The Diary of a Nobody
Being the modern day record of Charles
Pooter VI -
direct descendant of the 19th Century original
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.
©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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