The Diary of a Nobody

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

Monday, April 26, 2010

I’m getting used to Lupin’s rudeness, and I don’t mind being told off by Carrie at times because she’s got a certain right to do so. But I don’t like being treated rudely by my wife, my son, and two guests all at the same time.

Gowing and Cummings had come over in the evening, and I suddenly remembered a weird dream I’d had a few nights ago. I thought I’d tell them about it. I dreamt I’d seen some huge blocks of ice in a shop window, with a bright glare behind them. I walked into the shop, and was almost knocked out by the heat. I discovered that the blocks of ice were on fire. The whole thing was so real and so surreal at the same time that I woke up in a cold sweat. Lupin said, completely dismissively, “What a load of crap”.

Before I could say anything, Gowing said there was nothing as utterly boring as hearing other people’s dreams.

I asked Cummings to back me up, but he said he agreed with the others, and said my dream was particularly incomprehensible. I said, “It seemed so real to me”. Gowing replied, “To you, maybe, but not to us”. Then they all started laughing.

Carrie, who’d not said anything up ’til this point, said, “He tells me his stupid dreams nearly every morning”. I said, “Very well, darling, I’ll make sure I never tell you, or anybody else, any of my dreams, ever again”. Lupin said, “Hear hear!” and cracked open another can of Foster’s. Luckily, the subject was changed, and Cummings told us about an interesting article he’d read on how you’d get across London quicker on a bike than in a car.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Watney Lodge took a lot longer to get to than the TomTom predicted, and we we only just made it in time. We arrived feeling hot and uncomfortable. It wasn’t helped when a large collie leapt on us as we came in. It barked loudly and jumped up at Carrie, covering her light skirt (which she was wearing for the first time) with mud. Teddy Finsworth came out, drove the dog away, and apologised. He showed us into the living room, which was beuatifully decorated. It was full of knick knacks, and a number of plates were hanging on the wall. There were several little jewellery boxes with paintings on them, and a white wooden banjo painted by one of Edgar Finsworth’s nieces – a cousin of Teddy’s.

Edgar Finsworth was a very distinguished elderly gent, and he behaved very courteously towards Carrie. There were loads of water colours hanging on the wall, mainly different views of India, and all very bright. Edgar told us they were painted by William Simpson, and whilst he hadn’t an eye for art, he’d been advised they were worth thousands, even though he’d bought them for around £10 each at a local auction.

There was also a large picture in a very ornate frame, done in coloured crayons. It looked like it was on a religious theme. I was really struck by the woman’s lace collar, which looked almost real, but unfortunately I said there was something about the face which wasn’t quite right. It looked pinched. Edgar replied, sadly, “Yes, the face was done after she died. It’s my wife’s sister”.

I felt really awkward, bowed apologetically, and said quietly that I hoped I hadn’t hurt his feelings. We both stood there looking at the picture in silence. Then Edgar took out a handkerchief, said, “She was sitting in our garden only last summer” and blew his nose violently. He seemed quite emotional, so I turned to look at something else and stood in front of a portrait of a merry looking middle-aged gent with a red face and a straw hat. I said to Edgar “Who’s this jolly looking guy? He doesn’t look like he has a care in the world”. Edgar said, “No, he hasn’t. He’s dead too. It’s my brother”.

“He’s dead too.”

I was absolutely mortified at my tactlessness. Luckily, at that point Carrie came in with Fenella Finsworth, who’d taken her upstairs to brush the mud off her skirt. Teddy said, “Short’s late” but just then the man he was referring to arrived. Teddy introduced me to him and said, “Do you know Declan Short?" Smiling, I replied that I’d not had the pleasure, but I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before I got to know Mr Short. Clearly, he didn’t get the joke, though I did repeat it twice, with a small laugh each time. I suddenly thought maybe Mr Short was some kind of fundamentalist who didn’t like joking around on a Sunday, or something.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. After dinner, he made a load of very coarse comments. I was so upset by one of the things that he said, that I took the opportunity to say to Fenella that I was concerned in case she found Declan a tad embarrassing. I was surprised when she said “Oh, we always let him have his say, you know”. I didn’t know, as a matter of fact, and I apologised. I couldn’t see why he should be free to say the kind of things he did.

