The Diary of a Nobody

Being the modern day record of Charles Pooter VI -
direct descendant of the 19th Century original

Sunday, November 22, 2009

There was a good thing on bankers’ bonuses on the Andrew Marr Show this morning. Later on, something irritating happened. I ran into Mia Fernloose outside Homebase, stacking some expensive tins of Farrow & Ball paint in the back of a new Range Rover. She clearly remembered me (which was flattering) and might well have had something important to say to me, but unfortunately the wind caught a paper lampshade I’d got in my trolley, and blew it across the car park. I ran after it, and eventually retrieved it (after tripping in a muddy flower bed). By that time Mia had gone across to chat to some other woman in a Mercedes, and in any case, I looked a bit of a state, so I thought it best not to talk to her. Pity.

In the evening, I got a big long e-mail from Rudy:

Dear Mr Pooter,

I am younger than you by some twenty or thirty years. You have the wisdom of age at your disposal, I am sure, and yet I would suggest that, compared to my humble self, you have a significantly lesser capacity to absorb the nuances implicit in many of our contemporary mores.

Do I make myself understood?

This being indubitably the case, I would suggest you accept that you were wrong in maintaining the position which you recently took in the course of our discussion. You threw down the gauntlet, and I have responded robustly and perceptively. I will not be gainsaid by you.

But to return to the substantive issue.

Our lives are worlds apart. I, my friend, live for my art. The art of performance – a noble calling. You, on the other hand, are enslaved to commerce, and labour daily amidst arid number-laden spreadsheets. Your life in the city is not without its value, I admit. But oh, how very different it is. As even you will perceive, there is a vast gulf between us. It is an unbridgeable divide. We will never effect a true meeting of minds. This is an immutable truth.

I have made a sacred vow to myself to ascend the Olympian heights of fame and celebrity. I know that I must expect to endure great privations on my journey, and I may stumble and fall, but ultimately I will reach the pinnacle. And you will know. The media, public and paparazzi will flock to my cause. Thusfar, I am a mere amateur. My work is known only to, and supported by, a select few. Here and there, I have enemies.

But let me put this question to you: what is the difference between an amateur and a professional? None! Or is there? Indeed there is. One is paid for doing what the other does just as skillfully for nothing!

But I will be paid! In full and frank disregard of the admonishments of friends and family, I have elected to become a stand-up comedian. It is my chosen profession. And when the fashion for stand-up has passed – as indeed it will, I predict – the true diversity and maturity of my talent shall become apparent to all. Without a trace of conceit, I can safely say that there is no one with the ability to inhabit the role of Richard III so fully and effectively as I feel and know I can.

At that time, I guarantee that you, my friend, shall be the first in line to admit your earlier foolishness. There are many matters which you may understand, Mr Pooter, but the fine arts of performance shall always be utterly impenetrable to one such as yourself.

I hope this concludes the matter between us.

With regards,
Rudy Burwin.

Utter rubbish. When Lupin showed up, I handed him a copy of this sad, pompous, cocky little e-mail and said “Take a look and see what your mate is really like”. To my surprise, Lupin said “oh yeah – he showed it to me before he sent it. He’s dead right – I think you need to apologise to him”.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

I got a long e-mail from Rudy about last night’s argument. It really wound me up, so I replied immediately. I told him I didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the world of stand-up comedy, I didn’t care about it, and I certainly wasn’t going to waste time talking about the subject, even if it put a friendship at risk. I’ve never written anything that direct before.

On the way back to the house on Saturday, I ran into Daisy Mutlar. Oh God. Not a meeting I wanted. I nodded slightly as I passed. She pretended she hadn’t seen me. Back at home, Anya had messed up the washing and lost a sock. Very irritating. I told Carrie and she said “If you’ve got a problem, tell her yourself. I’m fed up with trying to drum it into her. If you’re quick, you can catch her before she goes.” I had a word, but she said there was only ever one sock in the laundry basket.

Gowing came into the hall as I was talking to Anya about the lost sock, and decided to intervene. “Don’t throw it out. It’d be a waste. Find a bloke with one leg and give it to him”. Anya started cackling like a moron. I couldn’t be bothered with any of it, so I went upstairs to get changed.

