Wednesday 10th March 1937

10 calls, 7 of them mine. Packman came with me into an ironmongers shop to listen to my sales talk. His presence made me feel an utter fool, so this was definitely my worst show. Had quite a hopeful talk in one shop and got the prospect (an oil and colour man) interested in filler paste. I talk best to technical men. Ironmongers know nothing about paint and want huge discounts. Not much use to us.

Today we travelled between Leigh, Thorpe Bay and Shoeburyness, “prospecting”. Came to the conclusion there was nothing much east of Southend. Driving back to Southend, Packman criticised my general personality. Manner too “upstage”? My accent may be useful but in some places it may arouse enmity. Too hesitant. Speech too quiet and toneless.

We went to the Pictures tonight.
Stayed for a Welsh rarebit afterwards. When I got back to the digs Packman was already in bed. I lit a cigarette, donned pyjamas and dressing gown and sat silent in the fire glow.