The Diary of a Nobody

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

Monday, May 31, 2010

The manager from Johnson’s called. He was very sorry about the shirts, and said he’d return £12 (the cost of the cleaning). I said as the colour was more or less gone, £12 wasn’t enough. Carrie remembered that the shirts had only cost £6, since she’d bought them at Primark, so I called Johnson’s and told them to send me £6 instead. Lupin’s gone to stay at the Posh’s place for a couple of days. I must say, I’m not happy about it. Carrie said I was being ridiculous. Murray was very fond of Lupin who, after all, was only a boy.

In the evening, we had another séance which in some respects was very remarkable, although the first part was a little doubtful. Gowing and Cummings called, and asked to join the circle. I wanted to object, but Annie, who appears to be a good medium (that is, if there is such a thing), thought there might be a little more spirit power if Gowing joined, so the five of us sat down.

The moment I turned off the lights, and almost before I could get my hands on the table, it rocked violently and tilted and began moving across the room. Gowing shouted out, “Whoa! Steady on, steady on!”. I told Gowing that if he didn’t behave himself, I’d put the lights on and stop the séance. To tell the truth, I thought Gowing was messing around, and hinted as much, but Annie said she’d often seen the table go right off the ground. The spirit Lina came again and said “WARN” three or four times but wouldn’t say why. Annie said that “Lina” could be stubborn sometimes. She often behaved this way, and the best thing to do would be to send her away.

She then hit the table sharply and said, “Go away Lina. You’re not helping. Go away!”. I reckon we then sat for nearly 45 minutes with nothing happening. My hands felt quite cold, and I suggested we should stop the séance. Carrie and Annie, along with Cummings, wouldn’t agree. About ten minutes later, there was some tilting towards me. I went through the alphabet and it spelt out SPOOF. As I’ve heard both Gowing and Lupin use the word, and as I could hear Gowing laughing to himself, I accused him, directly, of pushing the table. He denied it, but I’m sorry, I didn’t believe him.

Gowing said, “Perhaps it means SPOOK – a ghost”.

I said, “You know it doesn’t mean anything of the sort”.

Gowing said, “Oh all right then. I’m sorry I “spook””, and he got up from the table.

No one took any notice of his stupid joke, and Annie suggested he should sit out for a while. Gowing agreed, and sat in the armchair.

The table started to move again, and we could have had a great séance if Gowing hadn’t kept making stupid comments. In answer to the alphabet from Carrie, the table spelt out “NIPUL”, then the “WARN” three times. We couldn’t work out what it meant, until Cummings pointed out that “NIPUL” was Lupin spelt backwards. This was quite exciting. Carrie got particularly excited and said she hoped nothing nasty was going to happen.

Annie asked if “Lina” was the spirit. The table said, firmly, “NO”, but the spirit wouldn’t give his or her name. We then got the message “NIPUL will be very rich”.

Carrie said she was really relieved, but the word “WARN” was spelt out again. The table began to oscillate violently, and in response to Annie, who spoke very softly to the table, the spirit began to spell out its name. It first spelled “DRINK”.

At which point Gowing said, “Ah! That’s more to my taste”.

I asked him to be quiet as the name might not be complete.

The table then spelt “WATER”.

Gowing interrupted again, saying, “Ah! Definitely not to my taste. It’s OK, but not if I have to drink it”.

Carrie asked him to be quiet.

The table then spelt “DEREK”, and Annie startled us by suddenly shouting, “Derek Drinkwater, a very old friend of my father’s. He’s been dead for years”.

This was very intriguing, and I couldn’t help thinking that maybe there was something in this Spiritualism after all.

Annie asked the spirit to explain the meaning of the word “WARN” in relation to “NIPUL”. The alphabet was given again, and we got the word “TOSH”.

Gowing muttered, “And so it is”.

Annie said she didn’t think the spirit meant that, as Derek Drinkwater was a perfect gent, and wouldn’t have replied to a question from a lady with such a word. The alphabet was given again.

This time the table clearly spelt out “POSH”. We all thought of Daisy and Lupin. Carrie was getting a little distressed, and since it was late, we decided to stop the séance.

