The True Confessions of Adrian Albert Mole, Margaret Hilda Roberts and Susan Lilian Townsend
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The further writings of Adrian Mole, from the ages of 16 to 21, as he works in a library and in the Department of the Environment. This collection also contains other writings by Sue Townsend including the diary of Margaret Hilda Roberts, the Grantham grocer's daughter.
The Head Librarian, Mrs Froggatt (fat, fifty and with the colouring and features of a jaundiced badger), said at lunchtime, ‘Mole, you’ve moved all our Jane Austens from the great English Classics section to the Light Romance Section, pray explain.’ I snapped, ‘In my opinion they have been given their proper classification. Jane Austen’s novels are merely trashy romances read only by snobbish, brainless cretins.’ How was I to know that ‘Jane Austen, Her Genius, Her Relevance to England in the
himself in the other. He ran past the children, who screamed. An old gardener came trudging up the path. He saw the fear on my face. I tried to explain. The gardener gave a spirited mime of what he thought had happened (rather too spirited in fact), then he saw the youth and ran towards him shouting violently. I carried on down the glorious pathway and found a perfect cove at the bottom. A guitarist in the beach bar was serenading a German family with the ‘birdie song’; the father joined in, he
should have come to us, mum, I did ask you!’ Grandma said, ‘You only asked me once and anyway the Sugdens were there.’ This last remark offended my mother; she is always criticizing her family but she hates anybody else to do the same. The tea ended in disaster when I broke a willow pattern plate that Grandma has had for years. I know Grandma loves me but I have to record that on this occasion she looked at me with murder in her eyes. She said, ‘Nobody will ever know what that plate meant to
thousands of people died there. I asked our official guide about the old man. ‘He is a fanatic,’ she said. ‘He has spent his life since the war studying the fate of the Jews. He is a Jew himself,’ she added, ‘a professor of history.’ She disapproved of the ragged old man. The writers of Lvov were particularly kind and hospitable, and we lunched in some style to the sounds of a string quartet – all girls who blushed when we applauded. The conversation at Messrs Raine, Bennett and Bailey’s end of
to bring up the subject of the Earl Grey order. Father was tearing newspaper into squares when I arrived home. We sat and discussed my triumph. Mother joined us while she unpicked the tennis dress for dusters. Thus the time before bed was spent very pleasantly. Sunday May 8th Up at 5am. Did two hours of delicious mathematical equations then woke Mother and ordered her to prepare breakfast. Honestly, she is such a slug-a-bed. She would stay in bed until 7.30am if I let her! Chapel and