Adrian Mole and The Weapons of Mass Destruction Read Free Page A

problems in the future due to the weight you were carrying on your ribcage.
    It is rumoured that you are contemplating having even bigger implants inserted. I beg you to reconsider. Please contact me at the above address. I’m afraid I cannot offer a fee or expenses, but you will of course receive a free copy of the book (working title:
Celebrity and Madness
).
    I remain, madam,
    Your most humble and obedient servant,
    A. A. Mole
    David Beckham
    Wisteria Walk
    c/o Manchester United Football Club
    Ashby de la Zouch
    Old Trafford
    Leicestershire
    Manchester M16
     
    October 6th 2002
    Dear David
    Please take a few moments to read this letter. I am not an inane football fan requesting a signed photo.
    I am writing a book about celebrity and how it ruins people’s lives. I know what I am talking about. I was a celebrity in the 1990s and had my own show on cable TV called
Offally Good!
Then the fame machine spat me out, as it will spit you out one day.
    I would like to arrange an interview on a mutually convenient date. You would have to come here to Leicester because I work full-time. A Sunday afternoon would be good for me.
    And please don’t take offence at what I’m about to say – perhaps you were away when grammar was taught at school – but you do not seem to know the very basics of grammatical sentence construction, i.e. last night on television you said, ‘I seen Victoria on a video when she were a Spice Girl an’, y’know, I like said to me mate, I fink I’ve just saw the gel I’m gonna marry.’
    The sentence should read: I SAW Victoria on a video when she was a Spice Girl, and I said to my mate, I think I’ve just SEEN the girl I’m going to marry.
    Please contact me at the above address. I’m afraid I cannot offer a fee or expenses, but you will of course receive a free copy of the book (working title:
Celebrity and Madness
).
    I remain, sir,
    Your most humble and obedient servant,
    A. A. Mole
Monday October 7th
    Rang my solicitor, David Barwell, on the way to work. His secretary, Angela, said, ‘Mr Barwell is busy having an asthma attack due to the new carpet that has been fitted over the weekend.’
    I advised her to expect a correspondence from MarkB’astard regarding the lease on Unit 4, The Old Battery Factory, Rat Wharf, Grand Union Canal, Leicester.
    She said bitterly, ‘I shan’t bother telling Mr Barwell. It’s me that does all the work. All he does is sit behind his desk and fiddle with his inhaler.’
    I had to wait ten minutes outside the shop; Mr Carlton-Hayes had trouble finding a parking space. I watched him walk up the High Street. He looked as if he was on his last legs. I don’t know how much longer he can carry on with the shop. This is just my luck.
    He said, ‘Terribly sorry to keep you waiting, my dear.’
    I took the keys from him and opened the door. Once inside, he leaned against the recent biographies to catch his breath.
    I said to him, ‘If we had a few chairs and sofas in here like I suggested, you could sit down and be comfortable.’
    He said, ‘We’re not Habitat, Adrian, my dear, we’re booksellers.’
    I said, ‘Customers expect to be able to sit down in bookshops nowadays, and they also expect a cup of coffee and to be able to visit the lavatory.’
    He said, ‘A properly brought-up person micturates and defecates and drinks a cup of coffee before they leave their house.’
    We had the usual quotient of mad people in during the day. A steam train enthusiast with a ginger beard and sellotaped spectacles asked me if we had a copy of the 1954 Trans-Siberian timetable in Russian. I showed him our Railway section and invited him to search through the mildewed railway ephemera that Mr Carlton-Hayes insists on keeping in stock.
    A woman with a crew cut and dangly earrings asked if we were interested in buying a first edition of
The Female Eunuch
. I wouldn’t have bought it. It was in very poor condition, missing its dust jacket, and the pages were covered in