Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction by Sue Townsend.
Title: Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction.
Author: Sue Townsend.
Genre: Fiction, humour, epistolary fiction, diary, poetry.
Country: U.K.
Language: English.
Publication Date: October 7, 2004.
Summary: Adrian Mole, now age thirty-four and three quarters, needs proof that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction so he can get a refund from a travel agency of the deposit he paid on a trip to Cyprus. He’s engaged to Marigold, but obsessed with her voluptuous sister. And he is so deeply in debt to banks and credit card companies that it would take more than twice his monthly salary to ever repay them. He needs a guest speaker for his creative writing group’s dinner in Leicestershire and wonders if the prime minister’s wife is available. In short, Adrian is back in true form, still unable to admit that the world does not revolve around him.
My rating: 8.5/10.
♥ Rang Marigold and asked if we could meet after work. She sounded tired and said that she hadn’t slept well due to the ‘horrendous noise’ of the fireworks last night. She said it was time that we, as a civilized country, banned all fireworks.
I didn’t tell her that last night I wrote her name in the dark with a sparkler.
♥ My father said, “We lied to Adrian about the tooth fairy, Pauline. He was eleven before he found out that it was me who put a quid under his pillow rather than bleeding Tinkerbell.”
My mother said, “And your point is?”
My father shouted, “My point is, people we trust lie to us.”
♥ We had exchanged phone numbers on Boxing Day, after Daisy said that she really ought to have the number of an emergency book-seller, just in case she woke in the night and needed literature.
We were both a little drunk on her father’s odious home-made red onion wine.
I said, continuing the analogy, “My middle of the night fee is probably more than you want to give.”
She said, “So if I rang you in the early hours and said I needed a good er… Kipling, would you come?”
A prude might have said we were talking dirty, a gossip that we were flirting, a pragmatist that we were networking and a literalist that we were talking about an emergency call-out service for bibliophiles.
♥ Animal sat down on a lump of concrete and began playing with the dog. He looked like Lenny fondling the rabbit in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. I hope he doesn’t absent-mindedly strangle it.
♥ TO PRIVATE ROBBIE STAINFORTH
The old men safe behind their desks,
Who dropped the bombs on you
Will suffer in the dead of night
For in their hearts, they knew
They sent the young to fight and die on Iraqi soil
To feed the cuckoo in the West
With what it most needs:
Oil.
♥ “Happy people don’t keep a diary.”