Grandma and Bert Baxter came to our house to watch the wedding because we have got a twenty-four-inch colour. They got on all right at first but then Bert remembered he was a communist and started saying anti-royalist things like ‘the idle rich’ and ‘parasites’, so Grandma sent him back to the Singhs’ colour portable.
Prince Charles looked quite handsome in spite of his ears. His brother is dead good-looking; it’s a shame they couldn’t have swapped heads just for the day. Lady Diana melted my heartstrings in her dirty white dress. She even helped an old man up the aisle. I thought it was very kind of her considering it was her wedding day. Loads of dead famous people were there. Nancy Reagan, Spike Milligan, Mark Phillips, etc., etc. The Queen looked a bit jealous. I expect it was because people weren’t looking at her for a change.
The Prince had remembered to take the price ticket off his shoes. So that was one worry off my mind.
When the Prince and Di exchanged rings my grandma started to cry. She hadn’t brought her handkerchief so I went upstairs to get the spare toilet roll. When I came downstairs they were married. So I missed the Historic moment of their marriage!
I made a cup of tea during all the boring musical interval, but I was back in time to see that Kiwi woman singing. She has certainly got a good pair of lungs on her.
Grandma and I were just settling down to watch the happy couple’s triumphant ride back to the palace when there was a loud banging on the front door. We ignored it so my father was forced to get out of bed and open the door. Bert and Mr and Mrs Singh and all the little Singhs came in asking for sanctuary. Their telly had broken down! My grandma tightened her lips, she is not keen on black, brown, yellow, Irish, Jewish or foreign people. My father let them all in, then took Grandma home in the car. The Singhs and Bert gathered round the television talking in Hindi.
Mrs Singh handed round some little cornish pasties. I ate one of them and had to drink a gallon of water. I thought my mouth had caught fire! They were not cornish pasties.
We watched television until the happy couple left Victoria station on a very strange-looking train. Bert said it was only strange-looking because it was clean.
Mrs O’Leary came in and asked if she could borrow our old chairs for the street party. In my father’s absence I agreed and helped to carry them out on to the pavement. Our street looked dead weird without cars and with flags and bunting flapping about.
Mrs O’Leary and Mrs Singh swept the street clean. Then we all helped to put the tables and chairs out into the middle of the road. The women did all the work, the men stood around on the pavement drinking too much and making jokes about Royal Nuptials.
Mr Singh put his stereo speakers out of his lounge windows and we listened to a Des O’Connor LP whilst we set the tables with sandwiches, jam tarts, sausage rolls and sausages on sticks. Then everyone in our street was given a funny hat by Mrs O’Leary and we sat down to eat. At the end of the tea Mr Singh made a speech about how great it was to be British. Everyone cheered and sang ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. But only Mr Singh knew all the words. Then my father came back with four party packs of light ale and two dozen paper cups, and soon everyone was acting in an undignified manner.
Mr O’Leary tried to teach Mrs Singh an Irish jig but he kept getting tangled up in her sari. I put my Abba LP on and turned the volume up high and soon even the old people of forty and over were dancing! When the street lamps came on Sean O’Leary climbed up and put red, white and blue crepe paper over the bulbs to help the atmosphere and I fetched our remaining candles and put them on the tables. Our street looked quite Bohemian.
Bert told some lies about the war, my father told jokes. The party went on until one o’clock in the morning!
Normally they get a petition up if you clear your throat after eleven o’clock at night!
I didn’t dance, I was an amused, cynical observer. Besides my feet were aching.
THURSDAY JULY 30TH
I have seen the Royal Wedding repeats seven times on television.
FRIDAY JULY 31ST
New Moon
Sick to death of Royal Wedding.
Pandora, the beggar’s friend, is coming home tomorrow.
SATURDAY AUGUST 1ST
Postcard from my mother, she wants me to go on holiday with her and creep Lucas. They are going to Scotland. I hope they enjoy themselves.
