Angus Mackay Diaries Volume XIX (2004-2007)

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 186

April 19 2004 - July 28 2004.

Monday April 19 2004

No scaffold. To H’smith for haircut at the comforting barbers built into the Metropolitan tube station. Quick, cheap and well done for the close cut so much more suitable for an old man. Afterwards to the shopping ‘mall’ – absurd word – to Books Etc, nothing. This branch has coarsened further.‘Pens’ at the stationary-shop good, and on to Tesco Metro. Easy, as I know it, and Tesco’s generally, but I was struck by the greater effort it took me to haul round a basket instead of a trolley, not to mention my arm and shoulder and my left hip as I queued for five? seven? minutes. I was really surprised at how tired it made me. How long since I shopped like that? Six months?

Tuesday April 20 2004

Letter from S. Quite sad and touching. He doesn’t blink, that it’s a failure. ‘Perhaps I should stick to the classics.’ Yes, and no straight love-making, for which he has a gift in reverse. What a poor judge he is of what suits him. Because his illusions and inhibitions and fantasies take over, especially the inhibitions that he thinks he got over at the wretched drama-school. I must try and think of the right classic (sic) part for him. I don’t think he ever will.

Ling-ling here, cleaned bedroom well. Amiable, despite having found no more jobs for her.

Wednesday April 21 2004

Recovering. Oh dear, I have to recover from Ling-ling days. How pathetic. Finished the Redgrave. Much better done than J’s warnings led me to expect. I think it’s about as much as we can expect at this stage of the family. Even as it is, I was repelled by the self- indulgence and intellectual dishonesty of most parties. The seaman up the other end of the drawing with Michael, and the children with Rachel at the other end as Prim described, was true. There is a photo of the ‘family’ with Vanessa leaning on Rachel, and whatever his name was symbolically between them, in uniform, but what Prim didn’t know, - or didn’t say – was that, a little later, Rachel started a twenty-five stint as Glen Byam Shaw’s mistress. It’s the dreadful impression of shallowness that so often overcomes me when I talk to S – what I describe as ‘going from thing to thing to thing.’ A lifelong attachment compressed into a few months. No wonder Vanessa is such a nutcase. And I refuse to believe that great acting implies trivial behaviour.

Thursday April 27 2004

Finished the E. George detect. As ever, a surprising command of some English place and society, in this case, Guernsey, with very few lapses in idiom or custom. A pity that the two main ‘detectives’ are congenital idiots. America’s tribute to the English. I shan’t read another. I did admire her application, as I would any American who made cricket the authentic centre of one book, but I suppose the force of that application does rather preclude a firm and deep grasp of character as well.

On another plane altogether, I don’t think, incredibly, I have mentioned the new Alan Hollinghurst, which I bought the other week. Probably because such prose goes straight into your brain without the print in between, ‘The Line of Beauty.’ In fact, a rare happening, I think I may read it again shortly.I see one of the notices calls his prose ‘rich and elastic.’ Well deserved.

Friday April 23 2004

Cried off shopping and cancelled cab. Oh well, age. Decided to concentrate on the books on the sofa that need real attention. Finished the Douglas Jerrold. A competent very well researched book. Perhaps a little pedestrian, but serviceably written and packed with detail. And it served my purpose very well to remedy my comparative ignorance of the 1820s-50s.I can’t say it didn’t confirm my prejudice against it. Has anyone ever written a small – or large – monograph on the really fearful degringolade that overtook English humour between Austen and Dickens? I admit, against my will, that Dickens had great gifts, but how they were blunted and muddied, but the really awful literary conventions of the ‘30s and ‘40s, the leaden facetiousness, the relentless punning, the almost incredible repetition of gag after running gag. Like an episode of ITMA on very off day. If Dickens can commit Joey Bagstock to the world, imagine what his inferiors got up to. It goes on to faintly mar Trollope in his names, for instance, at least in some of the early novels. It’s so odd, that they couldn’t see those labels as a backward step, Jonson not Shakespeare.

