Marigold walked me to the car in silence.

Just before I drove away she said, 'That was terribly cruel of you. The Mayflower made no return journey.'

She put her frail hands underneath her glasses and wiped her eyes.

I apologized and once more heard myself making a date to see her again.

As I drove through the gently undulating Leicestershire countryside, I thought about Mr Carlton-Hayes. I know nothing about his private life. He occasionally refers to his partner, Leslie. I have no idea if Leslie is a man or a woman.

It was dark when I drove into the car park at Rat Wharf, but I could see the white shape of Gielgud watching me from behind a clump of reeds as I got out of my car and ran to the entrance of the Old Battery Factory. He seems to take an unhealthy interest in my comings and goings.

Monday November 18th Walked to work along the towpath. No sign of swans, but saw an alarming number of rats. At one time I felt like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Tuesday November 19th When we were reorganizing the Travel section I asked Mr Carlton-Hayes if he had any children. He said he had a son, Marius, who was in a secure mental hospital and a daughter, Claudia, who worked in Ethiopia, distributing food for UNICEF. He said, 'Leslie and I are awfully proud of them,' then added quietly, 'both of them'. I still don't know if Leslie is the mother of his children or a male soul mate.

Parvez paid me an unexpected visit tonight. When I opened the door he was panting and sweating, having been chased by 'a bloody great white thing' across the car park.

I told him that it was almost certainly Gielgud the swan.

Parvez said, 'A.S.C.B.A.M.A.YK.'

He looked around my apartment and admired my new furniture, then he asked me awkward accountant-type questions. Eventually I cracked and admitted I'd got a store card. He clapped a hand to his head dramatically and said, 'Where is it?'

I took it out of my wallet and handed it to him. He searched in his pocket, found a small Swiss Army knife, prised out the mini scissors and cut my card in half. He said, 'You'll thank me for this one day.'

I didn't tell him that there was only PS89 left to spend on it and that I owed Debenhams PS9,911.

Parvez asked me if I was going to the Neil Armstrong Comprehensive reunion on Saturday night.

I said that wild horses would not drag me to such an occasion, and that the thought of seeing such dullards as Brain-box Henderson and the rest of my classmates filled me with horror.

I need every penny I can get, so I wrote to Latesun Ltd, threatening legal action unless they sent me a cheque for PS57.10 immediately. I said that Britain was preparing to invade Iraq on the grounds that Saddam Hussein had Weapons of Mass Destruction. What more proof did head office need?

Wednesday November 20th Full Moon After work I took Marigold to Wong's for a meal. She was wearing what looked like a giant romper suit in a pink fleece fabric.

Wayne Wong asked me if I was going to the Neil Armstrong reunion.

I said that I had other things planned and Marigold smiled and squeezed my hand.

Wayne added, 'Pandora's coming up from London especially. She's giving a long-service medal to Miss Fossington-Gore, who's retiring at the end of term. Barry Kent's coming an' all. He's bought a minibus for the school.'

Marigold said, 'You don't mean the Barry Kent, the novelist and poet, do you?'

Wayne said, 'Adrian was in Barry's gang at school.'

'Only for a weeks I said.

'Oh, I love his stuff,' breathed Marigold. 'I can recite his poems off by heart. Do you think you could get him to sign my copies of his books?'

I mumbled something about if I ran into him.

'Why don't we go on Saturday?' said Marigold.

I did not like her use of the word 'we'. I did not want to parade Marigold in front of my friends, especially Pandora.

I said that I would be working on my Celebrity and Madness book on Saturday night. But this was a lie. Nothing on earth would keep me from seeing Pandora, even if I have to share her with my ageing school mates.

I drove Marigold home. She kept her head turned away and looked out of the car window, though there was nothing to see. Every now and again she sniffed and blew her nose. At one point I asked her if she was crying.

She said, 'I haven't met any of your friends. Are you ashamed of me?'

I said, 'You've met Wayne Wong.'

She said, 'That's only because you like Chinese food and he gives you a 10 per cent discount.' She went on, 'When am I going to meet your parents?'

I said, 'It wouldn't be good for you, Marigold. They both chain-smoke.'

She said, 'I could have a puff of my inhaler before being introduced.'

I was careful not to make a definite arrangement to see her again.

Thursday November 21st I was woken this morning by the sound of scaffolding poles being thrown into a lorry. The building next door is due to open soon. As I walked past on my way to work, a sign was being erected above the door on what looked like a restaurant on the ground floor, the Casablanca.