Back down in the living room, Gowing was telling Carrie his gag about the man with one leg, and Carrie was laughing her head off. Perhaps I’m losing my sense of humour. Who knows? I made my feelings known about Jimmy Padge. Gowing had only met him once, apparently, through some mutual acquaintance. Jimmy had bought the two of them lunch somewhere posh, so Gowing thought he should return the compliment. Bloody hell! The cheek of it. Lupin came in before I could say anything, and unfortunately Gowing asked him how Daisy Mutlar was. Lupin shouted “Stick … your … fat … nose … out. OK?" He stumped out of the room, slammed the door and disappeared. The rest of the night was Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. How tedious!

Friday, November 20, 2009

I forgot my mobile today – second time this week. I must be losing my memory. What with all the Daisy Mutlar stuff, I forgot to get in touch with Rudy to tell him I’d be out tonight (lie). He’d probably have turned up whatever I said. I think he’s that kind of bloke.

Good old Cummings came in the evening. Gowing texted to say he hoped I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t turn up, which made me laugh. Apparently, his cheek was still sore. Rudy arrived, but Lupin wasn’t around. I was seriously put out when Jimmy Padge rolled up by himself, without Gowing. “Jimmy! What a lovely surprise,” I said, with a subtle touch of sarcasm. Carrie (ever the diplomat) said, “I’m sure he’s only popped in to see Rudy’s other routine”. Jimmy said “Yeah. You OK with that?" He made a bee-line for the comfy chair, and (again) didn’t move all night.

Jimmy Padge

I suppose the advantage is, since his diet consists mainly of Stella, we don’t have the bother of feeding him, but I’ll have to have a chat with Gowing about the guy. The Julian Clary impressions went on all bloody evening. Boring, boring, boring. We had a bit of a heated discussion at one point, because Cummings said that Rudy wasn’t just like Julian Clary, he was as good or even better. I pointed out that Rudy was just imitating the original.

Cummings said that an imitation could be better than an original. I said something very smart, namely, “Without an original there can be no imitation”. Rudy (rudely) said “Pack it in. Mr Pooter: I’d advise you NOT to talk about things you clearly don’t understand”. Jimmy, the fat slob, said “Too right, mate”. Carrie (thank God) saved the situation by saying “How’s about I do Victoria Wood?" No one reckoned much to the accuracy of her impression, but she was so spontaneous and funny, it distracted everyone from a debate which was clearly turning a bit nasty.

When they were leaving, I told Rudy and Jimmy pretty pointedly that we’d got something planned for tomorrow evening and wouldn’t be around.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Cummings got here early, and Gowing arrived a bit later. He’d brought a fat and rather slobbish guy with a long greasy pony-tail. He was called Jimmy Padge, and Gowing hadn’t had the decency to ask if it’d be OK for him to tag along. He didn’t even seem to think any apology was in order. Gowing said Jimmy wanted to see Rudy’s Julian Clary routine. Jimmy said, “Yeah”, and that was about it from him for the whole evening. Lupin came in. He was clearly feeling more up-beat. After half an hour, Lupin left the room. He came back in five minutes, and announced “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr Julian Clary!”.

Lupin announces “Mr Julian Clary”

We were all astonished. The resemblance was uncanny. The only one who didn’t seem interested was Jimmy, who’d sat himself down in my comfy chair in the corner, with a six pack of Stella he‘d brought with him. After a while I said to Carrie “I’m not quite sure I like this brand of humour.” Quick as a flash she said “Perhaps you prefer the “Jo” brand!”. We all had a great laugh at that, bar Rudy who said (pretty patronisingly), “Good joke love, but hardly original”.

