The Diary of a Nobody

2010-05-13T14:38:00.000+01:00

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”.

2010-05-12T14:34:00.000+01:00

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?”

2010-05-11T14:33:00.000+01:00

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.

2010-05-10T14:30:00.000+01:00

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”.

2010-05-07T14:30:00.001+01:00

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.

2010-04-26T14:29:00.000+01:00

I’m getting used to Lupin’s rudeness, and I don’t mind being told off by Carrie at times because she’s got a certain right to do so. But I don’t like being treated rudely by my wife, my son, and two guests all at the same time.

Gowing and Cummings had come over in the evening, and I suddenly remembered a weird dream I’d had a few nights ago. I thought I’d tell them about it. I dreamt I’d seen some huge blocks of ice in a shop window, with a bright glare behind them. I walked into the shop, and was almost knocked out by the heat. I discovered that the blocks of ice were on fire. The whole thing was so real and so surreal at the same time that I woke up in a cold sweat. Lupin said, completely dismissively, “What a load of crap”.

Before I could say anything, Gowing said there was nothing as utterly boring as hearing other people’s dreams.

I asked Cummings to back me up, but he said he agreed with the others, and said my dream was particularly incomprehensible. I said, “It seemed so real to me”. Gowing replied, “To you, maybe, but not to us”. Then they all started laughing.

Carrie, who’d not said anything up ’til this point, said, “He tells me his stupid dreams nearly every morning”. I said, “Very well, darling, I’ll make sure I never tell you, or anybody else, any of my dreams, ever again”. Lupin said, “Hear hear!” and cracked open another can of Foster’s. Luckily, the subject was changed, and Cummings told us about an interesting article he’d read on how you’d get across London quicker on a bike than in a car.

2010-04-25T14:25:00.002+01:00

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.

2010-04-24T14:24:00.000+01:00

I was hurrying back from Tesco when a man stopped me and said “Hey! I know your face!”. Politely, I said, “Very likely: lots of people know me, though often I don’t know them”. He replied, “But you know me – Teddy Finsworth”. Which it was. He’d been at my school. I’d not seen him in years. Hardly surprising I didn’t recognise him. At school, he’d been at least a head taller than me. Now I’m a head taller than him, and he’s got a thick beard which is almost grey. He insisted we have a drink together (I never do that after work) and told me he lived in Middlesborough where he was Chief Executive on the City Council, a position as high as the head of the GLA in London. He went on to say he was down in London for a few days staying with his uncle Edgar Paul Finsworth (of Finsworth and Pultwell). He said he was sure his uncle would be pleased to see me: he had a nice house called Watney Lodge, a couple of minutes from Muswell Hill Station. I gave him my e-mail and mobile number, and we parted company.

In the evening, I got an e-mail from Mr Finsworth saying if we (Carrie and me) would come along for lunch on Sunday, at one o’clock, he’d be delighted. Carrie didn’t fancy it, but the e-mail was fairly pressing, so Carrie stuck the chicken she’d already bought for Sunday’s roast in the freezer.

2010-04-20T14:22:00.000+01:00

Got a letter from Susan Lupkin, telling us what train to take on Saturday, and hoping we’d visit as promised. She signed off by saying “You must come and stay at our place. It’s half the price of The Royal, and we’ve got just as good a view”. I looked at the address on the notepaper, and saw it said “Lupkin’s Family Hotel”.

I e-mailed back to tell her we were compelled to “decline her kind invitation”. Carrie appreciated the irony and said it was very much to the point. By the way, I’ll never buy a jacket by mail order again. I got myself one from Land‘s End, which looked a fairly subdued blue in the picture on the website. But when it arrived it turned out to be rather bright. I tried it on and was irritated to hear Carrie laughing. She said, “What colour did you say you thought it was?”

I said “dark blue”.

Carrie said, “Well, to tell you the truth, it looks turquoise to me”.

2010-04-19T14:22:00.000+01:00

Recently, I’ve noticed Carrie rubbing her nails a lot with some kind of instrument. When I asked her about it, she said “It’s a new manicure system that’s just been developed”. I said, “I suppose Annie James introduced you to it”. Carrie laughed and said, “Yes, and now everyone’s doing it”.

I wish Annie wouldn’t come round. Every time she does, she puts some new-fangled rubbish into Carrie’s head. One of these days, I’ll tell her she’s not welcome any more. I’m sure it was her who got Carrie to use those stupid emoticons on her phone. Pointless.

