Wednesday April 3rd I am twenty-four and one day old. Question: What have I done with my life? Answer: Nothing. Grahame Greene died today. I wrote to him four years ago, pointing out a grammatical error in his book, The Human Factor. He didn’t reply. Adrian Mole has at last reached physical maturity, but he can’t help roaming the pages of his diary like an untamed adolescent. Finally given the heave-ho by Pandora, he seeks solace in the arms of Bianca, a qualified hydraulic engineer