That was out of order so I said, “Excuse me, Rudy, I ….” but he didn’t let me finish. “Now don’t be naughty. It’s Julian, not Rudy”, which made me totally forgot what I’d meant to say to him. All through supper, Rudy went on and on about Julian Clary. You can only take so much camp comedy, and Carrie and I reckoned we’d had enough. After we’d eaten, Rudy got carried away, kissed Gowing passionately, left lipstick marks all over his face and scratched his cheek quite badly – even drawing some blood. Gowing was peeved, but Jimmy (who’d not had supper with us since he was perfectly happy hogging the comfy chair, swigging his Stella) started laughing uncontrollably. I was annoyed and said, “I suppose you’d find it even funnier if he poked his eye out?" Jimmy said, “Yeah! You’re right there mate” and laughed even more. The big surprise for me was when Rudy said, on his way out, “Goodnight then – and thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll do my other big routine tomorrow night”.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Gowing and Cummings dropped in tonight. Lupin turned up with a mate called Rudy Burwin, the luvvie from the Comedy Kings who’d broken the table at the party. No one mentioned Daisy, which was one good thing. The evening was completely monopolised by Rudy, who looked a bit like Julian Clary, and seemed to think he actually was the homosexual comic. That said, he did some funny imitations. There was no sign of him leaving, so I said “Rudy – fancy staying for a bit of food?” and he said “Thank you, sweet. I’d love to.”

Rudy Burwin at supper

He did his Julian Clary stuff all through supper, slid down in his chair so his head was virtually under the table, whacked Carrie on the shins, knocked over a wine glass, and nearly decapitated Gowing with his knife. After supper, he lolled around with his feet on the book-case, kept doing lines from a sitcom (Alan Partridge, Lupin told me), and gave Carrie a really bad headache by constantly jumping up and head-butting some wind chimes.

As he was leaving he said “I’ll come tomorrow with my Julian Clary make up”. Gowing and Cummings said they were up for that. I wondered why they didn’t organise a full-on bloody party for themselves at my house at the same time. Carrie, though, pointed out that it was worth doing anything, if it helped Lupin forget the whole Daisy Mutlar saga.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Lupin dropped in for a few minutes in the evening. He asked for some brandy, doing his affected luvvie thing, so I said “No. I’ve not got any. Even if I had, I wouldn’t give it to you”. Lupin said “All right, I’ll go somewhere where they will give me some” and walked out of the house. Carrie took Lupin’s side and the rest of the evening was spent in pretty unpleasant chat. The words “Daisy” and “Mutlar” must have been said a thousand times.

Monday, November 16, 2009

I didn’t see Lupin at all today. I got myself an address book, and I copied in names of friends/acquaintances in the evening. I didn’t include the Mutlars.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

A nice peaceful day. Lupin headed off in the afternoon to the Mutlars’. He was in high spirits. Carrie said “If there’s any advantage in this engagement it’s that he seems to be happy all the time, but really, I don’t think she’s right for him”.

Carrie and I talked about it in the evening. We agreed that an early engagement didn’t necessarily end in an unhappy marriage. After all, as Carrie pointed out, she and I had married pretty early, and bar a few minor incidents, we’ve never really exchanged a cross word. I reckon that half the pleasures we experience in life arise directly from having suffered struggles and privations in the early years of marriage - struggles which quite often relate to lack of money. These are the kind of things which often help to make loving couples bond together even tighter. I said as much to Carrie.

Carrie said I’d put it really well, and should congratulate myself on being a bit of a philosopher.

All of us can be vain. I must confess I was really flattered by Carrie’s compliment. I don’t pretend to have any great ability to express myself in high-flown language, but I do feel I’m very able to express my thoughts with simplicity and clarity. About nine o’clock Lupin returned looking dishevelled and a bit weird. We were surprised – we’d not been expecting him. Obviously he’d been out with the luvvies, because he said in a dull actory voice, like an old alcoholic in some bar-room scene in a 30s black and white movie “Give me a brandy. I need a brandy”. I said “Sorry Lupin, I’ve not got any. D’you want some whisky instead?" I was shocked when he downed a whole tumbler in one.

The three of us sat watching Poirot, in silence. At ten, Carrie and I headed off to bed. Carrie said to Lupin “Is Daisy OK?" Lupin said “Pardon? Hmmm. Daisy. Daisy. Now, let … me … see”. He stared into space, his brow all knotted like he was trying hard to remember something. “Oh yes! Yes!” he said eventually. “You must mean Daisy! Daisy Mutlar! Daisy Mutlar, the fat slapper! I’ve heard about her! Who hasn’t?”

