Diary Of A Nobody, Chapter One

Hello! Please join me in listening to Diary of a Nobody, published in 1892 by brothers George and Weedon Grossmith. Its gentle humor, concerning the London life of Mr. Charles Pooter, is just right for a bedtime story.
Let me know if you agree and if you'd like to hear more!

Transcript

Hello,

Mandy here.

Welcome to the Diary of a Nobody by George Grosmith and Whedon Grosmith.

We'll begin with an 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.

Signed,

Charles Pooter,

The Laurels,

Brickfields Terrace,

Holloway,

London.

Chapter One.

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 dear 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 parlor.

We have a little front garden and there is a flight of 10 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 two 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-tac 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 about putting a button on a shirt,

Mending a pillowcase,

Or practicing 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 the 3rd.

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 that there was an infernal smell of paint.

April the 4th.

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 tomorrow 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 shillings 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 the 6th.

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 hall that didn't belong to nobody.

In the evening hearing someone talking and 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 he would ever serve city clerks anymore.

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'd ever come across one for he hadn't.

He left the house slamming the door behind him which nearly broke the fan light 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 the 7th.

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.

I found Borset waiting.

He had been three times during the day to apologize 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 the 8th.

Sunday.

After church the curate came back with us.

I sent Carrie in to open the 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 off his trousers.

Most annoying as Carrie could not well offer to repair them on a Sunday.

After dinner went to sleep,

Took a walk around 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.

To be continued.

Reviews

I like this simple, unpretentious story so far. Thanks Mandy🙏🏻

Interesting and well suited to making one sleepy 😅

Great stuff. I will definitely continue with this saga, the next couple days.

Loveky reading voice and enjoyed the story thank you 🌺

Quietly and subtly amusing little story of everyday life. Great voice, Hope the continuation will be in much longer episodes.