We arranged to have one more tomorrow (Annie’s last night in town). We agreed not to invite Gowing. Before he left, Cummings said it was definitely interesting stuff, but he wished the spirits would say something about him.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Reluctantly, I sat at the table in the evening, and I’m bound to admit that some strange things happened. I reckon they were coincidences, but they were curious all the same. For instance, the table kept tilting towards me, which Carrie thought meant I should ask the spirit a question. I followed the protocol and asked the spirit (who said her name was Lina) if she could tell me the name of an old aunt of mine I was thinking of, who we used to call Aunt Maggie. The table spelled out C.A.T. We couldn’t make anything of it, ‘til I suddenly remembered that her second name was Catherine, which it was evidently trying to spell. I don’t think even Carrie knew this. But if she did, she’d never cheat. I must admit, it was curious. Several other things happened, and I agreed to sit at another séance on Monday.

Friday, May 28, 2010

I sent a pretty direct e-mail to Johnson’s. I was rather pleased with it, because the tone was nice and ironic. I said, “I collected two shirts, got them back home, and found they’re faded. Perhaps you’ll return either the colour, or the cost of the shirts”. I’ll be interested to see what transpires.

Another séance this evening. Carrie said last night had been successful, up to a point, so they ought to do it again. Cummings came in and seemed interested. I went upstairs to fix a bit of beading at the bottom of the skirting in the bedroom above the living room. Without really thinking about it, I gave the floor two loud raps with the hammer. I immediately regretted it: it’s the kind of stupid thing that Gowing or Lupin would have done.

Mind you, they didn’t mention it, although Carrie claimed that she’d received a message. Apparently, an incredible description of someone she and I had known years ago, who nobody else at the table could have known.

When we went to bed, Carrie asked if I’d join in with them tomorrow as a favour, just for her sake. She said I looked a bit curmudgeonly and unsociable. I immediately promised I would.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

I don’t know why, exactly, but I never look forward to Annie’s visits to our place. She’s coming again for a couple of days. I said to Carrie as I was heading out in the morning, “I wish I liked Annie more”.

Carrie said, “So do I, love, but since I’ve had to put up for years with Gowing, who’s seedy, and Cummings, who’s well-meaning but dull, I’m sure you won’t mind the occasional visit from Annie, who’s got more intelligence in her little finger than that pair have in their entire bodies”.

I was speechless at this attack on my two dear old friends. I was late for the train, and I left giving Carrie a hurried kiss. A bit too hurried, because my upper lip bashed against Carrie’s teeth and got cut. It was quite painful for an hour or so afterwards. When I got back in the evening, I found Carrie buried in a book called Tricks of the Mind by Derren Brown. Needless to say she’d got it from Annie. Since Carrie was absorbed in her book and didn’t have a word to say to me, I went and fixed a couple of the wall lights which had gone wonky.

Annie arrived in the evening, and as per usual, took control of everything. On discovering that the two of them were planning a séance, I put my foot down. I’ve never had any time for that sort of rubbish, and I’d put a stop to it years ago in our old place, when Carrie used to have them every night with Mrs Fussters (who’s now dead). If I could see there was any point in it, I wouldn’t have minded. But as I’d stopped it years back, I was determined to do so again.

I said, “I’m very sorry, Annie, but I don’t approve of séances, quite apart from the fact that my two old friends are coming round this evening”.

Mrs James said, “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t read “Rebirthing: Back to the Womb, Forward to the Future”? I said, “No, and I’ve no intention of doing so”. Annie seemed surprised and said, “But everyone’s going mad about it”. I replied (rather cleverly), “Let them. There’ll be one sane person left, at least”.

Annie said she thought I was being unhelpful, and if everyone was as narrow-minded as me, there’d never have been TV or computers.

I said that was completely different.

Annie said, abruptly, “In what way is it different? What way?”

I said, “In many ways”.

Annie said, “Well, tell me one”.

I said quietly, “Sorry Annie, I’m not going to discuss it. I’m not interested”.

At that moment, the bell rang, and Carrie let Cummings in, which was a relief, since I felt it’d stop the whole séance business. But I was wrong: when the subject was raised, Cummings said he was very curious about spiritualism, though he was pretty sceptical. Still, he was prepared to be convinced.

I firmly declined to get involved, and they ignored me completely as a result. I left them sitting in the living room at the small table they’d brought in from the hall. I was opening the door to head out for a stroll, when Gowing appeared.

When he heard what was going on, he suggested that we should join in and he’d pretend to go into a trance. He added he knew a few things about Cummings and he’d make up some stuff about Annie. Since I know how reckless Gowing sometimes gets, I steered him away from the idea. Gowing and I sat in the kitchen and chatted. We talked a good deal about Lupin and Murray and Daisy. Lupin, as usual, is over there for the evening. Gowing said, “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if old Mr Posh keeled over and died”.

