Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years
Sue Townsend
PENGUIN BOOKS
ADRIAN MOLE: THE CAPPUCCINO YEARS
Praise for Sue Townsend and Adrian Mole:
‘One of literature’s most endearing figures. He is an excellent guide for all of us as we wander through the cappuccino years’ Observer
‘Mole has entered his kingdom… he presents a quizzical, innocent, frustrated perspective on the unlovely face of cool Britannia… Townsend manages it by dint of superb jokes and an underlying political and social seriousness as she skitters brilliantly over the surface of contemporary life’ Sunday Times
‘Adrian Mole really is a brilliant comic creation… every sentence is witty and well thought out, and the whole has reverberations beyond itself’ The Times
‘He will be remembered some day as one of England’s great diarists. No matter what your troubles may be, Adrian Mole is sure to make you feel better off’ Evening Standard
‘Adrian Mole’s maladjustments, his obsession with the female anatomy, his awful parents and ludicrous novel inspire some wonderfully funny passages. As a twit he stands alone. While Adrian Mole lives visions of a classless society in this country are a chimera’ Daily Telegraph
‘Back with a bang… Townsend’s wit is razor-sharp… The Cappuccino Years is quite possibly a classic’ Mirror
‘Thank heavens for Sue Townsend. With the Mole books, she has an unrivalled claim to be this country’s foremost practising comic novelist’ Mail on Sunday
‘Adrian Mole has progressed from being a minority enthusiasm to something like a national figurehead… Sue Townsend has done more than write a comic series descended from Just William. She has held a mirror up to the nation and made us happy to laugh at what we see in it’ Sunday Telegraph
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sue Townsend, with The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13¾ (1982) and The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole (1984), was Britain’s bestselling author of the 1980s. Her hugely successful novels are Rebuilding Coventry (1988), True Confessions of Adrian Albert Mole, Margaret Hilda Roberts and Susan Lilian Townsend (1989), Adrian Mole: From Minor to Major (1991),The Queen and I (1992), Adrian Mole: The Wilderness Years (1993), Ghost Children (1997), Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years (1999), The Public Confessions of a Middle-aged Woman (Aged 55¾) (2001) and Number Ten (2002). Most of her books are published by Penguin. She is also well known as a playwright. She lives in Leicester.
Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years
Sue Townsend
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.
www.penguin.com
First published by Michael Joseph 1999
Published in Penguin Books 2000
27
Copyright © Sue Townsend, 1999
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-141-92547-9
To Louise
The great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts.
Shakespeare, Hamlet
True, we might never have arrived, but the fact is we did. If only people thought a little more about it, they would see that life is not worth worrying about so much.
Lermontov, A Hero of Our Time
List of Principal Characters
ABBO and ALAN: Representatives of the Ashby-de-la-Zouch branch of the Terrence Higgins Trust, selected to walk in the procession behind Diana’s coffin.
ANDREW: Archie Tait’s cat.
ANNETTE: Standard vendor on the Strand, enjoying carnal relations with Malcolm, the washer-upper at Hoi Polloi, the restaurant where Adrian works.
ASHBY: Rosie Mole’s plastic role-play baby.
ATKINS, JEFFREY: Adrian’s second-opinion dentist. A gentle man with ginger eyebrows.
AZIZ: Assistant cook at Hoi Polloi.
BANKS, LES: Unlucky builder engaged by Adrian to do work to Archie Tait’s house.
BAXTER, BERT: Deceased acquaintance of Adrian, Communist pensioner and Leicester’s oldest and most objectionable man. Died one day short of his 106th birthday.
BELINDA: Zippo Montefiori’s PA.
BOTT, GLENN: Son of Sharon Bott. Could have been fathered by either Barry Kent or Adrian Mole. According to Rosie Mole, he is a psycho, but has Adrian’s nose.
BOTT, SHARON: Old flame of Adrian’s. Mother of Glenn Bott. Also mother of Kent, Bradford and Caister.
BRAITHWAITE, IVAN: Father of Pandora. Supposedly a freelance dairy management consultant and freethinker.
