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Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

Adrian Mole: Diary of a Provincial Man

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Published by NattWorthing
Compilation of a Guardian newspaper column, continuing the legendary diarist's troubled life story from December 1999 to November 2001. [Later published in novel form as "The Lost Diaries of Adrian Mole"].

PDF updated to include bookmarks & minor verbal corrections.
Compilation of a Guardian newspaper column, continuing the legendary diarist's troubled life story from December 1999 to November 2001. [Later published in novel form as "The Lost Diaries of Adrian Mole"].

PDF updated to include bookmarks & minor verbal corrections.

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Published by: NattWorthing on Oct 27, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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12/15/2012

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Saturday, July 1, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicestershire

To kill two birds with one stone, I decided to read the opening

chapter of Sty! to William as a bedtime story. The political and

philosophical sub-text will be beyond him, but I hoped that the

narrative would grip him. After a few paragraphs, he bleated that he

wanted a Noddy and Big Ears story, but I persevered.

Peter Pig lifted his porcine head from the trough and looked
up at the mercilessly grey East-Midlands sky. A cloud,
which looked like a Boots cotton-wool ball, scudded across
the aforementioned sky like a Eurostar train leaving
Waterloo station.

Peter sighed and walked around the sty. The filth and mud
oozed between his trotters. It was disgusting, the condition
he had to live in, he thought. Why should farmer Hogg and
his wife, Pamela, enjoy the comfort of carpets and vinyl
tiles under foot while he and his fellow pigs be condemned
to wading through their own excrement.

Peter looked over the sty, towards the patio where farmer
Hogg and Pamela were holding a barbecue for their
friends. The foul stench caused by pork fat dripping on Do
It All charcoal briquettes drifted over to him, causing his
eyes to run. He listened to the conversations of the humans
as they gorged on their buffet, which Pamela had been
preparing since The Archers finished on the radio.

Peter watched the guests quaffing Bucks Fizz and longed
to feel the liquid in his own mouth. He looked across the sty
to where his fellow pigs, Antonia and Miles, were having a
heated discussion about the nature of existence. Peter
sighed, he was sick of philosophical debate. It was just his
luck to be trapped in a sty with two intellectuals. How he
craved for small talk! He twitched his ears towards the
patio. He strained to hear the conversation.

'Well, I'm sick of it,' said a grey-haired man called Ken,
'after all Mo's been through.' A well-presented woman
called Barbara hissed: 'Not here, Ken, there's a chap called
Derek from the Ashby Gazette standing by the gherkin jar.'

'I won't be silenced,' Ken thundered. 'It's unmanly of Tony
to stab her in the back.' From the sty, Peter watched as
Derek turned from the pickle jar, took out his reporter's
notebook and edged towards Ken and Barbara.

It was at this point that William started whining about wanting a

Noddy story. However, I continued with Sty! for a few more lines.

Another group of people provided the small talk that Peter
thirsted for. From a woman in white jeans, he heard: 'We
do support the comprehensive system, but our children are
terribly sensitive, so.' And a man wearing wire Raybans
opined: 'House prices have got to come down soon. We
bought ours for...' Peter was in heaven. Later that night, the
barbecue long extinguished, Peter looked up at the stars
and ruminated on the nature of small talk. To help him
sleep, he practised the art. He selected one of his favourite
topics: 'Call this a summer? I can't remember the last time
the sun shone.'

Within minutes, William was asleep.

Sunday, July 2

I loathe Noddy, but I had promised William, so I made up the

following story.

It was Big Ears' birthday, so, to celebrate, Noddy drove his
car to Toytown. The pals went from pub to pub, drinking
pints of beer. Big Ears' face got very red and the bell on
Noddy's hat rang like mad. When they came out of the last

pub, a gang of Skittles accused Big Ears of being a pervert,
and started a fight. Mr Plod was called and saw Noddy
head-butting the largest Skittle.

'Hi ham takin' you to the nearest cash point,' said Mr Plod.
'Tell me your PIN number Noddy.' But, sadly, Noddy was
too drunk to remember, so Mr Plod hit him hard on the
head with his truncheon instead.

Good night.

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