I was shocked, and told Gowing that it was no laughing matter. I lay awake half the night thinking about it, and when I slept, it was only to have nightmares on the same subject.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

We went across to Beckenham for a light meal with Annie James and her husband. I wasn’t hungry, since I’d had a big lunch, and the whole evening was spoilt by Keanu, their only son. I think he’s a spoilt brat.

Two or three times, he came over and deliberately kicked me in the shins. One time, it hurt so much, that it nearly bought tears to my eyes. I told him off, quite gently, but Annie said “Please don’t tell him off. I don’t believe in being too harsh with young children. It constrains their natural sense of self-expression”.

Keanu started bawling at this point, and when Carrie tried to calm him down, he whacked her across the face.

I was so annoyed, I said, “That’s no way to raise a child, Annie”.

Annie said, “Different people have different approaches. Even your Lupin has his faults, wouldn’t you say?”

A Mr Mezzini (Italian, I think), took Keanu onto his lap. The child wriggled and kicked and broke away from Mezzini, saying, “I don’t like you. Your face is dirty”.

A very nice guy, Tim Birks Spooner, took Keanu by the wrist and said, “Hey, wee man, come and listen to this”.

He got out his mobile, and played a funny ringtone which sounded like a singing frog. To our horror, Keanu snatched the phone out of his hand and threw it on the floor like it was a rubber ball.

Tim was very relaxed about it, said he could replace the cracked screen, and didn’t think the camera had been damaged.

Just to show how people’s opinions vary, Carrie said that Keanu was bad-tempered but made up for it because he looked so sweet. She said he was a really handsome boy.

I might be wrong, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen an uglier child. That’s my opinion.

Keanu Wayne Orlando James

Thursday, May 13, 2010

I told Barry about what Crowbillon had said, in a slightly modified form, but he said, “I don’t want to hear anything more about it. Your son will get his just deserts”. I went home, thinking about what a hopeless future Lupin had. He was very, very manic and looking particularly snazzy. He threw a letter on the table for me to read.

I was amazed. Gylterson plc had offered him a job at £80,000 pa, plus benefits. I read it through three times, convinced it was meant for me. But there it was in black and white – Lupin Pooter. I was silent. Lupin said, “So yeah. What about good old Barry now, eh? Take my advice, get the hell out, and get in with Gylterson, ’cos they’ve got a future. Sod Barry. That bunch are dinosaurs. They’re going backwards. I want to get ahead. Actually, I’d better get a move on, I’m off for dinner with Murray and Daisy tonight”.

He was so excited, he whacked the ceiling light with his hand, shouted “Whoo-hoo!”, somersaulted over the sofa, ruffled my hair, and bounded out of the room, giving me no chance to tell him he ought to show me a bit more respect. Gowing and Cummings called and cheered me up no end by extending lavish congratulations to Lupin.

Gowing said, “I always said he’d do well, and take it from me, he’s got more sense than the three of us put together”.

Carrie said, “He’s the next Frank Huttle”.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

A pretty stressful day, because I kept expecting an e-mail from Crowbillon. I logged on in the evening, and there it was - a message from Gilbert Crowbillon. I was shaking as I double clicked my mouse to open the message. I’d written about 2,000 words in mine. He wrote little more than twenty. It said:

Dear Charles

Totally disagree. Your son showed more sense in 5 minutes than your whole company has in 5 years.

Best,
Gilbert O.Crowbillon.

What the hell am I going to do? I don’t dare show this to Barry, and I definitely can’t let Lupin see it. Things only got worse. Lupin came in brandishing his iPhone, which had a message from Gylterson (the firm he recommended) asking for his sort code and account number so they could send him over a £5,000 finder’s fee. Clearly, Crowbillon’s never going to have anything to do with us again. Cummings and Gowing called, and both supported Lupin. Cummings went so far as to say Lupin might make a real name for himself. I suppose I was very low, for all I was able to say was, “Yes, but what kind of name?”

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Lupin came down late, and seeing I wasn’t in at work, asked why. Carrie and I had agreed it’d be better to say nothing about the email I was writing, so I avoided the question.

Lupin went out, saying he was ‘doing lunch’ with Murray in the city. I said I hoped Murray would get him a job. Lupin went out laughing, saying, “I don’t mind wearing a bit of lowpriceposh.com, but I’m not going to sell the stuff”. I think the lad is completely hopeless.