BRAITHWAITE, DR PANDORA: Prospective Labour MP for Ashby-de-la-Zouch. Self-appointed ‘Brightest Star in Blair’s Firmament’ and ‘The People’s Pan’. First love of Adrian Mole, who was the first person to insert his hand (left) into her white cotton training bra, in 1981.
BRAITHWAITE, TANIA: Mother of Pandora. Teaches Women’s Studies at De Montfort University.
BROADWAY, BILL: Les Banks’s subcontractor.
CAINE, ALFIE: Fake Cockney and presenter of The Fry-Up, a Pie Crust Production.
CATH: Production assistant on Offally Good!, another Pie Crust production.
CAVENDISH, JACK: Pandora’s older live-in lover. Alcoholic and Professor of Languages at Oxford.
CHANG, MR: Dentist who no longer caters for the poor because ‘they bring tooth decay on themselves’.
CLEVER CLIVE: Criminal acquaintance of Adrian’s, can supply parking permits for central London.
CLOUGH, MS: Labour supporter and single mother of three.
DALE, LILLIAN: Green Party candidate for Ashby-de-la-Zouch.
D’ARCY, MABEL: OAP supporter of Sir Arnold Tufton. Great-great-grandfather was a surviving officer on the Titanic.
DOUGGIE: Sharon Bott’s live-in lover.
DOVECOTE, CHARLIE: Pauline Mole’s lawyer.
EAGLEBURGER, BRICK: Barry Kent’s literary agent.
EDDIE STOBART: A lorry firm. Some of their drivers wave, some don’t.
ELF, MISS: Adrian and Pandora’s timid but ethical drama teacher at Neil Armstrong Comprehensive.
FLOOD, ELEANOR: Remedial reading teacher at Neil Armstrong Comprehensive, with fragile wrists.
FONG, DR: Doctor at Leicester Royal Infirmary who examines William Mole.
FOX, LEN: Criminal. Mobile-phone magnate and friend of Sir Arnold Tufton.
GIPTON, FRED: Actor with inside knowledge of general-election results.
GOLDMAN, later GOLDPERSON, BOSTON: Personal assistant to Brick Eagleburger.
GRIMBOLD, MARCIA: Bring Back the Rates Party candidate.
HETHERINGTON, GLORIA: Godfrey’s wife. Ideal casting: Pauline Quirke.
HETHERINGTON
, GODFREY: Hero of The White Van, Adrian’s hilarious serial-killer comedy. Accountant by day, serial killer by night. Ideally would be played by Harry Enfield.
HUMFRI: Cat adopted by Malcolm. Looks remarkably like Humphrey, the Downing Street cat.
JIMMY THE GREEK: Owner of Greek taverna next door to Hoi Polloi.
JUSTINE: Lap-dancer at Secrets club.
KENNETH: Waiter at Hoi Polloi.
KENT, BARRY: Ex-skinhead and local thug, now prize-winning poet and novelist. Author of poem ‘Naked’ and the modern classic Dork’s Diary.
KENT, EDNA: Barry Kent’s mum. Toilet cleaner, later double degree-taker and Pandora’s secretary at the House of Commons.
KEVIN: Unhelpful sales personage at Hamleys.
LARGE ALAN: Owner of Secrets, as well as The 165, a fashionable new drinking den.
LEAF, SANDRA: Square-jawed security guard with Citadel Security Ltd, who invokes Pauline Mole’s wrath and threats of legal action by giving her a random body search on election night.
Lo! The Flat Hills of My Homeland: Adrian’s novel, later rechristened Birdwatching, for which he is still, incredibly, searching for a publisher.
LUCY: Staff nurse at Leicester Royal Infirmary and single parent.
LUIGI: Maître d’ of Hoi Polloi. An Italian Communist who votes Lib Dem and lives in Croydon.
LUPIN, SKY: Adrian’s stress counsellor.
MALCOLM: Washer-upper at Hoi Polloi. Voting position undecided.
MARILYN: A kamikaze bank official.
MICHELWAITE, AARON: Well-spoken but hideous youth whose company Rosie Mole enjoys.
MOLE, GEORGE: Adrian’s father. Unemployed and suffering from erectile dysfunction.
MOLE, JO JO: Adrian’s wife, from whom he is separated. Has moved back to Nigeria. Mother of William. Has beauty, brains, money and talent, and frankly was out of Adrian’s league, as well as being four inches taller than him.
