The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4

There's only one thing more boring than listening to other people's dreams, and that's listening to their problems.

8.45 a.m. My mother is in the hospital grounds smoking a cigarette. She is looking old and haggard. All the debauchery is catching up with her.

Adrian Mole's diary Easter Poor Jesus, it must have been dead awful for him. I wouldn't have the guts to do it myself.

I used to be the sort of boy who had sand kicked in his face, now I'm the sort of boy who watches somebody else have it kicked in their face

I have a problem. I am an intellectual, but at the same time I am not very clever.

My skin is dead good. I think it must be a combination of being in love and Lucozade.

Had a note from Mr Cherry asking me when I can resume my paper round. I sent a note back to say that due to my mother's desertion I am still in a mental state. This is true. I wore odd socks yesterday without knowing it. One was red and one was green. I must pull myself together. I could end up in a lunatic asylum.

Mrs O'Leary said, 'Tis the child I feel sorry for', and all the people looked up and saw me, so I looked especially sad, I expect the experience will give me a trauma at some stage in the future. I'm all right at the moment, but you never know.

I asked her about my Family Allowance today, she laughed and said she used it for buying gin and cigarettes.

Measured my ‘thing’. It was eleven centimetres.

My grandma let the dog out of the coal shed. She said my mother was cruel to lock it up. The dog was sick on the kitchen floor. My grandma locked it up again.

Just measured my thing. It has grown one centimetre. I might be needing it soon.

She is just straight all the way up and down, including her nose and mouth and hair.

He was standing very still with his arms folded, staring with poached egg eyes.

I had my first wet dream!