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He's back. Mole, now an angst-ridden 38, is still coping with life in middle-England as a single parent to Glen and William, and battling his own particular weapon of mass destruction. Marigold and I quarrelled last night as to which of us has the most monstrous mother and only stopped when Marigold screamed, "You couldn't find my clitoris if you were led there by Sir Ranulph Fiennes." After she'd slammed out I consulted 'The Joy of Sex' and discovered that I'd probably been playing too much attention to relevantly unimportant bits of her genitalia whilst ignoring the clitoris, yet it had been staring me in the face for the last eighteen months. Glenn rang at 2 am from somewhere in Iraq to say that his standard issue army boots had melted in the desert heat and could I get Parcel Force to rush him some size ten Timberlands.… (more)
User reviews
I don't know how to describe Adrian to you. You just have to experience
He said, 'Flowers used to be the vice-chairman of the Literary and Philosophical Society here in town. We had a vehement disagreement about Tolkien. I said that the opening paragraphs of The Fellowship of the Ring were enough to make a strong man retch. I'm afraid we came to blows in the car park of the Central Lending Library.'
I said, 'I hope you came off best.'
He said almost dreamily, 'I rather think I did.'
. . .
When he had gone in the back I took a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring and read the opening paragraphs. I couldn't see what the fuss had been about. It certainly wasn't worth coming to blows over, though perhaps 'eleventy' was an invented word too far.
If you haven't read these books, start with The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4 and read them in order. I think you'll get a kick out of them.
But Sue Townsend either feels sorry for him or wants to put the series to bed. Unlike all the previous books, this one has almost a happy ending. After so much self-delusion, stupidity, and cocking up his life, our Mr Mole finally acquires, if
She said, 'It's nothing but filth and Scottish words. My husband had to double his blood pressure tablets
I swapped it for Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie.
Much more enjoyable than the last couple of Adrian Mole books. Adrian is now 34, working in a bookshop and no longer encumbered by children as Glen has joined the army and William is living in Nigeria with his mother. As usual his life is full of worries, starting with the fact that Glen has joined the army just as the second Gulf War is approaching. He gets entangled with the dreadful Flowers family, going out with badly-dressed, dollshouse-building Marigold while lusting after her sultry sister Daisy, and buying a loft apartment in Leicester's Rat quay doesn't go well either, as he is troubled by noise-sensitive neighbours, menacing swans, a rat infestation, and spiralling debts.
The funniest bits were when Adrian turned to his father for help in compiling a list of all the varieties of Mr Kipling's cakes, the letters Adrian writes to celebrities asking to interview them for the book he is writing, and a running gag about swans. But what am I saying? It's all funny (except the serious parts) and it even has a happy ending!
He has moved away from his flaky parents’ home into a pricey loft apartment on Rat Wharf, not realizing that there’s a reason
Adrian is a great admirer of Tony Blair and a staunch believer in the existence of Saddam’s weapons of mass destruction, and is thus a supporter of Britain going to war.
He is a would-be published writer but hasn’t as yet achieved any success in that field; he is working on a book to be entitled “Celebrity and madness” but neither has he yet persuaded any celebrity to allow him to interview him or her on that subject, not surprisingly, considering the title.
Adrian is the arranger of a creative writing group that meets regularly though he does not wholly appreciate the literary efforts of the others. One of the members is the elderly Gladys, who keeps writing soppy poems about cats, such as:
“Poor Blackie’s up in Heaven,
God took her life away,
He said, you’ll go to Devon,
And have a holiday.”
Unfortunately, he has little success in persuading celebrities to visit the group and give a talk; as far as I recall, Cherie Blair doesn't even deign to reply to his letter. Thus, the group rapidly dwindles to only two.
Adrian has two sons, Glenn, 17, who is in basic training in the army, and in danger of being sent off to war in Iraq, and a younger son, William, who now lives with his mother in Nigeria.
Glenn writes frequent letters to Adrian, but unlike his verbally proficient father, Glenn is rather lacking in basic grammar and spelling skills.
Adrian is still madly in love with his childhood sweetheart, Pandora, who is now a junior minister and a household name. He somehow becomes involved with a woman called Marigold and then with her sister, Daisy, even though Marigold is insisting that he marry her. There are numerous complications.
He furnishes his loft apartment with stylish new furniture not to mention curtains for his glass lavatory, whose see-through walls are extremely irritating for the prudish Adrian; but he does so through the kind services of MasterCard and Barclaycard who insist on forcing him to accept thousands of pounds in credit and sending him blank cheques; this, of course, leads to poor Adrian getting into a pretty pickle as far as his finances are concerned.
It now only remains to mention the aggressive swans that inhabit the canal adjacent to Adrian’s abode. The leader of the pack, Gielgud, is “particularly vicious” and takes an instant dislike to Adrian. The town council member to whom Adrian complains fails to understand the problem; they won’t help him get rid of the swans but will grant him help with conflict resolution work with his supposed neighbour, Mr. Swan, whom they understand to be the source of the problem.
There are many more complications and convolutions in Adrian’s story, including the problems of his parents who can’t find out which romantic partners they wish to have, and those of his gay, blind friend, Nigel.
The book is brilliantly written and uproarious and reminds us of what was going on in Britain and the world in 2002 and 2003. The main theme concerns, of course, Adrian’s obsession with the weapons of mass destruction and the war in Iraq.