It took me most of the day to write to Crowbillon. A couple of times I asked Carrie for advice. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but none of her ideas were any good, whilst a few were completely ludicrous. Of course, I didn’t say so. I called Barry to ask if he wanted me to Bcc him on the e-mail, but he said he trusted me and there was no need to.

Gowing came by in the evening. I had to tell him about the Lupin and Barry business. I was surprised when Gowing sided with Lupin. Carrie too said I was getting far too wound up about it. Gowing produced a half bottle of Bailey’s he’d been given, which he said would cheer us all up, but since he helped himself to three large glasses, it didn’t leave enough to make Carrie and me feel any better at all.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Something really appalling has happened. Barry’s sacked Lupin. I can hardly bring myself to write about it. I was out of the office at the end of last week, away sick for the first time in twenty one years. I think I was poisoned by some fish. Barry was also away, as fate would have it. Our most important client, Mr Crowbillon, turned up at the office in a foul temper and said he was shifting his account. Lupin not only had the gall to meet with him, but advised him to switch to Gylterson Sons plc. In my opinion (though I don’t like to say it against my own son) it was a complete betrayal.

This morning I got an e-mail from Barry before I left for work, telling me that they’d told Lupin to clear his desk, and calling me in to a meeting at eleven. I went down to the office feeling sick to the stomach, dreading the meeting with Barry. I’d not spoken to him about things. I didn’t see Lupin all morning. He wasn’t up when I left, and Carrie said it wouldn’t help to disturb him. I was really distracted and couldn’t focus on my work.

As I’d expected, Barry summoned me, and the meeting (as far as I can remember) went more or less like this...

Barry said, “Morning Charles. This is one hell of a bad business. I don’t mean about Lupin – it was pretty clear we were going to have to part company sooner or later. Look. I am the head of this division, and we’ve built a solid reputation, and a market-leading position in the industry. If the business needs to be revolutionised, I will make the decision, when I decide the time is right”.

I could see he was very agitated, and I said, “Barry, I hope you’re not suggesting that I supported Lupin’s outrageous interference in any way?" Barry got up from his chair, put his arm round my shoulder and said “Charles, I’d as soon suspect myself of supporting him”. I was so on edge, so anxious to show how grateful I was, that I almost said, “Barry, I love you”. Luckily I got control of myself, and simply said, “You’re a marvellous man, sir”. I was all over the place, and sat down suddenly, leaving him pacing round the room. I got up, but Barry asked me to sit down, and carried on. “Listen Charles, you’ll realise that we’re a major player in this business, and we can’t be seen to be overly influenced by the actions of a single client. If Crowbillon wants to get another company to handle his affairs (a company with very little in the way of track record as far as I can see), that’s up to him. I’m not going to make any concessions to get his account back”. “Absolutely not,” I said. “Precisely,” replied Barry, “I will not do it. But Charles, what I was thinking was this. Crowbillon is our most lucrative client, and completely confidentially, losing him means we’re taking a big hit. It’s not the kind of thing we can sustain, particularly with the market being the way it is. I reckon you can help us out”.

I replied, “Barry, I’ll do absolutely anything it takes. You can depend on me”.

Barry said, “I know I can. So listen, this is the plan. You, personally, need to e-mail Crowbillon. Don’t let on that I know anything about it. Tell him that your son was only taken on as a junior admin assistant because you’d got such a good record with the company. As you and I know, this is absolutely true. I’m not proposing that you should condemn Lupin’s conduct in too scathing a way, but then again, if he was my son, I’d have ripped him apart. It’s up to you. My guess is Crowbillon will respond by reviewing his position, he’ll come back to us, and the company won’t suffer any financial fallout or bad press”.

I couldn’t help thinking what a great guy Barry was. The way he looks, and the way he talks, are very impressive.

I said, “Would you like to see the e-mail before I send it?”

Barry said, “No way. I don’t know anything about it, and I trust you completely. Take a lot of care over it. Things are a bit slack right now, so focus on it, solely, for half a day, or the whole day if you need it. I’ll be around tomorrow, and the rest of the week, in case Crowbillon gets in touch”.

I went home feeling slightly cheerier, but I told Carrie that I didn’t want to see Cummings, Gowing, or anybody else in the evening.

Lupin came into the living room wearing a new jacket. He asked what I thought of it. I said that making fashion judgements wasn’t my immediate priority, and anyway, I didn’t think he had the money to buy stuff right now. Lupin said, “I didn’t buy it. It was a present”.