As for poor D. Jerrold himself, he was a more or less uneducated child of actors in provinces, small, almost dwarfish, with an underdog complex, not surprisingly. Now he would be the editor of a tabloid. It is a measure of the vulgarisation of the time that he could be thought of as a third to Dickens and Thackery – they were both pall-bearers at his funeral, he aged only 54 – as for his work, it is and has long been, rightly forgotten, unreadable and unread. How many plays? Heavens, only Black Eyed Susan is a name. But, - he must have had some personal qualities that transcended his literary failings and his tiresome ineffective views. Quick wit, friendship, - he was loved.

Rang Keith B to tell him the second copy of the investment forms hadn’t arrived either.I suggested he didn’t send another set, but I asked K to call in for them on the way here.

Saturday April 24 2004

The forms arrived. As I suppose the letter for the second set was photocopied – April 6th – this might have been either. As the bathset also arrived the other day, I’ve got both things to consult K about when he gets back. Let’s just hope he’s this way, if only for half-an-hour.

73º today. Ugh. I hope I die before ‘global warming’ really kicks in, as they call it now.

Sunday April 25 2004

Managed not to garden with the assistance of a good deal of sophistry. Picked off the sofa The Most Beautiful Man in Existence – a foolish title made even more foolish that it seems there are no portraits of him, but I hadn’t read more than a paragraph of the first chapter, - a synopsis of the author’s only novel from 1811 or some time, then – to see that the scholar who wrote the book has wit enough and to spare. American too, heavens.

Bed reading, a thriller masquerading as a detective-story, The Dead Sit Round in a Ring by David Lawrence – fancy. It’s determinedly downbeat, and finds the worst in everyone, to such a point that I felt like writing to him and telling him to give himself up to the police. Poor little dim chap, no biographical note and I’m not surprised.

73 fucking degrees again.

Monday April 26 2004

Mowed lawn. A triumph. A great relief, but there is much to do.

Tuesday April 23 2004

Ling-ling as usual. A good deal of rain for K to come back to.

7.40, on my third gin & t, K rang. Screeched with excitement and pleasure. Safe back. May come round Thurs or Fri, at a studio near here, for investments and bath seat. Oh dear, I must be careful not to let him know how much better I feel when he comes back, stronger, I mean, and better able to cope.

A rainstorm.

Wednesday April 28 2004

No scaffold. Rang K on machine that I’d got both of Roy’s New Tricks episodes after all. Raining and raining. Eggs Florentine lunch. Watched Roy’s Thursday epi. and loved it. Funny and full of character. And the acting, - J. Bolam and A Redman coming down from a tower-block where they’d talked to a poor old man, coughing his way through emphysema. She: and he hasn’t got anyone has he? He: No. And into that two or three things, delicately. He’s worth the money for that ‘No’ alone. Rang Roy, and I hope made it clear how much and why I admired his two episodes. Delighted to find that one of them had the highest single rating for BBC1 this year, and they’ve commissioned a second series! But idiots as they are, he isn’t writing all those either! Marian spoke first, and apologised for not reading the Trollope. ‘You stupid bitch, I’ve only waited 32 years, so…’

J a bit under the weather again, a bit sick etc, going home early, probably not going to work tomorrow. I don’t like a lot of real symptoms, unlike H and Geoffrey’s permanent hypochondria, while going on attending other people’s funerals regardless.

Thursday April 29 2004

Very poor night, and last night was not good. Woke at one and didn’t sleep again. Dreaded K coming round enough to ring him and say so. Really struck by him catching from my voice that I was low at once. ‘Are you alright?’ It’s those musician’s ears. Rang back on machine to say 3-4 tomorrow.

Good.

Rain. Rain.

Friday April 30 2004

He arrived 3.15.

Two good hours. Gave him the two videos with Roy’s New Tricks on. Said I was sorry there were no sleeves, but I couldn’t find the carrier bag with a lot of spare sleeves… He threw it away last session. What a one he is for throwing things away. Perhaps just as well as my heir. Went through investment forms rather perfunctorily, which cheered me. We talked about Chelsea, - felt after that he still hadn’t quite got the scale of Chelsea. He compared it to the football-crowds round Arsenal, forgetting two major differences, - first, that the crowds are not such well-heeled or provincial crowds, and that there are no really major rush-hour roads round Highbury, like the King’s Road and the Embankment, and second, that he’s never been part of the crowd wanting to get home. Rang a couple of people, one confusingly called Roy. ‘Might they ring back after you’ve gone, as you said you’d be here an hour?’ ‘No.’

