Dear Diary

There’s an old saying that goes, ‘Keep a diary and one day it will keep you.’ So that’s what I’ve decided to do.

I live an ordinary life, but have such insightful thoughts about the world about me, that I am sure future generations will be fascinated by my observations. This will be similar to the famous ‘Diary of Samuel Johnson’ by Dr. Boswell, where he recorded such historic events as the Battle of Hastings, and the East End reign of terror by the infamous ‘Yorkshire Ripper’.

MONDAY
This is trickier than I thought. Nothing much happened today.

TUESDAY
Weather rather cold and windy.

WEDNESDAY
Counted the socks in my sock drawer. I have eighteen pairs and seven ‘odd’. Of the pairs, eleven socks have holes or are worn at the heels. In days gone by it would be a wife’s duty to repair these by ‘darning’ them. Now, of course, we live in a throwaway society. What has happened to the old values?
Suggested to my wife that she might like to take evening classes in needlework in order to darn my socks, and thus lengthen their life.

Cooked my own dinner.

THURSDAY
Walked down to the newsagent to buy a paper, and was embarrassed when I went to pay to find that I had no money at all. In my wallet was a grubby piece of paper bearing the legend, ‘I.O.U. forty squids’. The forty had been misspelled twice, then crossed out and ‘thirty’ written underneath. No name, but No. 1 Son is top suspect.

Cornered son in the afternoon, as he came down for breakfast and asked him outright if he had taken thirty pounds from my wallet. He looked me straight in the eye and promised faithfully that he had not taken thirty pounds from my wallet, so it looks like my suspicions were unfounded. Noticed he was wearing new jeans so I asked him how much they had cost. “About forty quid,” he replied.
Forty quid for a pair of jeans! Honestly, I don’t know where kids get the money from nowadays.

FRIDAY
Rather a humiliating day if truth be told. But I think I owe it to future generations to record the bad as well as the good things that happen.

It has been my custom, for some years now, to carry a pocket calculator when accompanying my wife on the ‘weekly shop’. My wife thinks it is not worth the trouble, but it has proved invaluable on at least two occasions. Once, when I was charged 52p for a packet of biscuits that were on offer (buy one, get one free), and another time when four bananas (small, fun size) went through the till as four bananas (large). Small amounts perhaps, but over the years these can mount up to a considerable sum.

The calculator that I use is now rather old and worn, and my eyesight being what it is, I have been aware for some time that a new one is needed. I was delighted therefore, to discover that my son had just purchased a very impressive looking one to aid him in his coming exams. Although all the different buttons and functions seemed on first sight to be rather confusing, I am not one of those old fogies who are intimidated by new technology, and after ten minutes practice, I was satisfied that I knew what I was doing.

The shopping went as smoothly as usual, except that the wife became a little impatient at the time I was taking with the calculator. I made no apologies, it’s important to get these things right.
It was a very pretty girl at the till, whose name tag said ‘Shirley’, and I engaged her in some innocent banter while she worked, which I am sure she enjoyed as much as I, but perhaps this was a mistake in retrospect.
It was when I compared her till result with my own calculations that the atmosphere changed. I was aghast, there was a discrepancy of nearly thirty pounds! Now I was glad that I had taken so much time ensuring that I entered the correct prices on my calculator, and I turned to say so to my wife, but she had gone. Peering about, I just caught a glance of her coat disappearing out of the door, she obviously hadn’t realized what was going on.
I showed the till girl my calculator and politely informed her that she must have made an error. She did not seem in the least perturbed, in fact I think she welcomed the respite from the tedium of the conveyor belt. Pressing a bell to call a supervisor, she turned to the queue that had built up behind me and informed them that they would have to join another line, as “this gentleman (tossing her head at me) wants my till checked”. I am sorry to say that there was quite a furore at this; some of the customers using inappropriate language and others uttering threats, some of which may have been directed at me.

The supervisor arrived, an unprepossessing youth. Although clean and tidy, he looked incredibly young to be in such a position of authority. He wore no tie, but had two badges. One proclaimed, ‘Hi! I’m Andy’, and the other bore the legend ‘Ask Me About Budgits Barmy Bargains’. Pieces of blue electrical tape adorned his face, God only knows why; a piece on each ear and one on his eyebrow. None of this inspired confidence. He ignored me but winked and spoke to Shirley,
“Hallo, Shirl, girl. You thought any more about my special offer. Two for one?”
Shirley was then possessed of a fit of the giggles, but managed to reply, “Gerrout you dirty dog, and sort this geezer out, it’s nearly my break time.”
Although a little miffed at being referred to as ‘a geezer’, I explained what had happened, and added that Shirley should not be reprimanded as I may have distracted her as she worked. Here, Shirley made a totally uncalled for remark, to wit,
“The only distraction was granddad here trying to peer down the front of my blouse.”
Forced to defend myself from such a scandalous allegation, I explained that I had only been examining her name badge, which brought forth more ribald comments from Shirley. Supervisor Andy now cautioned Shirley to, “Shut it, girl”, which may not have been eloquent, but was certainly appropriate. He examined the till receipt in some detail and then asked to see my calculator. I passed it over with no little pride, it was an impressive machine, and he spent some time perusing it. I attempted at one point to explain some of the different functions, but he waved me away.
At last he seemed satisfied and returned it to me with the comment,
“Euros”.
This was meaningless and I asked him to elucidate.
“You’ve converted to Euros. You’ve totalled it all up, then hit this button and converted it into Euros. You do know what Euros are?”
Well of course I do, but we don’t use them in this country. Why have a function on a calculator that no one needs to use? Andy grinned at Shirley,
“Lots of people have functions they never get a chance to use, don’t they Shirl?”
“Gerrout, you smutty pup.”
I paid as fast as possible and left.

Watched the television in the evening. Inspector Morse was on again. I never understood how he lost that cockney accent he had when he was in the Flying Squad, I suspect he’s a bit of a social climber. Dead now, of course, so it doesn’t matter.

And Spike Milligan. Wonderful comedian; who could forget the famous ‘Dead Gerbil’ sketch. “It’s run up the drain-pipe and joined the invisible choir.” Classic.

SATURDAY
Got an invitation to a party in the post. Fantastic. It’s from DFS Furnishing and says that I have been specially selected to join them for a free glass of champagne at a ‘Pre Sale Gathering’. I’m so excited; I can’t think where they could have got my name from. Showed it to the wife and she just sneered and called me a ‘sad loser’. She won’t be so lippy when I’m rubbing shoulders with celebrities of the calibre of Dale Winton and Eddie ‘The Eagle’ Edwards.
Only problem is, I’ve got nothing to wear. Looks like I’ll have to go in my old three-piece suite (joke!).

SUNDAY
We seem to have reached a watershed in our lives. For many years we have attended, as a family, the eight o’clock service at the church of St. Stephen the Diligent (I always think that those attending the earlier service are advertising their piety).
However this morning my daughter announced that she had become a Buddhist and henceforth she will not be attending Sunday services with us. Instead she will use that time for meditation and spiritual renewal, in her bedroom. We are not to disturb her before midday at the earliest, when she will take sustenance if brought to her on a tray.

Well, I’ve always encouraged my children to be ‘Freethinkers’, so I can hardly complain. I did question whether it was necessary for her to change her name, but she insisted that it was. It’s just that, to my mind, ‘Vampira’ doesn’t seem very holy in any religion.

And so to bed.