I didn’t expect to enjoy this book as much as I did. Charles Pooter as the narrator and the writer of the diary, is really quite mundane: He has a 9 to 5 job that he’s held on to for over 20 years, he’s got two friends who are always coming and going whose names are Cumming and Gowing, he makes an arse out of himself in social events and he’s always battling it out with the lower classes — the butchers, the tradesmen and the cab drivers, to which he’s always left defeated.
But the Diary is a funny book. Not laugh out loud funny, but the kind of awkward British humour that you find in the likes of Monty Python. Charles Pooter is drawn out by Weedon Grossmith as a tall, bearded, sombre-looking man, but in my head he looks like John Cleese.
I was so close to giving this a four-star review as I found it very readable and such a fun read, but after finishing the book, I really don’t know what I got out of it aside from the amusement. I still would recommend this to anybody who reads for the sake of reading.