Pandora’s flight has been delayed because of a baggage-handlers’ strike in Tunis.
SUNDAY AUGUST 2ND
Seventh after Trinity
The baggage-handlers are still on strike and Pandora’s father has had his American Express card stolen by a beggar!
Pandora said that her mother has been bitten by a camel but is recovering in the Ladies’ toilet at Tunis airport. It was wonderful to hear Pandora’s voice on the telephone, we talked to each other for over half an hour. How clever it was of her to arrange a reverse-charge call from Tunisia!
MONDAY AUGUST 3RD
Bank Holiday in Scotland and Rep. of Ireland
The Tunisian baggage-handlers have agreed to go to arbitration. Pandora says that with luck she’ll be home by Thursday.
TUESDAY AUGUST 4TH
The Tunisian baggage-handlers can see light at the end of the tunnel.
Pandora is surviving on packets of dates and Polo mints.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 5TH
The Tunisian baggage-handlers are now handling baggage. Pandora home FRIDA Y EVENING!
THURSDAY AUGUST 6TH
My father refused a reverse-charges call from Tunisia. Our lines of communication have been cut.
FRIDAY AUGUST 7TH
Moon’s First Quarter
I rang Tunisia whilst my father was in the bath. He shouted down to ask whom I was phoning. I told a lie. I said I was phoning the speaking clock.
Pandora’s flight left safely. She should be home around midnight.
SATURDAY AUGUST 8TH
At 7 a.m. Pandora rang from St Pancras station. She said that due to electrification of the track at Flitwick she would be delayed.
I got dressed and went down to the station, got a platform ticket, waited on platform two for six cold, lonely hours. Went home to find a note from Pandora. This is what it said:
Adrian,
I confess to feeling heartbroken at your apparent coldness concerning my arrival. I felt sure that we would have an emotional reunion on platform three. But it was not to be.
Adieu,
Pandora
Went to Pandora’s house. Explained. Had an emotional reunion behind her father’s tool shed.
SUNDAY AUGUST 9TH
Eighth after Trinity
Touched Pandora’s bust again. This time I think I felt something soft. My thing keeps growing and shrinking, it seems to have a life of its own. I can’t control it.
MONDAY AUGUST 10TH
Pandora and I went to the swimming baths this morning. Pandora looked superb in her white string bikini. She has gone the same colour as Mrs Singh. I didn’t trust my thing to behave so I sat in the spectators’ gallery and watched Pandora diving off the highest diving board. Got back to my house. Showed her my black room. Lit a joss stick. Put Abba LP on, sneaked a bottle of Sanatogen upstairs. We indulged in a bit of light petting but then Pandora developed a headache and went home to rest.
I was racked with sexuality but it wore off when I helped my father put manure on our rose bed.
TUESDAY AUGUST 11TH
Got another postcard from my mother.
Dear Aidy,
You’ve no idea how much I long to see you. The mothering bond is as strong as ever. I know you feel threatened by my involvement with Bimbo, but really Aidy there is no need. Bimbo fulfils my sexual needs. No more, no less. So, Aidy, grow up and come to Scotland.
Lots of love,
Pauline (mother)
P.S. We leave on the fifteenth. Catch 8.22 train to Sheffield.
The postman said that if my mother was his wife he would give her a good thrashing. He d
oesn’t know my mother. If anybody laid a finger on her she would beat them to pulp.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 12TH
Pandora thinks a trial separation will do us good. She says our light to medium petting will turn quite heavy soon. I must admit that the strain is having a detrimental effect on my health. I have got no energy and my sleep is constantly interrupted with dreams about Pandora’s white bikini and Mrs O’Leary’s knickers.
I might go to Scotland after all.
THURSDAY AUGUST 13TH
My father has decided to go to Skegness on the fifteenth. He has booked a four-berth caravan. He is taking Doreen and Maxwell with him! He expects me to go!
If I go people will automatically assume that Doreen is my mother and Maxwell is my brother!
