The Diary of a Nobody
Being the modern day record of Charles
Pooter VI -
direct descendant of the 19th Century original
Monday, April 20, 2009
David and Annie James (Annie Fullers as was) came across for a quick bite to eat late in the afternoon, and then we headed off to The Tank. We got a tube to King’s Cross, and changed and went to the Angel. David even put a fiver on our Oysters, saying we’d paid for more than our fair share by buying the tickets.We got to the theatre. Interestingly, a lot of the rather scruffy looking crowd who’d come out of the tube were headed that way, except for some over-large Americans with backpacks. I went ahead to the box office and presented a print out of the mail. The man looked at it, called out “Zac! Any idea what this is?” and held it up. Another man came across, looked at it, and said “Where’d you get this from?" A bit put out, I said “Dominic Merton. Who else?" He said “Dominic Merton? Who’s he?" I said, pretty brusquely, “You ought to know. He knows all the major producers”. He replied “Does he. Well, I’m sorry. Means nothing to me. Oh, and just for your information, this mail comes from Callum Swinstead, the previous guy, and he’s gone”. It all got a bit heated, when David, who’d gone upstairs with Annie and Carrie, called out: “Come on!”. I went after him, and a pleasant young chap said “Could you come this way? I’ll show you to your seats – they’re on the gantry next to the lighting desk”. I said to David “How on earth did you get these sorted?” and to my horror he replied “Paid for them. How else?"
This was humiliating enough, and I could hardly understand the play, but there was still more humiliation to come. I’d dressed smartly in a nice cream jacket. There was a metal bar in front of me, which I leant on. Unfortunately, it was covered in rust, which left a big dirty mark right across the chest. To hide it, I had to keep my arms crossed for the rest of the evening, which made my shoulders ache.
©MMIX KONSIGNIA. All rights reserved.
Why shouldn’t
I publish
my diary?
I often see memoirs by people I’ve never even heard of and I don’t see why my diary should be any less interesting, just because I’m not a ‘celebrity’. I only wish I’d started it when I was younger.
Charles Pooter
The Laurels, 32 Elmside,
Barleycorn Mead, Harrow on the Hill.
charles@charlespooter.com
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