I’m so suspicious of Lupin these days that I don’t like to ask him anything, in case I don’t like the answers. But he saved me the bother.

He said, “I ran into a mate, an old mate. I didn’t reckon he was much of a friend at the time, but actually, he’s cool. He said “all’s fair in love and war”, and couldn’t see why we shouldn’t hang out. Actually, he’s sound. All together different to that idiot Barry”.

I said, “Cut that out, Lupin. Don’t make things any worse than they already are”.

Lupin said, “What you on about? Listen, I’ve not made anything any worse. Crowbillon’s simply sick to the back teeth of using such a prehistoric operation, and decided to make the change himself. All I did was suggest someone else. It’s just business”.

I said, quietly, “I don’t understand what you mean by saying “it’s just business”, and at my time of life, I think it’s too late to find out. Let’s change the subject. Where were we? This friend of yours and the jacket? What’s that about?”

Lupin said, “It’s nothing important. I’d not seen the guy since the wedding, and he said it was good to run into me, and hoped that things were OK between us. I got him a drink to show there were no hard feelings, and he gave me one of his jackets”.

I said, wearily, “But you’ve not told me the name of this chap”.

Lupin said, trying to sound blasé, “Didn’t I? Silly me. It was Murray... Murray Posh”.

Friday, May 07, 2010

Got an e-mail from Jim Franching inviting us across for dinner tonight to meet with someone called Frank Huttle, a very witty American journalist. Jim apologised for the short notice, but said he’d been let down by two guests at the last minute, and looked on us as old friends who’d be happy to make up the numbers. Carrie was rather put out by this, but I explained that Jim was very well off and a bit of a mover and shaker, and it mightn’t be a good idea to let him down. I said, “And we’re sure to get a good dinner and some first class champagne”. “Which never agrees with you!” Carrie replied, sharply. I ignored her comment. He’d not said anything about dress code, so I mailed back saying, “Delighted to accept. What‘s the dress code?”

Got back early, in time to get suited and booted, as instructed. I’d wanted Carrie to meet me down at Jim’s, but she didn’t want to do it that way, so I had to go home to pick her up. Jim’s place is such a long way out, and there are so many changes to get there, that I allowed plenty of time for the journey. Too much, in fact. We got there at twenty two and had to wait around while he went up to get himself dressed. He was down bang on seven o’clock, which was quick.

I have to say it was pretty classy company, and though we didn’t know anyone, they all seemed very well off. Jim had got outside caterers in, and had spared no expense, with big flower arrangements and special table decorations. All in all, it looked superb. The wine was fantastic, and there was plenty of champagne: Jim said he’d never tasted better. There were ten of us, and each of us had a menu at our place setting. One lady said she always kept the menu, and got us all to sign it.

All of us did the same, bar Frank Huttle who was, of course, the guest of honour.

The guests were Jim Franching, Frank Huttle, Samuel and Chloe Hillbutter, Jemima Field, Quentin and Pamela Purdick, Andrew Pratt, Richard Kent and last, but not least, Carrie and Charles Pooter. Jim said he was sorry that I didn’t have a lady sitting either side of me (the numbers were uneven). I said I preferred it that way, but afterwards I thought maybe I’d sounded rude.

I sat next to Jemima Field. Clearly, very cultured, but also very deaf. It didn’t really matter: Frank Huttle did all the talking. He’s incredibly intellectual, and some of the things he said (if anyone else said them) would sound pretty contentious. I wish I could remember a tenth of the brilliant stuff he came out with. I put a few notes on my menu as a reminder.

He made one point which struck me as really acute (not that I agreed with it). Pamela Purdick said, “You’re very unorthodox you know, Frank”. Frank, with a peculiar expression (I can see it now) said in a slow, resonant voice, “Pamela, “orthodox” is an over-inflated euphemism for “narrow minded”. If Bill Gates and Richard Branson had been “orthodox” we wouldn’t have a personal computer in every home or affordable space travel on the horizon”. There was silence for a while. I thought that such an argument was potentially very dangerous, but at the same time I felt - as I think we all did - that there was no answer to it. A little later on Pamela, who’s Jim’s sister, and had sent out the invitations, got up and suggested the ladies take a walk around the garden. Frank said, “Ladies, you’re not going to leave us so soon, are you? Why don’t you stay while we boys chew the fat?”