2010-04-17T14:21:00.000+01:00

Cummings called. He was hobbling on a stick and said he’d been on his back all week. Apparently, he was trying to shut his bedroom door, which is just at the top of the staircase. Unbeknownst to him, a plastic toy the dog had been playing with had got stuck in the door jamb, and stopped the door closing properly. He’d pulled the door hard to give it an extra slam, the handle came off in his hands, and he fell backwards down the stairs.

When he heard this, Lupin jumped up from the couch and rushed out of the room, sideways. Cummings looked very indignant, and said that he couldn’t see anything funny about a man nearly breaking his back. Though I suspected Lupin was laughing at him, I told Cummings that he’d only run out to open the door to a friend who was due. Cummings said it was the second time he’d been ill, and no one had bothered to get in touch. I said I knew nothing about it.

2010-04-16T14:20:00.000+01:00

Mr Griffin, our next door neighbour, came round and accused me or “someone” of fiddling with the stop-cock and causing his cistern to overflow. He said he’d get it repaired and send us the bill.

2010-04-15T14:20:00.000+01:00

The cistern’s OK again. Annie James called. She and Carrie shifted the furniture around the room. Something to do with Feng Shui. Annie says everyone’s doing it. It was her idea, and Carrie always does what Annie suggests. From my point of view, everything was fine the way it was. But then, I’m an ordinary chap, and I don’t pretend to keep up with this kind of thing.

2010-04-14T14:19:00.000+01:00

The cistern’s leaking again. I called John Putley, who said he’d get it sorted quickly, because it was probably the plastic fittings.

2010-04-13T14:19:00.000+01:00

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.

2010-04-12T14:17:00.000+01:00

Burnt my tongue really badly on a chicken kiev that Carrie had foolishly not left to stand before serving.

2010-04-11T14:17:00.001+01:00

Probably because the weather’s been a bit unpredictable, I woke with a feeling that my skin had been drawn over my face as tight as a drum. Nick and Liz Teane who we met whilst we were out in the park, came round. Whilst we were out in the garden, I was peeved to find a newspaper full of bones on the gravel path. Obviously, it had been chucked over the fence by the Griffin boys next door. Whenever they have friends round, they climb up a step-ladder in their conservatory and tap at the windows, making faces, whistling and belching.

Young Griffin boys making faces, whistling and belching

2010-04-06T14:16:00.000+01:00

Gowing called, and invited Carrie and me to the East Acton Rotary Club Ball which he reckoned would be quite a good bash given that Sir William Grime (the local MP) was going to be there. We accepted the invite, and he stayed to supper. I thought it’d be a good opportunity to try out a bottle of sparkling Algera that Annie James’ husband had sent us as a present. Gowing took a sip, saying that he’d never tried it before, and that he preferred to stick to more recognised wine varieties. I told him it was a present from a good friend, and we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Gowing said, flippantly “Presumably, it’s ’cos he didn’t like putting it in his own mouth”.

I thought that was both rude and unfunny, but after I’d tasted the stuff, I couldn’t help thinking it was justified to some extent. The sparkling Algera is very like cider, only more sour. I wondered whether the bad weather had made it go acid, but Gowing simply said, “No, I don’t think so”. We had a good game of cards, though I lost £10, Carrie lost £2, and Gowing said he’d lost about 50p. It’s a mystery to me how he managed to lose, given that Carrie and I were the only other players.

2010-04-05T14:15:00.000+01:00

Nothing significant happened, except Gowing advised me to get a wireless mouse for work, which cost me £24.99. I might as well have stuck £24.99 in the bin. It caused me all sorts of grief and really irritated me. Half the time, no matter how much you move it around, the cursor doesn’t go anywhere. In the office, I was hitting it on my mouse-pad to get it working, when Barry (who’d just got in) said, “Hey! Can you stop that noise. Mikey, you as usual?" Michael Pitt (the cocky young guy) took great pleasure in saying, “Sorry Barry, it’s not me, it’s Charles and his wireless mouse. He’s been at it all morning”. What made it worse was I saw Lupin laughing. I thought it best not to say anything. I took it to PC World and asked them to take it back, since it wasn’t working. I didn’t expect they’d give me the money, but maybe a voucher or something. The guy said he couldn’t give me anything without a receipt, which I didn’t have. Lupin’s behaved exceptionally well in the office. I’m only worried it won’t last.

2010-03-18T14:15:00.000Z

Today I’m going to end this diary. It’s one of the happiest days of my life. A great ambtion that I’ve had for ages has finally been realised. This morning I got a formal letter from Barry Perkupp, asking if I could take Lupin down to the office with me. I went to Lupin’s room. He was looking pretty sick, and said he had a bad headache. Down in Brighton yesterday he’d gone to a club, lost his coat, and had got soaked on the way back. I showed him the letter from Barry, and he got out of bed in double quick time. I insisted he should put on a sober suit – nothing too flash.