I asked one of the scaffolders when it was due to open.

He said, 'Two months ago.'

I find the cynicism of the British workman utterly depressing.

Friday November 22nd I sent a text to Brain-box Henderson, who is arranging the Neil Armstrong reunion, saying that I would be coming on Saturday night, and confirming that I would be prepared to pay PS10 towards the buffet and the retirement gift for Miss Fossington-Gore.

Glenn rang to say that he had been posted to a secret location and was due to start his desert training.

When I asked him if he was in England, he said, 'Yes. But I can't say no more.

He told me that Ryan was still threatening to beat me up.

I said sarcastically, 'Thanks for telling me, Glenn.'

He replied, 'That's OK, Dad. I thought you ought to know.' He put the phone down after saying, 'Goodnight, God bless.'

For curiosity I dialled 1471 and a robot gave me a number, which I dialled. After a few rings a voice said, 'Aldershot Barracks.' So much for security!

It was a busy day in the shop. Some people have already started their Christmas shopping. I sold a copy of A Christmas Carol for PS25 and Mr Carlton-Hayes bought a copy of Scoop for PS30 from an old man who was selling his Waugh collection to pay his gas bill.

I asked Mr Carlton-Hayes about Michael Flowers s aversion to Mexico. He laughed his gentle laugh and said that Flowers's first wife, Conchita, had been Mexican, but she had failed to settle in Leicestershire and had eventually run back to Mexico City with a pork butcher from Melton Mowbray.

Saturday November 23rd I didn't know what to wear to the reunion. I rang Nigel for advice. He said, 'Wear what you feel comfortable in, Moley.'

It wasn't the moment to tell him that I never feel comfortable in any of my clothes. It isn't a question of fit or texture; it is a question of style. Who am I? And what do I want to say about myself?

I asked Nigel what he was wearing and he said, 'Paul Smith.'

I think Nigel is on to something. I ought to find a designer who matches my personality and stick to the one brand.

After a lot of dithering, I wore my Next navy suit, a white shirt and a red silk tie. I cut my fringe with the nail scissors and splashed myself liberally with Boss aftershave.

I picked Nigel up on the way. There was a frustrating wait while he stumbled around the granny annexe, 'looking' for his keys, coat and the white stick he has taken to using since he almost fell, Mr Magoo-like, into a workman's trench. I made no attempt to help him, as I have often heard blind people on the radio going on about how much they resent other people doing things for them.

After long minutes of fruitless searching, Nigel said, 'For Christ's sake, Moley, give me a hand.'

In the car I told Nigel that it was time he got himself organized and that he must learn to put things in the same place so that he knows where to find them each time. I asked him how he was coping financially now that he apparently had no income.

He said that he was living on disability allowance. To cheer him up, I made a joke. I said, 'So, it's goodbye to Paul Smith of Covent Garden and hello to George at Asda, is it?'

Nigel didn't even smile. He seems to have lost his sense of humour along with his sight.

I got him out of the car and escorted him across the car park and up to the school assembly hall. He kept dragging his feet and falling over his stick, and once he snapped, 'For Christ's sake, slow down. You're dragging me along as if I'm a bag of rubbish.'

We were greeted at the door of the assembly hall by an old bald bloke wearing nerd glasses and a Norman Wisdom-type suit. It was Brain-box Henderson, who is an old fogey at thirty-five.

We paid our PS10 and Henderson gave us raffle tickets in return. The first prize was a tour of the House of Commons and tea on the terrace with Pandora. Second prize was a first edition signed copy of Aden Vole by Barry Kent. Third prize was a giant teddy bear donated by Elizabeth Sally Stafford (nee Broadway), who was now running her own interior design company.

Some of my former school mates had changed out of all recognition. Claire Neilson, who once had tangled blonde curls and luscious lips, was now a tense, twitchy woman who kept looking at her watch and wondering aloud if the children were in bed.

Craig Thomas waved from behind the double decks of his mobile disco, Funk Down Sounds. He was wearing a baseball cap, back to front. He was the only one dancing to Michael Jackson's 'Billy Jean'.

Barbara Bowyer and Victoria Louise Thomson were standing at the makeshift bar, slagging off the absent Pandora, saying that she had done nothing for women since she'd been in office.

