The Diary of a Nobody

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

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Cummings called, looking very washed out, and said he’d been very ill again, and (of course) not a single friend had been in touch. Carrie said she hadn’t heard anything from him, but he threw down a copy of the local paper which had a report on page nine about how a Mr Cummings had had a serious accident in Rye Lane when a youth had stuck a stick between his spokes, causing him to crash heavily. The report was headed Asbo Brute Causes Crash, with the sub-heading “Cyclist says it was “frightening, not fatal””.

We all said we were very very sorry, and pressed Cummings to stay for supper. He said that with Lupin gone, it was just like old times, and all the better for it.

Monday, June 28, 2010

On scanning back over my diary, I see nothing of any interest has taken place during the past month. Lupin’s off today. He’s renting an apartment in Notting Hill, near Murray and Daisy’s place. It’s costing £450 a week, which seems very extravagant. Lupin says it’s good to have a classy address, and ours is a bit “skanky”. I’ve no idea what “skanky” means, and I’ve long since given up trying to penetrate the slang he uses. I said the area had always been good enough for us. He said, “It’s not a question of being good or bad. There’s no money here, and I for one don’t want to spend my life rotting in the suburbs”.

We’re sorry he’s going, but perhaps he’ll get on better by himself, and there may be some truth in what he said about older people holding back the young.

Gowing called and said the house seemed quite peaceful, just like old times. He liked Lupin well enough, but occasionally he suffered from something he couldn’t help – being young.

Friday, June 04, 2010

In the afternoon, I was looking out of the living room window, when a very big black Mercedes pulled up in front of the house. A woman was driving, and there was a man beside her in the passenger seat. I didn’t want to be caught looking like a nosey neighbour, so I got out of the way quickly and bashed my head in the process. I felt really giddy. There was a very insistent ringing on the front doorbell. After a load of hiatus (Carrie thought it might be Barry Perkupp, so she went up to brush her hair, and we were both running round like headless chickens) we went to the door. I was relieved to see it was Daisy and Lupin.

Lupin greeted me by saying, “Hey, why did you run away from the window? Did we scare you?”

I foolishly said, “What window?”

Lupin said, “Oh for God’s sake. You know. It looked like some kind of Punch and Judy show”.

Carrie asked if they’d like something to drink. Lupin said, “I’m sure Daisy’ll have a cup of tea. I’ll have a vodka and tonic, if you’ve got one”.

I said, “Sorry, we haven’t got any tonic”.

Lupin said, “No dramas”. They stayed very briefly, and as they were leaving Lupin said, “I’d like you to come over for dinner with me, next Wednesday, to see the new place. Murray, Daze and Lilly (Murray’s sister) are coming. Eight o’clock sharp. Don’t bring anyone else”.

I said, “That’s a bit tricky. If you could make it a bit earlier, it’d be easier for us to get back”.

Lupin said, “Bollocks. You’re going to have to get used to it. If needs be, Daze or me can give you a lift”.

We promised we’d go. I have to say that from my pretty straightforward, traditional point of view, the familiar way Lupin and Daisy talked to each other didn’t seem right. Anyone would think they’d known each other since primary school. I don’t think I’d like someone I’d known for just six months calling my wife “Caz” or whatever, and gadding around town with her

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Quite looking forward to tonight’s séance. I was thinking about it all day at the office.

Just as we were sitting down at the table, we were annoyed at Gowing coming in uninvited.

He said, “I’m not going to stop, but I’ve bought a sealed envelope with me, which I know I can entrust to your care, Carrie. In that sealed envelope, there’s a strip of paper on which I’ve asked a simple question. If the spirits can answer it, I’ll believe in Spiritualism”.

I suggested it might be impossible.

Annie said, “No, it’s common for spirits to answer questions under these conditions. Sometimes they even write on paper which is locked away in a box. It’s well worth having a go. If “Lina”’s not playing up, she’ll definitely do it”.

Gowing said, “Right you are then. If she does, I’ll be a firm believer. I’ll pop back at around half nine or ten to hear the result”.

He then left, and we sat for a long time. Cummings wanted to know something about some business he was involved in, but couldn’t get any kind of answer at all. At which he said he was very disappointed, and was afraid he didn’t set any store by seances at all. I thought this was rather self-centred. The séance was very similar to last night’s: almost the same in fact. So we turned to the letter. “Lina” took a long time answering the question, but eventually spelt out “ROSES, LILIES AND COWS”. The table rocked a lot, and Annie said, “If that’s Captain Drinkwater, can we ask him the answer as well?"

It was indeed the Captain’s spirit, and most oddly, he gave the exact same answer: “ROSES, LILIES AND COWS”.

I can’t quite describe Carrie’s agitation on breaking the seal, or the disappointment we all felt when we read the question to which the answer was completely irrelevant. The question was “How old is Charles Pooter?”

This completely decided me on the subject.

Just as I’d put my foot down about Spiritualism some years back, I decided to do so again.

I’m pretty easy-going as a rule, but when pushed, I can be very determined.

As I switched the lights on, I said slowly, “I’m never, ever, going to let this kind of tomfoolery go on in my house again. I’m sorry I ever got drawn into this stupid nonsense. If there’s anything in it – which I seriously doubt – it’s no good to anyone, and I won’t have it going on here. That’s enough”.

Annie said, “Charles, I think you’re rather overstepping …”

I said, “Give it a rest. I determine what goes on in this house. Understand?”

Annie made a comment which I sincerely hope I misunderstood. I was so wound up I didn’t hear it properly. But if she said what I thought she said, she’s never coming back in this house again.

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