Ireland. He Loved it. A castle in Galway. A lot of waiters, a girl he’d worked with before. I wonder. Told him some v. old Irish jokes, telling him they were old. He shrieked.

Went shopping this a.m. Bought E. Standard for the first time for – how long? S’s play off tomorrow. We had a little post m. Relieved not to have to see it.

Saturday May 1 2004

Ordered two cases of wine, and a letter-cage that K thought from the illustration and the measurement would do.

Programme about Russia, where one of the ‘authorities’, an idiot called Orlando Figes, announced the millions of casualties in Stalingrad and the murders by Stalin himself, with a wonderfully trivializing smile. Where do they find these fools?

Sunday May 2 2004

Loud ring at 7.10, g&t time. Looked cautiously out of front window. Black evangelists… They stayed outside the door for three or four? minutes, talking a little, and eventually left. How interesting and irritating, that the ‘No evangelists’ on the brass-plate was either unread or meant nothing. Either way, how stupid.

Otherwise a lovely quiet rainy day.

Monday May 3 2004

I see curious working-class standards still prevail. A million and a half have gone on ‘holiday’ – three or four days, good heavens.

Rain, rain and rain. Lovely, so what price holidays in England? Rang John N to cancel Wed. to be sure of not being too crowded. M.L. may want a shop. Dear talk.

Tuesday May 4 2004

Rain heavy all day. So good for this garden, rather lighter soil than others, and facing due south.

Ling-ling asked about Watsons and mimed pregnancy. Oh dear. She still wants another job. What can I do? Gave her the old TV and will put her in a taxi next week to take it home.

Much amused that M.L. said ‘You’re not going to tell me that story about Bob and Viv again?’ When I think of the number of times she’s told me the same stories about Quiet Weekend and how hesitant I become trying to think of anodyne things to say to her… poor girl, a life spent putting people off.

Yes, I appreciate the rain, but I really would have gardened these days as I’m sleeping better.

Wednesday May 5 2004

Quiet day. Rang K about Chelsea and a possible mobile. On machine happily, so no interruption. A few hours later a call signalled, no message and ‘caller withheld number’, so what is K? So rang him and interrupted him anyway. Bother.

S’s play off this Saturday. Poor chap, a week of lifting heavy weights with no audience. I would sue the Standard for saying it was last Sat. Darling K rang back, is buying himself a new mobile and me. Terrific. Very funny about my senility, wanting to talk about arrangements for Chelsea, said he and A. decided it all with me when they were here. By my standards, they made two or three fairly casual remarks… We got it settled, I think, now.

Thursday May 6 2004

Message on machine from M.L., most unusual. Going into Denville next week? Consti.worse, an immediate op? No. Will I do a shop this week because a road repair next week may make it impossible to get to her. I thought the people next door had done a shop to last till she went. But no, could I do it tomorrow? Swallowed bravely and said I could combine it with my shop, knowing that would mean my shop would have to be very sketchy. Further dear little complication, she had suddenly realised she had to defrost ‘and it might not be finished in time for your shop, so I’ll ring you tonight at eight or nine…’ I suppose her whole life has been like this. Poor thing.

Friday May 7 2004

Cab at 10.30 to Tesco, walking miles. At least I’d got her to put all the veg. together and so on, but I was there for nearly an hour, and even then I forgot the stoned prunes… I had to ask her to put the veg. together, because it’s so much easier when it’s someone else’s shopping. Her lack of imagination stopped her thinking of it herself. At her flats, put all the bags in the lift, hoping it wouldn’t break down, and then found the couple-next-door’s bicycles – two? three? – were stacked along the wall opposite her front door. Between the handle-bars of the nearest and her (open) front door, there was just room for me to turn sideways and scrape past a bit painfully, with, bit by bit, the six or seven carrier bags, and the wine-carrier. She never said sorry, because she wouldn’t have needed it, and felt it to be pointless, I expect. Not so. Quite finished, I left giving her the bag of books, and collapsing in the cab.£25. Her shop, about £80. Rather sore from all that moving about.Cold halibut for dinner, -more delicious than it sounds, - after two hours snooze in p.m. Poor little creature, no wonder D told me to do what I could for it. It’s a comfort to me that I can do more for her more easily. Dear money… All the same, I shall be relieved when she’s safe in Denville. Tho’ I’m afraid she may not be happy.