Another thing that annoyed me was that the collie dog which had jumped at Carrie was allowed to sit under the table during the meal. It kept growling and snapping at my feet every time I moved. I was a bit nervous, so I spoke to Fenella about him, and she said, “He’s only playing”. She jumped up and let in an ugly looking spaniel called Bibbs, which had been scratching at the door. This dog also took a fancy to my feet, and I discovered afterwards that he’d chewed a hole in the end of my right shoe. I really didn’t want to be seen in them after that. Fenella, who obviously doesn’t much care for anyone else’s point of view said, “Oh, we’re used to Bibbs doing that to visitors”.

Edgar had some really fine port, though I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have any after drinking beer. It made me feel sleepy, but as for Declan, it encouraged him to “have his say” (as Fenella put it) all the more. Since it was cold even for April, they’d lit a fire in the living room. We sat round on the big sofas, and Teddy and I reminisced at length about school days, which sent everyone else to sleep. I was delighted that it had that effect on Declan, at least.

We stayed ’til four, and the walk back was notable only for the fact that a bunch of kids in hoodies laughed at my shoe. Sat down in the evening to watch the Antiques Roadshow and hardly managed to stay awake. I won’t drink port on top of beer again.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

I was hurrying back from Tesco when a man stopped me and said “Hey! I know your face!”. Politely, I said, “Very likely: lots of people know me, though often I don’t know them”. He replied, “But you know me – Teddy Finsworth”. Which it was. He’d been at my school. I’d not seen him in years. Hardly surprising I didn’t recognise him. At school, he’d been at least a head taller than me. Now I’m a head taller than him, and he’s got a thick beard which is almost grey. He insisted we have a drink together (I never do that after work) and told me he lived in Middlesborough where he was Chief Executive on the City Council, a position as high as the head of the GLA in London. He went on to say he was down in London for a few days staying with his uncle Edgar Paul Finsworth (of Finsworth and Pultwell). He said he was sure his uncle would be pleased to see me: he had a nice house called Watney Lodge, a couple of minutes from Muswell Hill Station. I gave him my e-mail and mobile number, and we parted company.

In the evening, I got an e-mail from Mr Finsworth saying if we (Carrie and me) would come along for lunch on Sunday, at one o’clock, he’d be delighted. Carrie didn’t fancy it, but the e-mail was fairly pressing, so Carrie stuck the chicken she’d already bought for Sunday’s roast in the freezer.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Got a letter from Susan Lupkin, telling us what train to take on Saturday, and hoping we’d visit as promised. She signed off by saying “You must come and stay at our place. It’s half the price of The Royal, and we’ve got just as good a view”. I looked at the address on the notepaper, and saw it said “Lupkin’s Family Hotel”.

I e-mailed back to tell her we were compelled to “decline her kind invitation”. Carrie appreciated the irony and said it was very much to the point. By the way, I’ll never buy a jacket by mail order again. I got myself one from Land‘s End, which looked a fairly subdued blue in the picture on the website. But when it arrived it turned out to be rather bright. I tried it on and was irritated to hear Carrie laughing. She said, “What colour did you say you thought it was?”

I said “dark blue”.

Carrie said, “Well, to tell you the truth, it looks turquoise to me”.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Recently, I’ve noticed Carrie rubbing her nails a lot with some kind of instrument. When I asked her about it, she said “It’s a new manicure system that’s just been developed”. I said, “I suppose Annie James introduced you to it”. Carrie laughed and said, “Yes, and now everyone’s doing it”.

I wish Annie wouldn’t come round. Every time she does, she puts some new-fangled rubbish into Carrie’s head. One of these days, I’ll tell her she’s not welcome any more. I’m sure it was her who got Carrie to use those stupid emoticons on her phone. Pointless.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Cummings called. He was hobbling on a stick and said he’d been on his back all week. Apparently, he was trying to shut his bedroom door, which is just at the top of the staircase. Unbeknownst to him, a plastic toy the dog had been playing with had got stuck in the door jamb, and stopped the door closing properly. He’d pulled the door hard to give it an extra slam, the handle came off in his hands, and he fell backwards down the stairs.

