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”.
©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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