The Secret Diary of Dennis Brent - Volume II

1st April

April Fools Day and Brent Towers simply quaked with laughter. It started when I hid Ian Devine’s breakfast under a tea cosy and he sat, gibbering with panic, until his nose caught the scent and he tracked it down. He looked at me with his blubbery face, smile a flabby smile and simply “Good one Dennis Brent”. He got his revenge later, however, when he snuck into my bedroom and stole all my trousers. He put them in his extra big Pie Pan and boiled them until they dissolved.

“What’s that smell, Ian Devine?” I asked when, clad only in a post-bath robe, I caught a whiff of something tweedy.

“April Fool” beamed Ian Devine. I took the lid of the Pie Pan and saw what he had done. We both roared until our stomachs ached. Ian Devine then popped to Mr Gussett’s clothes shop and bought me twelve new pairs to make up for the ones he had boiled into trouser soup. I am wondering now where the soup went. I hope Ian Devine didn’t eat it <g>

Now that I think about it, he did have a vat of soup for dinner. Has Ian Devine eaten my trousers? This could bring a whole new dimension to our friendship.


3rd April

Ian Devine and I had a very pleasant evening with Wicks. He brought round his Doctor Who Scrabble set and we played until ten to ten. I won by adding an A to Ian Devine’s triple word scored ROMAN. Ottie didn’t play as she was out at a meeting of the Aquatic Socialists Society. She told me earlier that she is deputy treasurer this year. She-that-we-don’t-mention was never very interested in politics – it was one of her few conversational failings. I offered to accompany her to the next meeting and she said that would be rather jolly.

4th April

I suggested to Wicks that he might join me at an ASS meeting but he merely slapped me and said he had “an understanding” with his village osteopath, Mrs Goatee. I explained that ASS was the Aquatic Socialists Society and he apologised. Wicks being a gentleman he also sent a written apology later. I have, in preparation for next year’s April Fools Day, adjusted his letter so it appears he is apologising for the article he wrote on the "Use of Tubing in Seasons Eight to Twelve". I expect we will all roar with laughter.


6th April

Wicks, Ian Devine and I accompanied Ottie to an ASS meeting and it was all terribly impressive. There were otters, seals, sea lions and even one dolphin, all extolling the virtues of a planned political economy. Wicks, Ian Devine and I were only allowed to become associate members (a rank also held by Grantham, so Ottie tells me) but I have been invited to speak at the next meeting. It’s all very exciting. The only way to end such an interesting evening, obviously, was a game of Doctor Who Sabbuteo. My team beat Ian Devine’s team 2-0 in the final and I danced with joy until my Horlicks had gone cold. I won’t make that mistake again.


8th April

Grantham is back from abroad. He brought gifts for us all. He gave Wicks a copy of the Target novel of Doctor Who and the Daleks (which he had inscribed with a witty message to the effect that it was much better for Wicks not having written it), Ian Devine received a crystal pie (non-edible, much to his chagrin <g>) and I was given a pot of jam. He regaled us with anecdotes of Australia and we roared with laughter until someone produced Doctor Who Kerplunk and we spent the rest of the evening playing that. My friend Ian Devine came last because the crystal pie had troubled him to his foundations and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I later found him in the kitchen, licking the crystal pie and moaning “Why? Why? Why have you been made like this?”


9th April

Ian Devine is in hospital after swallowing the crystal pie. Grantham felt guilty. I told him he shouldn’t as Ian Devine is old enough to know not to eat novelty glassware. Grantham thanked me for being such a good friend. We played Doctor Who Chess until the doctor (not THE Doctor <g>) rang to say that Ian Devine was out of surgery and would be back to normal in no time. Apparently he has partially digested the crystal pie and as a result it had to be thrown away. Grantham is rather disappointed as he thought it would look nice on Ian Devine’s mantelpiece.