When he heard this, Lupin jumped up from the couch and rushed out of the room, sideways. Cummings looked very indignant, and said that he couldn’t see anything funny about a man nearly breaking his back. Though I suspected Lupin was laughing at him, I told Cummings that he’d only run out to open the door to a friend who was due. Cummings said it was the second time he’d been ill, and no one had bothered to get in touch. I said I knew nothing about it.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Mr Griffin, our next door neighbour, came round and accused me or “someone” of fiddling with the stop-cock and causing his cistern to overflow. He said he’d get it repaired and send us the bill.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

The cistern’s OK again. Annie James called. She and Carrie shifted the furniture around the room. Something to do with Feng Shui. Annie says everyone’s doing it. It was her idea, and Carrie always does what Annie suggests. From my point of view, everything was fine the way it was. But then, I’m an ordinary chap, and I don’t pretend to keep up with this kind of thing.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The cistern’s leaking again. I called John Putley, who said he’d get it sorted quickly, because it was probably the plastic fittings.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The night of the East Acton Rotary Club Ball. I suggested Carrie should wear the same dress she’d looked so good in at the Civic Hall, because it occurred to me that with his Rotary connections, Barry Perkupp might well turn up. Lupin (incomprehensible as ever) said he’d heard it was a “Ball for Bell Ends”. I didn’t ask him what he meant, though I didn’t understand. I don’t know where he gets his expressions from: he certainly doesn’t learn them at home.

The invitation was for half eight, so I thought if we arrived an hour later, we’d be in good time without being “unfashionable”, as Annie puts it. It was difficult to find. The minicab driver had to stop off at various pubs to find out where the Drill Hall was. I don’t get why people put things on in places which are so off the beaten track. No one seemed to have heard of it. But after driving round a load of murky streets, we eventually got there. I had no idea it was so far away. I gave the guy a tenner. He got all surly and said it should have been twice that. He was rude enough to tell me to catch a bus next time.

Captain Welcut greeted us. He said we were a bit late, but better late than never. He was a good looking chap, but Carrie thought he was a bit short for an officer. He asked to be excused because he’d promised someone a dance, and told us to make ourselves at home. Carrie took my arm, and we wandered round the rooms a few times, watching people dancing. I couldn’t see anyone I knew. As we entered the dining area, someone slapped me on the shoulder and shook my hand. I said, “It’s Jimmy Padge, isn’t it?" He replied, “Sure thing”.

I gave Carrie a seat next to another lady, and they started chatting immediately.

They served some great food and there was loads of champagne and claret and so on. No expense seemed to have been spared. I admit, I hadn’t liked Jimmy Padge that much, but I was so relieved to find someone that I knew that I invited him to join us. For someone so short and fat, he didn’t look bad in a DJ, although the jacket was a bit baggy at the back. It was the only banqueting room I’d been in which wasn’t crowded. In fact, we were the only people there: everyone else was busy dancing.

I helped Carrie and her new friend (who said she was called Susan Lupkin) to some more champagne. I poured some for myself, and passed the bottle to Jimmy Padge telling him to look after himself. He said “No probs”, poured out a large glass, drank Carrie’s health, and the health of (as he said) her “noble lord and master”. We had some delicious duck a l’orange, and crème caramel to follow.

The waiters were very attentive and asked if we’d care for more wine. I poured some for Carrie, Susan and Jimmy, and for some people who’d just come back from dancing. They were very courteous, and because they were so polite, it occurred to me that perhaps they knew me from the City. I made myself useful and helped a number of the ladies to sorbet. As the old saying goes, “manners maketh man”.

The band started up, and they all headed back to the ballroom. Carrie and Susan were keen to see the dancing. Since I’d not quite finished my food, Jimmy Padge offered his arms to them and took them through, telling me to follow. I said to him “It’s quite a classy do” and he replied “Sure thing”.

When I’d finished my food, I started to leave. The waiter who’d been looking after us caught my attention by tapping me on the shoulder. I thought it was odd that a waiter at a private function expected a tip, but I gave him £5, since he’d been very good. He smiled and said, “I’m very sorry sir, but it’s more than this. You’ve had four meals at £15 a head, five sorbets at £6 each, three bottles of champagne at £30 each, and a glass of claret. All in all, that’s £180.

I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so flabbergasted. I just about managed to babble that I’d had a private invitation. He said he knew that, but the invitation didn’t include food and wine. A guy who was standing nearby backed him up and said yes, that was the arrangement.

The waiter said he was really sorry if I’d been labouring under any misapprehension, but it wasn’t his fault. Of course, I didn’t have any option but to pay up. I knew there was about £140 left on my card, so I paid that and then scraped the rest together, bar £7, out of the cash I had in my pocket. I offered to leave my details with the manager so that I could send the £7 on later, but he waved it aside and said “No worries”.