“Orthodox” is an over-inflated euphemism for “narrow minded”

Their response was immediate. None of the ladies (including Carrie) wanted to miss out on Frank’s fascinating company, so they instantly sat down again, with lots of laughter and a bit of banter. Frank said, “That’s good. No one will be able to say you’re orthodox again!” Pamela, who seemed to be quite quick-witted and sharp said, “Frank: we’ll meet you half way. You boys chat ’til halfway through your Courvoisiers, then we’ll take a stroll round the garden. How’s that for a happy medium?".

I’ll not forget the effect that the words “happy medium” had on him. He gave us a dazzling definition of the term. I found it quite alarming. He said something like, “Happy medium, eh? Don’t you know those two words mean “miserable mediocrity”? I say, go business class or cattle class, marry a model or a moose. The “happy medium” stands for respectability, and respectability is utterly insipid. Don’t you agree Charles?”

I panicked at being put on the spot, and was only able to nod and say that I was afraid I really wasn’t in a position to offer any opinion on the matter. Carrie was about to say something, but was interrupted, which was a relief because she’s not very clever when it comes to debating things, and you obviously need to be particularly smart to argue anything with someone like Frank.

He carried on talking so effortlessly that it made his barmy ideas sound totally convincing. “The happy medium is just a half measure, nothing more, nothing less. Guys who like Jack Daniel’s, but haven’t the guts to drink a whole bottle and settle for a double instead – they’re not going to invent the iPod or shoot a movie like Apocalypse Now, are they? They’re half-hearted. Small Fry. Respectable. The happy medium. They’ll spend their lives festering in some mock tudor suburban semi that looks like a dolls’ house”.

We all laughed.

“That kind of life” continued Frank, “is for guys who’re soft… soft in the head… For God’s sake, they probably even wear slip on shoes!”

I thought this was pretty personal, and a couple of times I caught myself looking under the table, because I was wearing slip ons. And why not? If his comments weren’t directed personally at me, they were pretty careless, and so were some of the other things he said later on, which must have made Jim and some of the others feel rather uncomfortable as well. Actually, I don’t think Frank meant to be personal, because he added, “I’ve not run into people like that over here, but there’s plenty in America, and I can’t stand them”.

Several times, Jim suggested passing the wine round the table, but Frank didn’t take any notice. He carried on like he was giving a lecture.

“What we want in America is English-style homes. We’re always on the move. But your domestic environment is charming. There’s no display, no pretentiousness. I’m sure you don’t serve dinner any differently, whether or not you have guests. Certainly no outside caterers fussing about the place”.

I saw Jim wince at this.

Frank carried on, “Just an intimate dinner, with a few special touches, like you’ve organised tonight. You don’t embarrass your guests by shipping in a load of champagne at £60 a bottle”.

I couldn’t help thinking that the Cristal we were drinking must have cost at least that.

Frank said, “I’m talking about people who’re spineless, boring and dull. The kind who’re happy to stay at home and waste their time playing board games with their wives. We don’t want to spend time with people like that. We’re far more refined. We don’t want to waste time socialising with deaf old trouts who can’t keep up with an intelligent conversation”.

We all looked at Jemima. Luckily, since she’s deaf, she was oblivious, and just continued smiling and nodding her approval.

“There’s no one here,” said Frank, “like the kind of stupid, air-headed women who think that because they get a ticket to some C-list party, they’re suddenly celebrities. The kind Vogue has never featured, and never will”.

Frank paused for a moment, which gave the ladies an opportunity to get up from the table. I quietly asked Jim if it’d be all right for us to go, since we didn’t want to miss the last train, which we nearly did by the way, because Carrie mislaid her handbag.

We got home very late, and when we got into the living room I said, “Carrie, what did you reckon to Frank?" She just said, “Very like Lupin”. I’d thought exactly the same whilst I was on the train. The comparison kept me awake half the night. Frank was of course older and more influential, but he was like Lupin. It made me think how inflammatory Lupin might be if he were older and more influential. I’m proud to think he does resemble Frank in some respects. Like Frank, Lupin has original and sometimes amazing ideas, but they’re ideas which are dangerous. They’re the kind of ideas which can make people extremely rich, or extremely poor. They can make them, or break them. My feeling is that people who live a simple, unsophisticated life are happier. I think I’m happy because I’m not ambitious. I kind of think that Lupin, now that he’s working for Barry, may be content to settle down and follow in his father’s footsteps. It’s a comfort.

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