The Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith

The Diary of a Nobody

Introduction by Mr. Pooter

Why should I not publish my diary?  I have often seen reminiscences
of people I have never even heard of, and I fail to see - because I
do not happen to be a 'Somebody' - why my diary should not be
interesting.  My only regret is that I did not commence it when I
was a youth.

Charles Pooter
The Laurels,
Brickfield Terrace
Holloway.

CHAPTER I.

We settle down in our new home, and I resolve to keep a diary.
Tradesmen trouble us a bit, so does the scraper.  The Curate calls
and pays me a great compliment.

My clear wife Carrie and I have just been a week in our new house,
"The Laurels," Brickfield Terrace, Holloway - a nice six-roomed
residence, not counting basement, with a front breakfast-parlour.
We have a little front garden; and there is a flight of ten steps
up to the front door, which, by-the-by, we keep locked with the
chain up.  Cummings, Gowing, and our other intimate friends always
come to the little side entrance, which saves the servant the
trouble of going up to the front door, thereby taking her from her
work.  We have a nice little back garden which runs down to the
railway.  We were rather afraid of the noise of the trains at
first, but the landlord said we should not notice them after a bit,
and took 2 pounds off the rent.  He was certainly right; and beyond
the cracking of the garden wall at the bottom, we have suffered no
inconvenience.

After my work in the City, I like to be at home.  What's the good
of a home, if you are never in it?  "Home, Sweet Home," that's my
motto.  I am always in of an evening.  Our old friend Gowing may
drop in without ceremony; so may Cummings, who lives opposite.  My
dear wife Caroline and I are pleased to see them, if they like to
drop in on us.  But Carrie and I can manage to pass our evenings
together without friends.  There is always something to be done:  a
tin-tack here, a Venetian blind to put straight, a fan to nail up,
or part of a carpet to nail down - all of which I can do with my
pipe in my mouth; while Carrie is not above putting a button on a
shirt, mending a pillow-case, or practising the "Sylvia Gavotte" on
our new cottage piano (on the three years' system), manufactured by
W. Bilkson (in small letters), from Collard and Collard (in very
large letters).  It is also a great comfort to us to know that our
boy Willie is getting on so well in the Bank at Oldham.  We should
like to see more of him.  Now for my diary:-

April 3. - Tradesmen called for custom, and I promised Farmerson,
the ironmonger, to give him a turn if I wanted any nails or tools.
By-the-by, that reminds me there is no key to our bedroom door, and
the bells must be seen to.  The parlour bell is broken, and the
front door rings up in the servant's bedroom, which is ridiculous.
Dear friend Gowing dropped in, but wouldn't stay, saying there was
an infernal smell of paint.

April 4.  Tradesmen still calling; Carrie being out, I arranged to
deal with Horwin, who seemed a civil butcher with a nice clean
shop.  Ordered a shoulder of mutton for to-morrow, to give him a
trial.  Carrie arranged with Borset, the butterman, and ordered a
pound of fresh butter, and a pound and a half of salt ditto for
kitchen, and a shilling's worth of eggs.  In the evening, Cummings
unexpectedly dropped in to show me a meerschaum pipe he had won in
a raffle in the City, and told me to handle it carefully, as it
would spoil the colouring if the hand was moist.  He said he
wouldn't stay, as he didn't care much for the smell of the paint,
and fell over the scraper as he went out.  Must get the scraper
removed, or else I shall get into a SCRAPE.  I don't often make
jokes.

April 5. - Two shoulders of mutton arrived, Carrie having arranged
with another butcher without consulting me.  Gowing called, and
fell over scraper coming in.  MUST get that scraper removed.

April 6. - Eggs for breakfast simply shocking; sent them back to
Borset with my compliments, and he needn't call any more for
orders.  Couldn't find umbrella, and though it was pouring with
rain, had to go without it.  Sarah said Mr. Gowing must have took
it by mistake last night, as there was a stick in the 'all that
didn't belong to nobody.  In the evening, hearing someone talking
in a loud voice to the servant in the downstairs hall, I went out
to see who it was, and was surprised to find it was Borset, the
butterman, who was both drunk and offensive.  Borset, on seeing me,
said he would be hanged if he would ever serve City clerks any more
- the game wasn't worth the candle.  I restrained my feelings, and
quietly remarked that I thought it was POSSIBLE for a city clerk to
be a GENTLEMAN.  He replied he was very glad to hear it, and wanted
to know whether I had ever come across one, for HE hadn't.  He left
the house, slamming the door after him, which nearly broke the
fanlight; and I heard him fall over the scraper, which made me feel
glad I hadn't removed it.  When he had gone, I thought of a
splendid answer I ought to have given him.  However, I will keep it
for another occasion.