I am going to Scotland.
FRIDAY AUGUST 14TH
Had tragic last night with Pandora. We have both sworn to be true. I have done all my packing. The dog has been taken round to Grandma’s with fourteen tins of Pedigree Chum and a giant sack of Winalot.
I am taking Escape from Childhood, by John Holt, to read on the train.
SATURDAY AUGUST 15TH
Full Moon
My father, Stick Insect and Maxwell House saw me off at the station. My father didn’t mind a bit that I chose to go to Scotland instead of Skegness. In fact he looked dead cheerful. The train journey was terrible. I had to stand all the way to Sheffield. I spoke to a lady in a wheelchair who was in the guard’s van. She was very nice, she said that the only good thing about being handicapped was that you always got a seat in trains. Even if it was in the guard’s van.
My mother and creep Lucas met me at Sheffield. My mother looked dead thin and has started dressing in clothes that are too young for her. Lucas creep was wearing jeans! His belly was hanging over his belt. I pretended to be asleep until we got to Scotland.
Lucas mauled my mother about even whilst he was driving.
We are at a place called Loch Lubnaig. I am in bed in a log cabin. My mother and Lucas have gone to the village to try to buy cigarettes. At least that is their story.
SUNDAY AUGUST 16TH
Ninth after Trinity
There is a loch in front of the cabin and a pine forest and a mountain behind the cabin. There is nothing to do. It is dead boring.
MONDAY AUGUST 17TH
Did some washing in a log cabin launderette. Spoke to an American tourist called Hamish Mancini; he is the same age as me. His mother is on her honeymoon for the fourth time.
TUESDAY AUGUST 18TH
Rained all day.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 19TH
Sent postcards. Phoned Pandora, reversed charges. Her father refused to accept them.
THURSDAY AUGUST 20TH
Played cards with Hamish Mancini. His mother and stepfather and my mother and her lover have gone to see a waterfall in the car. Big deal!
FRIDAY AUGUST 21ST
Walked two and a half miles into Callander to buy Mars bar. Played on Space Invaders. Came back, had tea. Phoned Pandora from log cabin phone box. Reversed charges. She still loves me. I still love her. Went to bed.
SATURDAY AUGUST 22ND
Moon’s Last Quarter
Went to see Rob Roy’s grave. Saw it, came back.
SUNDAY AUGUST 23RD
Tenth after Trinity
My mother has made friends with a couple called Mr and Mrs Ball. They have gone off to Stirling Castle. Mrs Ball has got a daughter who is a writer. I asked her how her daughter qualified to be one. Mrs Ball said that her daughter was dropped on her head as a child and has been ‘a bit queer’ ever since.
It is Mrs Ball’s birthday so they all came back to our log cabin to celebrate. I complained about the noise at 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. At 5 a.m. they decided to climb the mountain! I pointed out to them that they were blind drunk, too old, unqualified, unfit and lacking in any survival techniques, had no first-aid kit, weren’t wearing stout boots, and had no compass, map or sustaining hot drinks.
My protest fell on deaf ears. They all climbed the mountain, came down and were cooking eggs and bacon by 11.30 a.m.
As I write Mr and Mrs Ball are canoeing on the loch. They must be on drugs.
MONDAY AUGUST 24TH
Went to Edinburgh. Saw the castle, the toy museum, the art gallery. Bought a haggis. Came back to log cabin, read Glencoe, by John Prebble. We are going there tomorrow.
TUESDAY AUGUST 25TH
The massacre of Glencoe took place on February 13th 1692. On February 14th, John Hill wrote to the Earl of Tweeddale, ‘I have ruined Glencoe.’
He was dead right, there is nothing there. Glasgow tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 26TH
We drove through Glasgow at 11 a.m. in the morning yet I counted twenty-seven drunks in one mile! All the shops except the DIY shops had grilles at the windows. Off-licences had rolls of barbed wire and broken glass on their roofs. We had a walk round for a bit, then my mother nagged Lucas creep into taking her to the Glasgow art gallery. I intended to sit in the car and read Glencoe, but because of all the drunks staggering around I reluctantly followed them inside.