MOLE, PAULINE: Adrian’s mother. Unsatisfied, unfulfilled Germaine Greer fan.
MOLE, ROSIE: Adrian’s sister. Foul-mouthed fifteen-year-old vamp.
MOLE, SUSAN: Adrian’s aunt and Prison Officer of the Year 1997. ‘Married’ to Amanda.
MOLE, WILLIAM: Adrian’s small son. Fascinated by Teletubbies and Jeremy Clarkson videos.
MONTEFIORI, ZIPPO: Managing director of Pie Crust Productions, makers of Offally Good! and The Fry-Up.
MUTTON, KEITH: Monster Raving Loony Party candidate.
NEIL ARMSTRONG COMPREHENSIVE: Alma mater of Adrian, Pandora, Nigel and Barry Kent.
NG, DR: Adrian’s doctor. Prescribed Prozac for him.
NIGEL: Adrian’s best friend from school. Now a gay Buddhist van-driver for Next clothing store.
NOBBY: Labourer for Les Banks.
NORBERT: Nigel’s boyfriend.
O’CASEY, LIAM: Student. Archie Tait’s neighbour.
PANKHURST, MIRANDA: Sharon Bott’s solicitor.
PARVEZ, MRS: Liberal councillor; owner of Kidsplay Ltd, William Mole’s private nursery school.
PATIENCE, ROGER: New headmaster of Neil Armstrong Comprehensive.
PEACOCK, IDA: OAP Liberal Democrat supporter. Believes Tony Blair is going to give her new hips.
PERKINS, BOB: Owner of eponymous garden centre.
PURBRIGHT, LENNIE: Pandora’s election agent. Cockney, formerly a whelk-stall owner.
RAJIT: BP service-station worker.
ROD: Owner of the Hot Rods shop in Soho, opposite Hoi Polloi.
SASHA: Assistant cook at Hoi Polloi.
SAVAGE, PETER: Foul-mouthed, aristocratic owner of Hoi Polloi. Believes in a ‘Traditional English, No Choice’ menu. Suffers from stress incontinence. Hates Tony Blair and New Labour.
SAVAGE, KIM: Savage’s ex-wife and ex-society florist.
SEAN: Waiter at Hoi Polloi.
SCRUTON, MR: a.k.a Pop-Eye Scruton. Former headmaster of Neil Armstrong Comprehensive and rabid Mrs Thatcher devotee.
SINGH, DEV: Double-entendre-loving co-presenter of Offally Good!.
SPICER-WOODS, CHRISTINE: Socialist Lesbians Against Globalization Party candidate.
STOAT, ARTHUR: Editor and managing director of Stoat Books Ltd, wants to produce Offally Good! – The Book.
SURINDER, DR: Doctor at Leicester Royal Infirmary who examines William.
SWAYWARD, JUSTIN: Shoe Mania! employee and court representative.
TAIT, ARCHIE: OAP Socialist Labour Party voter.
TRELLIS, MISS: Glenn Bott’s maths teacher.
TUFTON, SIR ARNOLD: Conservative MP for Ashby-de-la-Zouch and Pandora’s rival in the general election.
TWYSTLETON-FIFE, JULIAN: Pandora’s gay ex-husband.
VALENTINE DUFF, RON: Repatriate Foreigners Party candidate.
VLJKJKJV, JAJKJ: Belgrade translator interested in Birdwatching.
WELLINGBOROUGH, MRS: Mr Chang’s receptionist.
WONKY, DAVE: Zouch FM DJ.
WORTHINGTON, HARRY: OAP Labour supporter.
ZO: Hair- and make-up artist for Pie Crust Productions.
Dean Street, Soho
Wednesday April 30th 1997
I take up my pen once again to record a momentous time in the affairs of men (and, thank God, because this is intended to be a secret diary, I am not required to add ‘and women’).
The day after tomorrow on May 2nd, as dawn breaks, I predict that the Labour Party will just scrape in, and will form the next government. Talk of a landslide victory is hysterical rubbish whipped up by the media.