Carrie was all excited when she saw the letter. All she could say was “Oh, I do hope it’ll work out OK”. As for me, I could hardly eat any breakfast. Lupin came down looking smart and very respectable, except his face was a bit yellow. To raise his spirits, Carrie said, “You look nice, Lupin”. Lupin said “Yeah, nice costume eh? I look like a cross between an undertaker and a bouncer”. He laughed a bit bitterly.

I heard a commotion in the kitchen and found Lupin slashing at a tie with a bread knife. I said, “Lupin, what the hell are you doing? What a waste! If you don’t like it, I’m sure someone else would be happy to have it”. He said, “I wouldn’t insult anyone else with tat like this”.

He went up to find another one. I looked at the remnants of the tie. Armani. With a lowpriceposh.com price tag still dangling from it. No wonder. It seemed to take for ever to get to the office. Barry sent for Lupin. They were together nearly an hour. Lupin came back, looking a bit crestfallen, I thought. I said, “Lupin - what about Barry then?” Lupin suddenly started singing “All right now, Perkupp’s all right now”. From which I reckoned Barry had given him a job. I went up to Barry, but couldn’t work out what to say. He said, “Charles, what’s up?" I must have looked a right idiot, because all I could say was “Barry, you’re a good man”. He looked at me for a moment and said, “No Charles, you’re a good man. Let’s see if your son can follow your example”. I said, “Barry, do you mind if I head off? I don’t think I’ll be much use to anyone today”.

Barry nodded, and shook my hand. I was feeling really emotional on the train home, almost crying to tell the truth, and I would have done so if I’d not been distracted by Lupin who was arguing with a fat man whom he accused of taking up too much of the seat.

In the evening, Carrie asked Cummings and his wife round, and Gowing as well. We sat around the living room and toasted Lupin’s success with a bottle of Cava which Carrie got from the Spar. I lay awake quite a while, thinking about how things would be. Me and Lupin, in the same office, travelling into work together. Maybe Lupin’ll help out in the house: doing a bit of DIY, helping his mum with the decorating, a touch of gardening in the summer. (That reminds me, I need to get some more of that stencilling paint). I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I saw my bedside alarm clock turn four, and must have fallen asleep soon after. Dreaming of the three of us, all happy: Lupin, my lovely Carrie, and me.

2010-03-17T14:15:00.000Z

Since Daisy and Murray were getting married today, Lupin cleared off with a friend to Brighton. Lupin’s pretty cut up about it, but he makes out he’s glad nothing transpired between him and Daisy. I wish he wouldn’t go out clubbing so much, but I don’t feel I can say anything about it. Currently, he irritates me by singing the same song over and over again all round the house. He says it’s Free. I wouldn’t pay for it. It goes “Lupin’s all right now, Daisy’s one fat cow”. If he’s calling her that, I doubt he’s really all right. In the evening, Gowing called. The main item on his agenda was Daisy and Murray’s marriage. I said, “Actually, I’m glad it’s worked out the way it has. Daisy would only have made a fool of Lupin”. Gowing (tasteful as ever) said, “Lupin can make a fool of himself without any assistance, I’d say”. Carrie resented his remark, and he had the decency to apologise.

2010-02-19T14:05:00.000Z

Before he left for work, Lupin said, “Look, I’m really sorry about the Langella shares. If the boss had been around, it wouldn’t have happened. Actually, I suspect something’s up. No one’s seen Josh for a couple of days now, and there’s been a lot of calls from people who’re very keen to speak to him”.

In the evening, Lupin was heading out to avoid the chance of meeting Gowing and Cummings, when Gowing walked straight in doing his usual “may I come in?” routine.

Lupin and I were surprised to find he was really jolly. We avoided saying anything about Langella, but he raised the subject himself. He said, “Hey, those Langella shares completely collapsed, didn’t they. Not so smart now, eh Lupin? How much did you lose?" I was astonished when Lupin said “Nothing at all, mate. There was some cock up when the agreement was transmitted, so I never got mine. Charlie here lost £630”. I said, “What? I thought you’d invested. Otherwise I wouldn’t have got involved”. Lupin said, “Ah well, c’est la vie. You’ll more than make it back if you double up on the next tip. That’s the way it goes”. Before I had a chance to say anything, Gowing said, “Well, I didn’t lose a penny either. From some of the chat I’d heard, it was a bit too risky, so I persuaded Cummings to take my £525 of shares. He was a lot more confident about it”.

Lupin burst out laughing and said, “Alas poor Cummings! He’ll have lost over a grand”. The doorbell rang. Lupin said “If that’s Cummings, I don’t want to see him”. If Lupin had gone to the front door, he’d have run into Cummings, so he opened the French windows and ran out. Gowing stood up and said, “Me neither”, and followed suit.

