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Washed out
Thursday, June 14
Gle
Pamela Pigg has taken my advice and is going out with Alan Clarke, the amateur folk singer. She rang to tell me that their first date went «splendidly». He took her to The Friends tandoori restaurant. She said that Pandora was dining at an adjacent table with some metropolitans who were opining that A
Friday, June 15
I asked Gle
I snapped, "Of course nothing happens. I'm writing about a prehistoric man who suffers from e
At 11.30am, Gle
"Dear Parent/ Guardian/Principle Carer, Gle
From now, I'll teach the boy at home.
Saturday, June 16
Watched the Trooping of the Colour with the boys. I was filled with pride. Is there another country on earth whose soldiers would march through torrents of water without complaint?
I was a
Vinegar, oil and a tub of lard
Sunday, June 24, 2001
I had a minor breakdown in the vinegar aisle of the supermarket this morning. I was completely unable to choose between the 64 vinegars on offer. I walked up and down in an agony of indecision. Gle
I didn't trust myself to speak, for fear that the tears gathering in my eyes would be released. Eventually, Gle
They stretched into the distance: grapeseed, extra-virgin olive, sesame seed, sunflower, Crisp 'n' Dry, basil, stir-fry… As I was hovering between them, an a
I left Gle
The supervisor, whose badge told me she was Mary-Lou Hattersley, was waiting for me with a tearful William. Ms Hattersley (six out of 10: large breasts, clear skin, blonde hair, but needs a good cut, legs hidden by trousers) said, "He wants his mummy." I was astonished to hear this. William never mentions his mother. I explained that my ex-wife lived in Nigeria. She flicked her hair back and murmured, "Have you re-married, Mr Mole?"
I assured her that I was single, then, by way of conversation, asked her if she was related to Lord Hattersley, the hothead revolutionary. "Incontrovertibly," she said. I am in love. Gle
Love at the crèche
Saturday, June 30
I am still in love with the supervisor of Safeway's in-store crèche, Mary-Lou Hattersley. She has the widest vocabulary of any woman I have ever known — and that includes Pandora, who lectured in semantics at Oxford for a while.
Mary-Lou, or ML as she likes to be called, claims that both she and Roy Hattersley, her very distant relation, have inherited the same genes from Isiah Hattersley, "an autodidact night soil man". He was a follower of "disestablishmentarianism", she told me as she pi
Instead of doing a weekly shop, I now find myself visiting the store daily. William is complaining that he is fed up with the crèche, but I have bribed him with the promise of a trip to McDonald's. Yes, I have sunk that low! But I am a prisoner of love. I have to see her dirty blonde hair. Those fiery, intelligent eyes. She wore a skirt yesterday, so I was able to assess her legs. They are not bad, though when we are better acquainted I will advise her to avoid shorts and miniskirts.
Monday, July 2
Gle
On no account must I tell ML how I feel about her. I have made that mistake before. In my experience, women don't like protestations of love from strangers. They fail to return calls, ignore messages, and sometimes get their brothers to throw you off the doorstep.
My mother rang from Majorca to tell me that my father spent the night in the police station in Palma. He had a fight in the taxi queue at the airport. Apparently, he was maddened by thirst and the heat, and when a French family pushed in front of him he cracked and screamed, "Oi, Frogface! Hop off!" The Frenchman said something about foot and mouth, and my father went berserk and kicked the man's luggage into the gutter.
It was news to me that my mother and my father have gone on holiday with each other. Have their spouses given their permissions?