10th April

Grantham, Wicks and I decided to go out on a bicycle trip today. We had heard a rumour “online” that a rare Target hardback was on sale for a nugatory price in a second hand bookshop in Nippleton. We didn’t discuss who would actually get to buy the book when we arrived. Such details are, perhaps, best sorted in advance as you shall see. We rode our bicycles along the path and, as is traditional in Bendaton, the local ruffians threw mud at us. With my glasses caked in the stuff, I felt rather like the Dalek in The Mutants who gets his eye stalk covered with mud as the Time Travellers make their escape from the prison cell. As annoying a custom as the Bendaton mud slinging is, the Cymm past time of throwing rocks at passing cyclists is more irritating. I’ve mentioned this to my friend Ian Devine but he said he’s never noticed it before. I suspect he’s so fat that his outer layer doesn’t recognise projectiles. We were crossing the hills when Grantham’s bicycle became jammed in the rotting corpse of a deer. His front wheel was jammed in its ribcage and no amount of peddling could free it. Grantham tried to carry on regardless but the extra weight (not to mention the effect on the steering) made the effort fruitless. Wicks joked that Ian Devine would’ve eaten the deer and the problem would’ve been solved in no time. I suggested that Wicks was more than capable of eating a rotting deer but he said he was on a diet. Eventually we found a large rock and used it to shatter the ribs and free Grantham’s bicycle. A lesser man would’ve seen this as a bad omen but Dennis is made of sterner stuff. We passed through Shagford where, in line with local custom, they threw vegetables at me. Us. They threw vegetables at us. It was pure coincidence that they all hit me. Eventually we arrived at the bookshop and located the rare Target hardback book. The pencilled price was 75 pence, its value at auction was in excess of fifteen pounds. I reached out my hand to pick up the book and found it competing with the hands of Wicks and Grantham.

“It’s mine” said Grantham.

“It was my tip off” replied Wicks.

“I have the biggest collection of books – I require this one urgently” I protested.

One thing led to another and the three of us became engaged in an unseemly brawl. I threw a copy of Gibbon at Wicks and caught him in the face. He replied by tossing a Tolkein at me. The smile was wiped off Grantham’s face when a road atlas his him in the southern region. He responded by hurling a Tolstoy at Wicks. The book shop owner poked his frightened head around the door and told us he had telephoned the constabulary.

“I won’t leave until I have the rare Target hardback” I said firmly.

“Nor will I” said Wicks.

“That book is mine” protested Grantham.

“I’m sorry – you’re all too late” said the shopkeeper. “It was bough by telephone this morning.”

“By whom ?” I demanded.

“A Mr Devine” he replied and Wicks, Grantham and I were deflated. We walked sullenly from the shop. We were only roused from our apathy by the sound of the approaching police car. We leapt onto our bicycles and sped back towards Bendaton. What a waste of a day.


11th April

Ian Devine was released from hospital and made a great show of reading his new Target hardback novel. Grantham, Wicks and Dennis fumed silently. Ian Devine kindly offered to lend us the book at a rate of five pounds a day but we refused. There is no pleasure to be gained from merely reading a book – the joy comes from owning it and knowing that no one else owns it. Every prole knows that.


12th April

Ottie returned from her secret ASS meeting and let us know that they are having a special gathering tomorrow night and we were all invited. Apparently there is something brewing – they are proposing to join forces with a second group and take what they call “Direct Action”. I am rather scared and conveyed these feelings to Grantham.

“Oh don’t worry” he assured me, “Ottie is always being melodramatic. It never comes to anything – just humour her.” I was much relieved – Grantham may not know as much as me about archive television matters but he knows his otter.


13th April

I am writing this from an underground bunker. Grantham, Wicks, Ian Devine and I accompanied Ottie to a secret facility for the ASS gathering. The first thing that happened was that they locked the door and told us we couldn’t leave as we might breach their security. Ottie took to the stage and introduced us to three masked mooses who represented the Communist League Of Woodland Neighbours. They agreed with Ottie that the two factions should combine to form ASSCLOWN and rock Bendaton out of its capitalist inertia. The first masked moose (female) addressed us passionately about how Bendaton was sinking into a smug and iniquitous state. It was politically and morally moribund and that ASSCLOWN was the only thing that could save it. They have decided to attack the heart of Bendaton’s capitalism – Mr Penistone’s bank. The plan is to break into the vaults and for the animals to urinate all over the money. This will, apparently, send the message that “We aren’t taking any more”. The walls will then be annotated with slogans advertising ASSCLOWN’s cause. The furrowing members of ASSCLOWN have been tunnelling away for the past few months and their passage to the bank’s vault is almost complete. One of the moles took one look at Ian Devine and fainted. Ian Devine and Wicks will be staying behind to co-ordinate the operation. It has been agreed (without consulting me I might add) that Grantham and I will be at the forefront of the “job” since we have more manoeuvrable fingers. My hands are shaking as I write this – I’m not cut out to be a revolutionary. Ian Devine, with no risk attaching to his role, is beaming and eating pies while Wicks has taken the hour and a half since the meeting concluded to write a novel. It’s only Grantham and I who are suffering from the extremes of nerves. I am consoling myself with the desire to get revenge upon Mr Penistone for all the humiliations he inflicted upon Dennis but that’s still not quite enough to calm me down. It is, I’m sure, a point that most people reach in their life – Is it wrong for me to aid a group of left wing animals in breaking into a bank and urinating over piles of cash ?