The Diary of a Nobody
Being the modern day record of Charles
Pooter VI -
direct descendant of the 19th Century original
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Something very strange happened. Carrie and I went round to Gowing’s place (it’s in a block of new apartments) at half seven. We rang the buzzer a load of times, with no success. Then we knocked on the door, and a guy in a T-shirt opened it. He said, “Yeah? What is it?" I said “We’re trying to get hold of Mr Gowing in Apartment 4”. The man said, “He’s not here” (or at least, I think that’s what he said – I couldn’t really hear because there was some horrible dog yapping in the background). I said, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon”.The guy slammed the door shut, and we were left outside, in the freezing cold. Carrie told me to knock again, and then I realised that the paint on the door was sticky and I’d got it all over my hands. So I hammered on it with my umbrella, and the man opened the door again. He said, “What the hell are you doing? Look – you’ve damaged the paint. Bloody idiot”.
I said, “Excuse me. There’s no call for that. We’re just trying to get up to Apartment 4 to see Mr Gowing who …”.
He interrupted and said “I don’t give a shit about Mr Gowing or his mates. This is a communal entrance. Who do you think I am? The concierge?”.
Still, this guy’s rudeness was nothing compared to Gowing’s. Then Cummings and his wife arrived. Cummings was walking with a stick and limping badly. He managed to get up the steps all the same, and asked what was going on.
The man said “I saw Mr Gowing this afternoon. He told me he was going down to Croydon and wasn’t going to be back ’til Monday. He was carrying a suitcase”.
Once again, he slammed the door. I was very, very angry with Gowing. Cummings was incandescent, whacked his stick on the ground, and shouted “Bastard!”.
©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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