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