I was scandalised to think that my own son, and one of my best friends could leave like a pair of criminals interrupted in the middle of a burglary. Cummings was very upset, and very angry with Lupin and Gowing. I offered him a little whisky, but he said he’d given it up. He said he’d have a glass of buckwheat beer instead, because the doctor on GMTV had said it was really healthy. I’d never heard of it. Carrie popped down to Oddbins to try and get some.

2010-02-18T14:04:00.000Z

A number of times recently, Carrie’s pointed out that I’m going thin on top. This morning I was trying to check it out with a small hand mirror. I jogged my elbow against the edge of the chest of drawers and dropped the mirror, which smashed. Carrie got really het up – she’s ridiculously superstitious – and then, to make matters worse, I found that a large framed photo of me had dropped off the wall in the living room, and the glass had cracked.

Carrie said, “You mark my words. We’re going to have bad luck”.

I said, “Rubbish”.

In the evening, Lupin arrived home and seemed edgy. I said, “What’s up?" He faffed around, but eventually said “You know those Langella shares I told you to invest in?" I said, “Yes. Everything OK on that front?" He said, “Well, not really. The price collapsed. It came as a real shock to the market”.

It came as real shock to me too. I didn’t know what to say. After a while, Lupin said, “You’re lucky, actually. I was tipped off early, sold them immediately, and managed to get 10%, so at least you’ve got something”.

I was relieved. I said, “I wasn’t banking on getting six or eight times the investment, as you’d reckoned. But £70 is quite a good return in such a short time”. Lupin, a bit shirty, said, “Don’t be thick. What I meant was I sold your £700 of shares for £70, so you’ve lost £630. As for Cummings and Gowing - they’ve lost the full amount because I couldn’t shift them”.

2010-02-17T14:14:00.000Z

The first thing I saw on opening the Mail was “Thieving Fat Cat Flees” (the fat cat in question being Cleanands). I showed it to Carrie and she said, “Perhaps it’s for Lupin’s own good. I never thought it was the right kind of job for him”. I thought the whole thing was very alarming.

Lupin came down to breakfast. I could see he was pretty upset, and I said, “We’ve heard about it already. I’m really sorry”. Lupin said, “How did you know? Who told you?" I handed him the Mail. He slapped it down and said, “Oh, I don’t give a shit about that. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen it coming. But this – it’s come right out of left field”. He then read us a message from Frank Mutlar on his iPhone, which said quite matter-of-factly that Daisy was going to marry Murray Posh next month. I exclaimed, “Murray Posh! Isn’t that the bloke Frank had the cheek to bring round here not so long ago?” Lupin said, “Yes. The guy from lowpriceposh.com”.

We all ate our breakfast in total silence.

In fact, I couldn’t eat anything. It wasn’t just that I was worried: I can’t eat smoked back bacon. It’s got to be streaky or nothing.

When Lupin got up to go, I noticed a rather malicious smile come over his face. I asked him what it was about. He said, “Ah well, there’s some small consolation: I’ve just remembered that Murray Posh put £20K into Langella, on the back of my recommendation”.

2010-02-12T14:04:00.001Z

In the evening, I spoke to Lupin about his engagement to Daisy. I asked him if he’d heard from her lately. He said, “No. She promised that tit of a father that she’d not have any contact with me. I still see Frank though. In fact he might be round this evening”. Frank called, but said he wouldn’t come in because he had a friend called Murray Posh waiting outside. He added that Murray was a bit of a toff. Carrie asked Frank to invite him in.

He came in, along with Gowing who’d turned up at the same time. Murray Posh was tall and slightly heavily built and clearly rather nervous. He said he’d not go anywhere in a minicab again until he was certain of the driver’s credentials.

Murray Posh

When Gowing was introduced, with his usual tact he said “Are you connected with lowpriceposh.com, the designer seconds thing?” Murray said “Yes, but just to be clear, I don’t wear the seconds myself. I don’t really have a hands-on role in the business”. I said, “I wish I had a business like that”. Murray seemed pleased, and gave us a long but very interesting insight into e-commerce.

Murray obviously knew Daisy very well indeed from the way he was talking about her, and Frank once said to Lupin “Better watch out, or Murray will be in there!”. When they’d gone, I referred to what Frank had said, and Lupin said sarcastically, “If you get jealous, you’ve got no self-respect. I’d have to have a pretty low opinion of myself to get jealous of a fat oaf like Murray. I’ve told you, Daisy will wait ten years for me if she has to. In fact, you can double that”.