‘I fail to see’, writes suburban bank clerk Charles Pooter ‘- because I do not happen to be a «Somebody» — why my diary should not be interesting.’This comic masterpiece of 1892 records the life of an ordinary man, the putative Samuel Pepys of his day, who rather pompously paints a picture of himself that is both unwittingly hilarious and also most endearing. The accident-prone Pooter lives in a house called ‘The Laurels’ in the London suburb of Holloway and this diary is a catalogue of his triumphs and disasters, including run-ins with uppity tradesmen, wince-making jokes he shares with his ‘dear wife’, hapless attempts at DIY, and clashes with his louche son Lupin over his unsuitable choice of fiancee.To give him his due, Pooter always tries to make the best of everything, but his efforts to communicate in print end up as a razor-sharp satire on the Victorian age, its fashionable preoccupations and endless small snobberies. Evelyn Waugh called it ‘the funniest book in the world’.