When they saw me and Nigel, they screamed, 'Aidy! Nige!' And ran to embrace us. I asked Victoria Louise what she did for a living and she said, 'I marry increasingly older men, darling.'

She is currently divorcing number three and planning to marry number four. Later on that night I heard her saying, 'I can't remember the last time I peeled a vegetable. I think it must have been Barbara Bowyer was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She used to be the ward sister in the Coronary Care Unit at the Royal Hospital, but she's now training to be a heating engineer.

She said, 'It's still pipes, pumps and valves, but double the money.

I said jokingly, 'You can drain my pipe any time you like,' but I don't think she could have heard me, because she turned away and speared a chipolata with a toothpick.

A group of elderly people were sitting at a corner table. Claire said, 'Just look at that lot. How come that collection of clapped-out geriatrics used to put the fear of God in us?'

The old people were our teachers: Miss Fossington-Gore (Geography), Mr Jones (PE), Miss Elf (Drama), Mr Dock (English). Sitting with them was the current headmaster, Roger Patience, who once predicted that Glenn 'would never make anything of himself'.

Mr Dock was looking longingly towards the bar, so I beckoned him over and bought him half a pint. He was delighted to learn that I was working for Mr Carlton-Hayes.

'I remember you, Mole he said. 'You were the only lad I ever taught who cried when Lenny murdered the girl in Of Mice and Men.'

Nigel said waspishly, 'Moley cries at the drop of a hat. I caught him blubbering over a dead hamster in Animal Hospital one afternoon.'

When Mr Dock returned to his table, I joined him and talked to the teachers.

Mr Jones said that he did not remember me. I told him that I was nearly always ill on PE days. He said, 'But there were so many.

I said, 'It was my dog that ran off with the football in the last five minutes of the final of the inter-counties schools match between Leicestershire and Bedfordshire.'

'Ah, yes, I do remember you now said Jones. 'You once brought a note to me purporting to be from your mother, "Adrian has got diarrhoea through holes in his shoes."'

Oh, how the table of old educators laughed.

Mr Dock said, 'Did he spell diarrhoea correctly?'

Jones said, 'How would I know? I taught PE.'

By 9.30 the room had filled up a bit, the sandwiches on the buffet table had started to curl slightly at the sides and a few people were dancing to Boy George singing 'Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?'

Nigel seemed to be the centre of attention. He was surrounded by sympathetic women offering to come to his annexe to clean and do his washing and ironing.

There was a hooting from the car park and Brain-box Henderson shouted over the music, 'Come and see the new minibus.'

Kent was behind the wheel of a white minibus with his shaved head and leather jacket, from which hung heavy silver chains. A seven-foot-tall minder wearing a dark overcoat got out of the passenger seat and said to the small crowd, 'Keep away from Mr Kent, please. He don't like being touched. And no photos. He don't want no publicity.'

Roger Patience was summoned and an awkward little ceremony took place, during which Barry Kent handed over the keys and logbook.

The two men made startlingly hypocritical speeches.

Kent said that his days at Neil Armstrong Comprehensive had been the happiest of his life.

Patience said that Barry Kent had 'by all accounts been a challenging but brilliant young man who had brought honour to the school'. Then he got behind the wheel of the minibus and started the engine.

Brain-box Henderson put his large head through the driver's open window and said, 'Mr Patience, have you passed the local authority minibus driving test?'

Patience admitted that he had not and took his foot off the accelerator.

Pandora rang me on my mobile to tell me that she was just coming up to Junction 21 and would be with us soon. She said, 'Is there any food left? I'm fucking famished.'

I told her that the buffet had curled up and died and offered to take her out for a meal after she had performed her duties. She made a noncommittal sound and rang off.

I joined Wayne Wong, Parvez and Victoria Louise, who were smoking by the bike sheds in the playground. We had a good laugh about Brain-box Henderson's shrunken suit, Miss Fossington-Gore's beard and moustache, and Craig Thomas's pathetic disco.

Pandora's silver Saab turned into the car park, scattering gravel. I hurried over to open the driver's door. She sat in the car for a while, brushing her hair and applying lipstick.

I told her that she looked tired.

She said, 'Gee, thanks.'

She joined the smokers by the bike sheds, saying, 'I need a fag before I go inside and face the grizzly Fossington-Gore.'

Brain-box Henderson hurried over and advised Pandora to keep her tribute to Miss Fossington-Gore short as they were running late and the caretaker wanted to have the hall cleared by 11.