Then he said “Mum, I don’t give a shit about her. I don’t care whether she’s OK or not. She’s a slag. I don’t want to hear her stupid, slaggy name ever again. All right?”

Saturday, November 14, 2009

I felt a lot better when I got up this morning – completely back to normal. I’m not a natural party animal: so when we got an invite to someone’s wedding we turned it down. We’d only met her a couple of times down at Annie’s, and I didn’t feel like shelling out on a present for her. Lupin said, “Yeah, I’m with you on that. It’s like some crap Hollywood B-movie. Bride and groom as the stars. Joke-cracking best man, crying dad, and snivelling mother as supporting cast, and everyone else has a walk-on role, which they have to pay for by buying a present”. I didn’t quite agree with the film analogy (slightly rude), but thought it was witty all the same.

I said to Carrie to sling the trifle. She’d been serving it up every day since the party. Cummings came round in the evening and said we’d thrown a great do. He said it was the best he’d been to in ages. We were watching “Property Snakes and Ladders”, when Lupin and Frank came in making a load of noise. I asked them if they’d care to watch it with us, but Lupin took the remote, and switched over to “Dave”, where a foul-mouthed Scottish man on Mock the Week was making a joke about a paedophile. Lupin and Frank laughed a lot. I changed the channel back immediately.

Despite having told her to chuck it out, Carrie served the trifle again - this time disguised with some squirty cream and chocolate sprinkles. She offered some to Lupin, and he said “No way. That’s pure salmonella”. Afterwards, I told Carrie if she tried to serve it up again, I’d leave her. For good.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Still tired and under the weather. Gowing came round in the evening, all enthusiastic about the party. He said the place had looked great and he’d had a fantastic time. Gowing can be quite nice if he puts his mind to it, but you never know how long it’ll last. Later at supper when Carrie offered him some trifle he said “Nice to see you believe in recycling. Isn’t that from Wednesday?”

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I woke up about twenty times in the night, feeling absolutely parched. Drank a whole pint of water, and then had to keep going back and forth to the bathroom every time I woke to get more. I had this weird dream: to cut to the chase, the party was a failure, loads of gate-crashers came in and threw a variety of stuff at Barry Perkupp, and eventually I hid him under a towel in the airing cupboard. All of which is completely ridiculous, but it was disturbingly real in the dream. It recurred about a dozen times.

Carrie really irritated me by saying “You know champagne doesn’t agree with you”. I told her I’d only had a couple of glasses and otherwise I’d kept to the Jacob’s Creek. I also pointed out that good bubbly never hurt anybody, and Lupin had got it as an end-of-bin special – the rest had been bought up by some posh West End club.

I think I stuffed myself a bit on the food front (the girl in the fishnets who was doing the waitressing called them “side dishes”). I said to Carrie, “I wish I’d put those side dishes aside”. I repeated it, but Carrie was busy sorting out the bottles for the recycling. At about half eleven, I set off for the office, but got waylaid by Lupin who suddenly appeared, looking very washed out. He said “Hiya fella. How’s it hanging? You were wankered”. I told him I hadn’t a clue what that meant. He added “God, when I woke up, it felt like someone was smashing a shedload of crockery inside my head”. On the spur of the moment, I said the cleverest thing I’ve ever said: “I suspect the drink was the “saucer” all that!”. We all had a good laugh.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Bit of a big day today. Our first real party since moving in. I came back early. Lupin had got one of the girls from the Comedy Kings to act as waitress (dressed in a short black skirt and fishnets, would you believe), and said he’d pay her a tenner an hour. I thought it was a bit extravagant to shell out £40 on something so frivolous, but Lupin said he’d made a bit of money on the side down in the City, so no worries. I hope he’s not gambling or anything stupid like that. The living room looked great and Carrie said “If Barry Perkupp’s nice enough to come, he’ll be impressed”.

I got myself sorted well in advance in case anyone turned up on the dot of eight. I was irritated that my new chinos were too short. Lupin said my brown leather loafers were horrendous, and a fashion disaster. I said, sarcastically, “I’m above that sort of thing”. He started sniggering and said “Yeah, an old fart is usually above his loafers”.

Maybe funny, maybe not. Luckily he didn’t notice that the inlay on one of my cuff-links was chipped. Carrie was wearing her Civic Hall dress and looked great. Everything was laid out really well. We had scented candles burning all round the living room.