How glad I am that I did! I might have gone through life without having an important cultural experience!
Today I saw Salvador Dali’s painting of the Crucifixion!!! The real one! Not a reproduction!
They have hung it at the end of a corridor so that it changes as you get nearer to it. When you are finally standing up close to it you feel like a midget. It is absolutely fantastic!
Huge! With dead good colours and Jesus looks like a real bloke. I bought six postcards of it from the museum but of course it is not the same as the real thing.
One day I will take Pandora to see it. Perhaps on our honeymoon.
THURSDAY AUGUST 27TH
Oban today. Bumped into Mr and Mrs Swallow who live in the next street to me. Everyone kept saying, ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’ Mrs Swallow asked creep Lucas how his wife was. Lucas told her that his wife had left him for another woman. Then everyone blushed and said what a small world it was and parted company. My mother went mad at Lucas. She said, ‘Do you have to tell everyone?’ and ‘How do you think I feel living with a lesbian’s estranged husband?’ Lucas whined on for a bit but then my mother started looking like my grandma. So he kept quiet.
FRIDAY AUGUST 28TH
Fort William today. Ben Nevis was another disappointment. I couldn’t tell where it began or stopped. The other mountains and hills clutter it up. Lucas fell in the burn (Scottish for ‘little river’) but unfortunately it was too shallow to drown in.
SATURDAY AUGUST 29TH
Full Moon
Went for a walk around the loch with Hamish Mancini. He told me that he thinks his mother is heading for her fourth divorce. He is going home tonight; he has got an appointment with his analyst in New York on Monday morning.
I have finished my packing and I am waiting for my mother and creep Lucas to come back from their furtive love-making somewhere in the pine forest.
We leave at dawn.
SUNDAY AUGUST 30TH
Eleventh after Trinity
I made Lucas stop for souvenirs at Gretna Green. I bought Pandora a pebble shaped like an otter, Bert a tam-o’-shanter, the dog a tartan bow for its neck, Grandma a box of tartan fudge, Stick Insect tartan biscuits, Maxwell a tartan sweet dummy. I bought my father a tartan tea towel.
I bought myself a tartan scribbling pad. I am determined to become a writer.
Here is an extract from ‘My thoughts on Scotland’ written on the M6 at 120 mph:
The hallowed mist rolls away leaving Scotland’s majestic peaks revealed in all their majesty. A shape in the translucent sky reveals itself to be an eagle, that majestic bird of prey. Talons clawing, it lands on a loch, rippling the quiet majesty of the turbulent waters. The eagle pauses only to dip its majestic beak into the aqua before spreading its majestic wings and flying away to its magisterial nest high in the barren, arid, grassless hills.
> The Highland cattle. Majestic horned beast of the glens lowers its brown-eyed shaggy-haired majestic head as it ruminates on the mysteries of Glencoe.
There are a couple too many ‘majestics’. But I think it reads rather well. I will send it to the. BBC when it’s finished. Got home at 6 p.m. Too tired to write more.
MONDAY AUGUST 31ST
Bank Holiday in UK (except Scotland)
Everyone is broke. The banks are closed and my father can’t remember the secret code on his plastic moneycard. He had the nerve to borrow five pounds from Bert Baxter. Fancy asking an old age pensioner for money! It lacks dignity.
Pandora and I are now insanely in love! The separation only served to fuel our passion. Our hormones are stirred every time we meet. Pandora slept with the otter pebble in her hand last night. How I wish the otter pebble could have been me.
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 1ST
Mr Singh has had to return to India to look after his aged parents, so Bert has been told that he will have to move back into his dirty old house! Mr Singh says that he cannot trust his womenfolk to be alone in the house with Bert. How stupid can you get? Bert doesn’t mind too much; he said that it is ‘quite a compliment’.