I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so humiliated in my life. I decided to keep it from Carrie, because I didn’t want to spoil the evening for her, which she was really enjoying. As for me, I didn’t think there was much fun to be had after this, and since it was late, I went and found Carrie and Susan. Carrie said she was ready to go, and as we were saying goodnight to Susan, she asked us if we’d ever been down to Southend. I said I’d not been there for years and she very kindly said, “Why not come down and stay at our place?" She was quite pressing, and since I saw that Carrie was up for it, we promised to visit on Saturday week and stay ’til Monday. Susan said she’d be in touch tomorrow to give us the address and so on.

When we got outside the Drill Hall, it was pouring and the streets were awash. Needless to say, it was virtually impossible to find a cab. Eventually, we found a minicab office, and a guy said he’d take us. It was really uncomfortable. He was driving an old Toyota, and rain was dripping in through the sun roof. We must have been a couple of miles from home, when I suddenly realised I hadn’t got any money. In a panic, I asked the guy to stop at a cash machine. I was praying there might be a bit left on the card, after I’d shelled out that £140. But of course I got that “insufficient funds available” thing. I explained the situation to the driver. He called me every name under the sun, grabbed me by the neck and virtually strangled me. There was a policeman nearby. He got the guy off me, but wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing a charge of GBH. He asked me what did I expect if I tried to rip off a cab driver?

We had to walk back about two miles through the pouring rain. When I got in, I wrote down the conversation I’d had with the minicab driver, word for word. I’m going to write to the Daily Mail to get a campaign going against unlicensed minicabs, to prevent other people being exposed to abuse and violence like I had to put up with.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Burnt my tongue really badly on a chicken kiev that Carrie had foolishly not left to stand before serving.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Probably because the weather’s been a bit unpredictable, I woke with a feeling that my skin had been drawn over my face as tight as a drum. Nick and Liz Teane who we met whilst we were out in the park, came round. Whilst we were out in the garden, I was peeved to find a newspaper full of bones on the gravel path. Obviously, it had been chucked over the fence by the Griffin boys next door. Whenever they have friends round, they climb up a step-ladder in their conservatory and tap at the windows, making faces, whistling and belching.

Young Griffin boys making faces, whistling and belching

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Gowing called, and invited Carrie and me to the East Acton Rotary Club Ball which he reckoned would be quite a good bash given that Sir William Grime (the local MP) was going to be there. We accepted the invite, and he stayed to supper. I thought it’d be a good opportunity to try out a bottle of sparkling Algera that Annie James’ husband had sent us as a present. Gowing took a sip, saying that he’d never tried it before, and that he preferred to stick to more recognised wine varieties. I told him it was a present from a good friend, and we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Gowing said, flippantly “Presumably, it’s ’cos he didn’t like putting it in his own mouth”.

I thought that was both rude and unfunny, but after I’d tasted the stuff, I couldn’t help thinking it was justified to some extent. The sparkling Algera is very like cider, only more sour. I wondered whether the bad weather had made it go acid, but Gowing simply said, “No, I don’t think so”. We had a good game of cards, though I lost £10, Carrie lost £2, and Gowing said he’d lost about 50p. It’s a mystery to me how he managed to lose, given that Carrie and I were the only other players.

Monday, April 05, 2010

Nothing significant happened, except Gowing advised me to get a wireless mouse for work, which cost me £24.99. I might as well have stuck £24.99 in the bin. It caused me all sorts of grief and really irritated me. Half the time, no matter how much you move it around, the cursor doesn’t go anywhere. In the office, I was hitting it on my mouse-pad to get it working, when Barry (who’d just got in) said, “Hey! Can you stop that noise. Mikey, you as usual?" Michael Pitt (the cocky young guy) took great pleasure in saying, “Sorry Barry, it’s not me, it’s Charles and his wireless mouse. He’s been at it all morning”. What made it worse was I saw Lupin laughing. I thought it best not to say anything. I took it to PC World and asked them to take it back, since it wasn’t working. I didn’t expect they’d give me the money, but maybe a voucher or something. The guy said he couldn’t give me anything without a receipt, which I didn’t have. Lupin’s behaved exceptionally well in the office. I’m only worried it won’t last.

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