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Sunday, February 13
The Ludlows are back from "opening the caravan up in Chapel-Saint-Leonards". There are two adults, six children and three big dogs. The noise is indescribable.
Valentine's Day
Not a single card, not one.
Love is in the air
Tuesday, February 15, 2000, 12 Arthur Askey Way
Vincent Ludlow, my next-door neighbour, knocked on my door at 11.30 tonight and asked if I could "let him 'ave a few fags until the mornin'."
I told him that I was a life-long non-smoker. He looked back at me with an expression of disbelief.
"You don't smoke?" he checked.
"No," I said, and gave him a brief talk about the dangers of smoking, citing the Royal College of Physicians' latest report. I was interrupted by his wife, Peggy, shouting, "'urry up, Vince, I'm bleedin' gaspin' 'ere", from their doorstep.
Two of their three big dogs escaped from the house and preceded to fight in my front garden. "Satan! Devil!" roared Ludlow. "Get back in the 'ouse!"
The ill-trained animals ignored their master and carried on with their fight. Eventually, they were joined by the third dog, Kane, who entered the fray with evident enjoyment. Mrs Ludlow ran from the house with a sweeping brush and set about the dogs with the wooden handle. They were quickly subdued, and slunk back into the house with their tails between their powerful legs. "Bleeders," said Ludlow, fondly, as he watched them go. I couldn't take my eyes off Peggy Ludlow: she was panting from her exertions, causing her magnificent bosom to rise and fall beneath her food-stained dressing gown. She looked like a beautiful, long-haired version of A
Wednesday, February 16
This morning, I saw Peggy Ludlow in her back garden, hanging washing on the line. I splashed a little Ralph Lauren's Polo on to my cheeks and hurried down to my own garden, where I pretended to examine the tree. I glanced over the fence. Peggy was wearing full make-up, her raven hair was blowing in the wind. She held a clothes peg tantalisingly between her carmine lips. She nodded to me.
"Just looking at my tree," I croaked.
"The last bloke what lived in your 'ouse murdered his brother-in-law then 'ung himself from that tree," she said with obvious relish. I went back inside and phoned the homeless unit. I left a message on Pamela Pigg's voicemail, demanding an immediate transfer.
Friday, February 18
Nigel came round tonight and brought me a bunch of Stargazer lilies. As he handed them to me, he said, "Congratulations on finally coming out, Moley."
After I had vehemently protested my heterosexuality, Nigel said, "Well, I was told by a council worker that you had claimed on an official form that you were a gay single father. You're obviously in denial."
He and his partner, Cliff, have pla
Saturday, February 19
Gle
Sunday, February 20
Gle
The perils of prawn tempura
Sunday, February 20, Arthur Askey Way (Continued)
Nigel rang and apologised for his faux pas about my sexual orientation. He begged me to go to di
Just returned from di
Gle
The headmaster arrived and proceeded to yak on in tedious detail about his bust-up with the caretaker. I tried to change the conversation by asking Nigel about his new job as a feng-shui adviser, but the odious Cliff interrupted me: "We have a house rule, Mole, no work talk at la table. "
It was the first time I had eaten Japanese food cooked by an Englishman. William eyed the sushi with alarm and whispered, "Please, Dad, can I have a bowl of Coco Pops." The headmaster suspended his whispered monologue to Cliff about the goings-on in the boiler room to lecture William on the perils of E numbers in breakfast cereals. I left soon after I had initiated an argument about the prawn tempura. I told Cliff that he should have cooked it at the last moment before serving rather than trying to keep it warm on a hostess trolley for 20 minutes. He went berserk. When we got home, Gle
Monday, February 21
The BBC Drama Department has finally returned the script of my serial killer comedy, The White Van. The letter said, "This department is not minded to produce a 12-part series about a serial killer who uses a white van for his nefarious activities. Especially as this is Mr William Hague's chosen mode of transport for his "Keep The Pound" campaign.
Tuesday, February 22
Nigel is living here temporarily. He and Cliff are finished. It seems the prawn tempura row went on after I left and continued non-stop for almost two days. Nigel turned up on my doorstep sobbing. To comfort him I told him that I hated Cliff. Nigel whined, "But I lurve him," like one of those pathetic trailer-trash morons on the Jerry Springer Show.
Wednesday, February 23
Pamela Pigg from the Homeless Unit called unexpectedly this afternoon. She said that an anonymous caller had left a message on her voicemail exposing me as a heterosexual who'd lied about my sexuality in order to procure a council house. Fortunately, I was half-way through bleaching Nigel's roots at the time, so she took in the scene, apologised and left.