Shirley Wicks (the girl from the Comedy Kings who was going to be waitress for the evening) arrived. I told her to open the champagne bottles one at a time. Carrie got some Jacob’s Creek and Belgian lager and put it out on the table. We’d had some photos of us enlarged and framed, and put up on the walls. They looked good, particularly with the tinsel Carrie had run along the top of them.

The first person to show up was Gowing who (tactful as ever) said “Hey Pooter! Your trousers are too short”.

I said “Gowing – you’ll find my temper’s pretty short also”. He said “Yeah, but it won’t make your trousers any longer, will it?” He said “Get your mrs to lengthen them with a bit of curtain”.

I don’t know why I bother recording Gowing’s stupid comments.

Next to turn up were Cummings and his wife. Cummings said “You didn’t say what we should wear, but I’ve made a bit of an effort”. He was wearing jeans and a tie. Annie James and her husband arrived, and then Dominic Merton and Stillbrook. Lupin was totally on edge, until Daisy and Frank turned up.

Carrie and I were a bit startled at what Daisy was wearing. She was kitted out in some kind of low-cut satin basque and a denim mini-skirt. Not exactly appropriate, I’d have said. She could learn a thing or two from Carrie who doesn’t like to wear anything too revealing. Some other chaps I know rolled up (Chris Nackles and Charlie Sprice-Hogg and his four daughters) as did Jim Franching and some of Lupin’s new mates from the Comedy Kings. A load of camp luvvies in my opinion. One of them was posing around like Julian Clary. He leant on the small round table and damaged it. Lupin called him “our Henry” and said he was as camp as tents. I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

The music was going and Daisy sang along to the one from Titanic. Lupin raved about how she “totally had the X-factor”. It’s an OK song, but her face was all contorted as she sang it, and (I’m pretty sure Simon Cowell would have backed me up on this) she was completely out of tune. Regardless, Lupin encouraged her to do more, and unfortunately she swayed around the room singing along to a load more numbers at the top of her voice.

At about nine, we put the food out. From the way Gowing and Cummings stuffed themselves, you’d have thought they’d not eaten for a month. I told Carrie to save something for Barry Perkupp in case he decided to put in an appearance. Gowing annoyed me by filling up a glass of champagne and downing it in one. Then he did the same again. I was worried that the dozen bottles we’d splashed out on wouldn’t last. I tried to hide one, but Lupin got hold of it, sat down with Daisy and Henry and started swigging from the bottle.

The young people started arseing around. Carrie got them to calm down. Stillbrook started singing some funny (but rather rude) rugby songs. I didn’t notice that Lupin and Henry had disappeared. I asked Jimmy (one of the Comedy Kings) where they’d got to and he said “Jones’s knickers”. We were told to sit down, the music stopped and someone put on “It’s not Unusual” (the Tom Jones song). In came Lupin, his face bright orange and a fake chest wig poking out of a white satin shirt unbuttoned to the waist, with a load of gold medallions hanging round his neck. He started miming to the song, and then Henry ran in, in a blue-rinse wig looking like Les Dawson used to when he did those sketches. He started dancing round Lupin, throwing big pairs of knickers at him, so his face got covered in them. We were all cracking up.

I turned round, and saw Barry Perkupp standing in the doorway. He’d slipped in without my knowing. Carrie and I went across to him. He didn’t want to come into the room. I apologised for Lupin and Frank’s thing and he said “No worries. It looks very funny”. I could see he didn’t think it was funny at all.

Carrie and I took him into the kitchen, but it was a complete mess - there were plates and bits of food and half-empty glasses and crushed cans all over the place, and the floor was sticky. Not a drop of champagne left. I offered Barry Perkupp a glass of tonic, but the bottle was empty. Carrie said we’d got the remains of a bottle of whisky if he fancied some, but he said “I don’t think so. But I’m glad to have seen you here. Goodnight Carrie. Apologies for my very brief visit”. I went out to the car with him and he said “Don’t bother coming into the office tomorrow until after lunch”.