My own prediction is based on ‘insider’ knowledge. The insider is an actor called Fred Gipton who was in An Inspector Calls with Tony Booth, the father-in-law of our future Prime Minister. Gipton spilled the beans in Hoi Polloi, the restaurant where I work, after two bottles of Jacob’s Creek, a Pernod and a vodka sorbet. After begging me to keep ‘shtum’ he told me that he had heard, via a tortuous grapevine, that Mr Blair expected to win with a tiny majority. Three was mentioned. He also told me that Mr Blair wears a wig, but I have freeze-framed a News At Ten video of him alighting from a helicopter on to a school playing-field and I am satisfied that no wig could stand up to the air turbulence caused by the chopper blades. Tony wears his own hair, it is certainement.
So, every vote counts, which is why I will drive up to Ashby-de-la-Zouch tonight after I finish my shift in the restaurant. When I told Savage that I would need to take a day off in order to vote, he went into a tirade about the foolishness of giving ‘hoi polloi’ the vote. ‘If I ruled the f------ country,’ he said (I cannot bring myself to write f------), ‘I’d restrict the vote to men over forty-five years of age, and I’d narrow it down to those who earned over seventy Κ a year.’
‘You wouldn’t allow women to vote?’ I checked.
‘No, I f------ well wouldn’t,’ he raged. ‘They’re all f------ mad. If they’ve not got PMT they’ve got HRT or VPL.’
I pointed out to him that VPL stands for visible panty line, but he was, as usual, beyond reason. When he began to recount the crimes and misdemeanours of his estranged wife, Kim, I went into the kitchen and made onion gravy for the toad-in-the-hole.
After he calmed down a bit I approached him again. ‘Mr Savage,’ I said, ‘I have not had a day off for six weeks.’
‘How do you intend to vote?’ he asked, challengingly.
I resented him asking, but I replied, ‘Labour.’
‘Then no f------ way, Jose,’ he shouted, pushing a highball glass under the rum optic, and keeping it there until the glass was half full (or half empty, depending on your personality type). He drank deeply from it, as though the contents were Ribena.
‘Why should I lose a valuable member of staff on one of the busiest days of the year and help that shirtlifter Blair get elected?’ He coughed, lighting one of his filthy French cigarettes. I pointed out to him that Mr Blair is far from being a poofter, and has, in fact, fathered a trio of children. Savage gave a horrible phlegmy laugh, during which he crossed his legs (he suffers from stress incontinence). He took m
e to the front door of the restaurant, pointed at the Hot Rods shop opposite. Rod himself was in the shop window, arranging some studded leather underpants on a collection of tiered display plinths. ‘Now that’s a shop for poofters, am I right, Mole?’ he said, breathing rum fumes in my face.
‘The shop specializes in clothes and equipment for gay men,’ I conceded.
‘And are none of Rod’s customers happily married?’ he asked, dropping his voice theatrically.
I said, with heavy irony, ‘So, Mr Blair’s marriage is a sham and his children are nothing but ciphers conceived in the bed of cynicism, so that one day he will deceive the British people into voting for him, thinking him to be a heterosexual socialist, whereas…’
‘Mark my words, Mole, Blair is a “friend of Rod’s” if ever I f------ saw one, and he’s no f------ socialist either.’
I began to cook the cabbages for dinner. Savage likes them to boil for at least half an hour. My work as a chef has been a doddle since Savage instituted his Traditional English, No Choice menu. Tonight’s repast is:
Heinz tomato soup
(with white bread floaters)
Grey lamb chops
Boiled cabbage avec Dan Quayle potatoes
Dark brown onion gravy
Spotted Dick à la Clinton
Bird’s custard (skin £6.00 extra)
Cheddar Cheese, Cream Crackers
Nescafé
After Eight Mint
There are two types of wine – white £46, red £46
Service charge not included. You are expected to smoke between courses. Pipes and cigars are particularly welcome.
The restaurant is fully booked six weeks ahead. Savage turned Princess Michael of Kent away from the door last night. She was distraught.
The restaurant critic A. A. Gill said in his review in the Sunday Times that Hoi Polloi served execrable nursery food. ‘The sausage on my plate could have been a turd: it looked like a turd, it tasted like a turd, it smelled like a turd, it had the texture of a turd. In fact, thinking about it, it probably was a turd.’