April 7. - Being Saturday, I looked forward to being home early,
and putting a few things straight; but two of our principals at the
office were absent through illness, and I did not get home till
seven.  Found Borset waiting.  He had been three times during the
day to apologise for his conduct last night.  He said he was unable
to take his Bank Holiday last Monday, and took it last night
instead.  He begged me to accept his apology, and a pound of fresh
butter.  He seems, after all, a decent sort of fellow; so I gave
him an order for some fresh eggs, with a request that on this
occasion they SHOULD be fresh.  I am afraid we shall have to get
some new stair-carpets after all; our old ones are not quite wide
enough to meet the paint on either side.  Carrie suggests that we
might ourselves broaden the paint.  I will see if we can match the
colour (dark chocolate) on Monday.

April 8, Sunday. - After Church, the Curate came back with us.  I
sent Carrie in to open front door, which we do not use except on
special occasions.  She could not get it open, and after all my
display, I had to take the Curate (whose name, by-the-by, I did not
catch,) round the side entrance.  He caught his foot in the
scraper, and tore the bottom of his trousers.  Most annoying, as
Carrie could not well offer to repair them on a Sunday.  After
dinner, went to sleep.  Took a walk round the garden, and
discovered a beautiful spot for sowing mustard-and-cress and
radishes.  Went to Church again in the evening:  walked back with
the Curate.  Carrie noticed he had got on the same pair of
trousers, only repaired.  He wants me to take round the plate,
which I think a great compliment.

CHAPTER II.

Tradesmen and the scraper still troublesome.  Gowing rather
tiresome with his complaints of the paint.  I make one of the best
jokes of my life.  Delights of Gardening.  Mr. Stillbrook, Gowing,
Cummings, and I have a little misunderstanding.  Sarah makes me
look a fool before Cummings

April 9. - Commenced the morning badly.  The butcher, whom we
decided NOT to arrange with, called and blackguarded me in the most
uncalled-for manner.  He began by abusing me, and saying he did not
want my custom.  I simply said:  "Then what are you making all this
fuss about it for?"  And he shouted out at the top of his voice, so
that all the neighbours could hear:  "Pah! go along.  Ugh!  I could
buy up 'things' like you by the dozen!"

I shut the door, and was giving Carrie to understand that this
disgraceful scene was entirely her fault, when there was a violent
kicking at the door, enough to break the panels.  It was the
blackguard butcher again, who said he had cut his foot over the
scraper, and would immediately bring an action against me.  Called
at Farmerson's, the ironmonger, on my way to town, and gave him the
job of moving the scraper and repairing the bells, thinking it
scarcely worth while to trouble the landlord with such a trifling
matter.

Arrived home tired and worried.  Mr. Putley, a painter and
decorator, who had sent in a card, said he could not match the
colour on the stairs, as it contained Indian carmine.  He said he
spent half-a-day calling at warehouses to see if he could get it.
He suggested he should entirely repaint the stairs.  It would cost
very little more; if he tried to match it, he could only make a bad
job of it.  It would be more satisfactory to him and to us to have
the work done properly.  I consented, but felt I had been talked
over.  Planted some mustard-and-cress and radishes, and went to bed
at nine.

April 10. - Farmerson came round to attend to the scraper himself.
He seems a very civil fellow.  He says he does not usually conduct
such small jobs personally, but for me he would do so.  I thanked
him, and went to town.  It is disgraceful how late some of the
young clerks are at arriving.  I told three of them that if Mr.
Perkupp, the principal, heard of it, they might be discharged.

Pitt, a monkey of seventeen, who has only been with us six weeks,
told me "to keep my hair on!"  I informed him I had had the honour
of being in the firm twenty years, to which he insolently replied
that I "looked it."  I gave him an indignant look, and said:  "I
demand from you some respect, sir."  He replied:  "All right, go on
demanding."  I would not argue with him any further.  You cannot
argue with people like that.  In the evening Gowing called, and
repeated his complaint about the smell of paint.  Gowing is
sometimes very tedious with his remarks, and not always cautious;
and Carrie once very properly reminded him that she was present.

April 11. - Mustard-and-cress and radishes not come up yet.  To-day
was a day of annoyances.  I missed the quarter-to-nine 'bus to the
City, through having words with the grocer's boy, who for the
second time had the impertinence to bring his basket to the hall-
door, and had left the marks of his dirty boots on the fresh-
cleaned door-steps.  He said he had knocked at the side door with
his knuckles for a quarter of an hour.  I knew Sarah, our servant,
could not hear this, as she was upstairs doing the bedrooms, so
asked the boy why he did not ring the bell?  He replied that he did
pull the bell, but the handle came off in his hand.

I was half-an-hour late at the office, a thing that has never
happened to me before.  There has recently been much irregularity
in the attendance of the clerks, and Mr. Perkupp, our principal,
unfortunately choose this very morning to pounce down upon us