Adrian Mole and The Weapons of Mass Destruction by Sue Townsend Read Free Book Online Page B

myhands flat against my thighs, like a man who was about to bend down and pat the head of a small child.
    An extremely tall and cultured man, General Frob-isher-Nairn, in a dress uniform with many medals, told the seated crowd of relations and friends on the parade ground that we should be proud of our sons and daughters who were about to serve their Queen and country.
    Then the young soldiers marched up and down to the sounds of the regimental band. We couldn’t see Glenn at first, then Sharon spotted him and burst into tears. I put my arm around her.
    My father filmed the ceremony on his mini video camera.
    I was quite proud when, during the inspection, General Frobisher-Nairn spoke to Glenn for a full minute.
    When Glenn joined us in Tela Hall, where we were served afternoon tea, I asked him what the general had said.
    Glenn said, ‘He asked me where I was from. I told him, “Leicester, sir.” He said, “Leicester? Isn’t that where they make Walkers Crisps?” I said, “Yes, sir.” He said, “Do you like crisps, Bott?” I said, “Yes, sir.” “And which flavour do you prefer, Bott?” I said, “Cheese and onion, sir.” Then he said, “Splendid, Bott.” And I said, “Thank you, sir.”’
    I didn’t say anything to Glenn, but quite frankly, diary, I was disappointed at the banality of their exchange. Especially at a time when there is talk of war in the air.
    We didn’t stay long at the party, which was held in the back room of a pub. My parents made fools of themselves, dancing to ‘Let’s Twist Again’, and I think Glenn wasrelieved when we announced that we were going back to the Lendore Spa Hotel.
    Before we left he said, ‘I’d like to have my photo took with my mum and dad.’
    One of his mates, a timid-looking soldier called Robbie, took our photograph. Glenn stood in the middle and Sharon and I put our arms around his shoulders. Glenn looked ecstatic.
    I felt a pang of sadness that Glenn grew up without a mum and dad who lived together in the same house and loved each other. He is catching a plane early in the morning from Gatwick to Tenerife for a week’s leave with a crowd of his soldier mates.
    I gave him fifty quid, though I could ill afford it.
    The Lendore is owned by a couple called Len and Doreen Legg. As nobody else in our party had a valid credit card, it was mine that Len Legg took a print of.
    My father asked if the bar was still open. Len Legg sighed and rolled his eyes, then took a huge bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the grille over the bar.
    ‘Thank you, mine host,’ said my father, and asked if there was a bottle of cold champagne.
    ‘Not cold,’ said Len. ‘But I could put it in the freezer for half an hour.’
    My father said, ‘No, don’t bother. In half an hour I’ll have worked out that I’m paying a 300 per cent mark-up, and I’ll have gone off the idea. It’s now or never with champagne.’
    *
    After we had been served our drinks, Doreen Legg came to the door of the bar and said in a whiny voice, ‘I thought you were coming to bed, Len.’
    Len said, ‘You can see how I’m placed, Dore.’
    Doreen Legg looked at us accusingly and said, ‘He’s been up since 5.30.’
    My mother said, ‘As residents of this hotel, under EU law, we are entitled to drink in this bar for twenty-four hours should we wish to do so.’
    I asked Doreen Legg if they did bar food.
    Doreen said, ‘Not after 10.30.’
    Sharon shifted nervously on the banquette next to me. It was 11.15 and she has to eat at two-hourly intervals.
    My father volunteered to go out and search the area for food.
    Doreen Legg told us that everything was shut, but that we would find the minibar well stocked with chocolate and nuts.
    My mother spoke in a loud voice about the hotels she had stayed in abroad, how welcoming the staff were, how good the food was.
    Len Legg stood behind the bar, listening and cleaning his nails with a chewed-down match.
    When we were going up in the juddering lift