Going back to the house I felt depressed and told Carrie that the party was a complete disaster. Carrie said it was brilliant – I was just tired. She told me to have some of the whisky. I drank two glasses, felt a lot better and went back into the living room. I gave Carrie a big hug and a long smoochy kiss and she said I was soft.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Everyone’s up for the do tomorrow. Barry Perkupp sent an e-mail saying he was out for a meal somewhere in Kensington, but if he was able to get away, he’d come up for half an hour or so. Carrie spent half the day getting canapes and stuff ready, and said she was a bit jittery about the whole thing. We got in loads of crisps, dips, prawn crackers and mini-snacks (the usual kind of thing), and some pizza slices in case anyone was a bit more peckish. Gowing came round to ask if he needed to get dressed up for the occasion. Carrie said since Jim Franching and Barry Perkupp were coming, smart casual would probably be best.

Gowing said “thanks, just needed to know, because my jacket’s a bit messy, and I’ll need to get it dry-cleaned”.

When he’d gone, Lupin came in and whinged about everything because he was worried about what Daisy might think. He thought the whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen, and knowing my friends’ sense of fashion, he’d not be surprised if Daisy mistook them for a load of local undertakers.

I lost my temper and said “Lupin, Daisy’s not the bloody Queen of England. I’d have thought you’d have more sense than to get involved with someone who’s almost old enough to be your mother. Get yourself sorted on the job front before you make any commitment to a woman who’ll want to dine out on your credit card – along with her brother, who looks like a total waster to me”.

Lupin didn’t take kindly to what I thought was fairly reasonable advice. He jumped up and shouted “Don’t you dare insult her. If you do, you’re insulting me, and I’ll clear off and I won’t come back. Understood?”

He went out and slammed the door behind him. But it was OK. He came back for supper and we watched TV together ’til midnight or so.

Monday, November 09, 2009

Carrie’s been on the phone to Gowing, the Cummings, Annie James and her husband and Stillbrook. I sent an e-mail across to Jim Franching. Carrie suggested inviting Barry Perkupp. I thought it mightn’t be quite posh enough. She said there’d be no harm in asking – he could only say no. I e-mailed him. Carrie said Daisy was nice enough but not much of a looker.

Daisy Mutlar

Sunday, November 08, 2009

Carrie and I took a walk down to the shops, and ran into Lupin, Daisy and her brother. We walked back together. Carrie went with Daisy. We asked them if they’d like to come in for coffee. It gave me a chance to take a good look at my daughter-in-law to be. I was distinctly underwhelmed. She’s – how shall I put it – a bit of a “big” girl and older than Lupin by at least eight years, I’d say. I didn’t think she was much to look at. Carrie asked her if she’d like to come over next Wednesday with her brother, just to meet a few friends. She said, “Yeah, that’d be nice”.

Saturday, November 07, 2009

When I got back from work, the house was in uproar. Carrie was beside herself in the kitchen and a distinctly drunk Anya (the cleaner) was screeching at her. “You listen me, I may be cleaner, I may not know nothing about computer, but I know not go near whatever the thing is, so shut your mouth or I have you for harassment”. Lupin was facing away from me and didn’t hear me come in. He was standing between Anya and Carrie, trying to broker some kind of peace. In doing so, he used some pretty offensive language. I don’t think he should speak like that in front of his mother. I heard him say “Shit! And all this about some stupid crap which is worth absolutely sod all to anyone”. I said, quietly, “I beg your pardon, Lupin, but I think that’s a matter of opinion. I think I should take over from here”.

I gathered that the source of it all was that Carrie had accused Anya of using the computer to book some Easyjet flights to Warsaw. It was all a bit vague. I told Anya to go home. I went into the sitting room and Lupin was rolling around on the sofa, laughing his head off.

Friday, November 06, 2009

Lupin seems to like his new job. That’s a relief. Daisy was the only thing anyone would talk about at supper, and Carrie nattered on about her almost as much as Lupin. Lupin’s going to perform at the Comedy Kings’ next improv evening, which I take a dim view of. It probably involves lots of gratuitous swearing, filthy innuendo, and general stupidity, particularly since Frank Mutlar is involved. I told him I wasn’t interested because I don’t approve of alternative comedy. More like an alternative TO comedy. Gowing popped in.

