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148
The Diary of a Nobody
·
George Grossmith Weedon Grossmith
2
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.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
