are causing a scandal. They are unofficially engaged. They have got their names on the same ashtray. I have invited Bert and Queenie for Christmas Day. My mother doesn’t know yet but I’m sure she won’t mind, we have got a big turkey. I sang a few carols for the old ladies. I made two pounds eleven pence out of them so I went to Woolworth’s to buy Pandora’s Chanel Ndeg5. They hadn’t got any so I bought her an underarm deodorant instead.
The house looks dead clean and sparkling, there is a magic smell of cooking and satsumas in the air. I have searched around for my presents but they are not in the usual places. I want a racing bike, nothing else will please me. It’s time I was independently mobile.
Got up at 5 AM to have a ride on my racing bike. My father paid for it with American Express. I couldn’t ride it far because of the snow, but it didn’t matter. I just like looking at it. My father had written on the gift tag attached to the handlebars, ‘Don’t leave it out in the rain this time’—as if I would!
My parents had severe hangovers, so I took them breakfast in bed and gave them my presents at the same