Thursday, November 05, 2009

I’ve tried and tried to work out where the missing diary files might have gone, without any success. On the hard drive? I haven’t a clue. Lupin’s obsessed with Daisy, so we don’t get to see much of him bar meal-times when he’s more than happy to turn up. Cummings came by.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Went down to Smiths and picked out a couple of packs of notelets with pictures of flowers on them. In the evening, Lupin bought Daisy’s brother Frank round. He was a gawky looking lad: Lupin said he was one of the best of the Comedy Kings (which I understand are a group of stand-up comedians who also do “improv”). Lupin whispered that if we could get Frank going, he’d have us in stitches.

He certainly amused us at supper. He did what he called “beatboxing” – loads of percussion and drumming sounds just with his voice – and a spot-on imitation of the one who goes “I was terribly, terribly drunk at the time” on “The Fast Show”.

Whilst we were chatting, Daisy’s name cropped up, and Frank said he’d bring her round one evening. He said his parents were a bit conservative, and didn’t go out much. Carrie suggested having a party. It was getting on for eleven, but it didn’t seem like Frank was planning on leaving in any particular hurry. As a hint, I told Lupin he’d need to be up early for work in the morning. At which Frank embarked on a series of routines and impressions which went on for a good hour at least. Carrie could hardly stay awake. Eventually, she made an excuse and said “Goodnight”.

Frank then got ready to go. He and Lupin spent some time whispering in the hall. I overheard something about the Comedy Kings. I was disgusted when Lupin put his coat on and headed out with his new mate, even though it was well after midnight.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Lupin asked Carrie to give Daisy’s mum a call. Carrie seemed to think Daisy’s mum should call her. I agreed with Carrie, and an argument ensued, which was temporarily settled when Carrie said she’d maybe get some notelets to write to her in the first instance, and then we could work out what the etiquette of all this should be.

Monday, November 02, 2009

Lupin went to the office with me, and had a long chat with Barry Perkupp. The upshot was he’s now an Account Assistant at Cleanands International Investment Brokers. Lupin told me it was a ramshackle bunch of hedge fund operators, but I said “beggars can’t be choosers” and he had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself.

In the evening we went to the Cummings’ for a few fireworks. It drizzled, and I thought it was pretty boring. One of the roman candles fizzled out before it went off properly, and Gowing said “Pick it up and whack it on your boot and it’ll start up OK”. Which I did. The whole thing went up with a sudden bang and I burnt my fingers. I gave the rest of the candles to Cummings’ little son to let off.

Later I got a load of stick when Cummings hammered a huge catherine wheel onto a stake in the ground for the grand finale. Cummings was banging on about how fantastic it was and how much it had cost – twelve quid. Needless to say, it was hard to light, and when we eventually managed to get it working, it went round twice (slowly) and stopped. Great. I’d got a stick, so I gave it a tap to get it going properly. Wouldn’t you know it, it fell off the stake into the grass. Bloody hell. You’d have thought I’d set the house on fire, the way everyone went on at me. Forget fireworks parties. They’re a complete waste of time and money.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Carrie and I are worried about young Lupin having decided to get married without giving us any prior warning. After we’d eaten, he told us all about it. The girl’s name is Daisy Mutlar. Apparently, she’s the hottest and smartest girl he’s ever met. He fell head over heels in love with her the minute they met. He said he’d do anything for her, and he knew that she’d do anything for him. Anything.

Lupin said lots more besides. A world without Daisy was a world not worth living in. With her, it was a changed and beautiful place. His life now had a purpose, and that purpose was to make Daisy Mutlar Daisy Pooter, and he guaranteed that she‘d do the Pooter family proud. Carrie burst into tears, threw her arms round Lupin, and promptly knocked a celebratory glass of red wine out of his hand, which went all over his cream trousers.

I said I was sure we’d get on with Daisy when we met her, but Carrie said she loved her already. I thought this a bit premature, but didn’t say anything. And then it was all Daisy this, Daisy that, and Daisy the other, all day long. I asked Lupin about her folks, and he said “You know – Mutlar, Williams and Watts”. I didn’t know, actually, but didn’t say so in case it led to an argument.

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