Saturday May 8 2004

How ironic that most of the world’s oil is in the Middle East. No wonder the Yanks are in such a pet. Isn’t it extraordinary that all their resources can’t invent a new sort of energy that can ruin the world all over again?

Reviews of a Rupert Hart-Davis biog. It’s by Philip Ziegler, so may be alright, and will interest me much anyway. Then there’s the John Schlesinger. Stephen Spender I shan’t get – he’s too irritating and second rate. I remember Henry Reed telling me that he’d tried to explain prosody to S.S., ‘But unfortunately he has no ear.’

Sunday May 9 2004

H rang as usual, her hypochondria much in evidence. ‘I won’t come to London again just as I was… etc’ Thought she may get to B’ham with Tom for some occasion, ‘I’d like a last look at B’ham, and Tom as well…’ etc. She did mention her knee, was it? I forget, and certainly didn’t register anything approaching a death sentence. Oh the self-absorption of people, and the love and hugging to themselves of illness, even if only imaginary. Was it her knee? The dear, now I shall have to find out by degrees… and it brims over to you. How they love to try and make you one of the club. When she said to me once – and only over the ‘phone – ‘I don’t like the sound of that cough’, I’m afraid I couldn’t resist, in my mildest tone. ‘No, I’ve been rather worried about it for the last forty five years.’

Finished Lacasier. Really pretty acceptably written for an American, perhaps a bit too long for its material.

Monday May 10 2004

Felt like going out, as I had invest. letters to post, and thought I’d get myself to W’stones to buy the four books I’d fancied from the reviews. Irritatingly, but as usual, when I rang to check, none of them were in yet. Really, publishers are such idiots to allow reviews before you can buy the book, so many casual readers will forget by the time the book is available. So there you are, I didn’t go.

Such loud noises upstairs, as I thought, but turned out to be scaffolding being put up at the front. Oh what a relief. I’ve been lying awake worrying. Why didn’t that pleasant young man tell me? I’ve delayed planting and mowing. Oh dear. Never mind, it’s such a relief to have it settled. I hope.

Tuesday May 11 2004

Ling-ling day and the TV set. Told about the cab ordered, and she eventually made clear that Feely’s husband was driving her and the TV home. I wonder how she’d have got the TV to Feely’s. Relieved that the cab was only £5 and not £25. Despite having to take my nap in the sitting room, she had to wake me up!

Another B’mouth gas-bill forwarded from Lloyd and Ass. Happily, due to L&A incompetence, it was an earlier bill than the final bill from B’mouth, - I hope a final evidence of B’mouth gas incompetence. I really think all B’mouth might be over.

After my rest amazed to find out front, six biggish cardboard boxes with the plants from that chic(sic) little firm. Rather lavish packing, more suitable from a florist.

Wednesday May 12 2004

Started on garden tho’ in a pretty minor way. If only I can keep going, it’s not all that far from being planted up enough to be ‘self weeding’ in a couple of years.

Continuing my clearance of this sofa. I went through Germaine Greer’s The Boy which I bought to go with my school prize, ‘The Boy Thro’ the Ages’ in the loo. By a woman, tho’ both are, oddly. A poor superficial creature G.Greer is. What would she do without a companion to classical literature?

Thursday May 13 2004

Took the umbrella off the lemon tree. Planted the basil basin.

Left message on his machine not to come on Sunday, as he’d mentioned the hedge… the message was on Tuesday. He rang back to say ‘What was your message?’ ‘Your name is Kevin Malpass, you live at 37, Elfort Rd.’ ‘Oh, good.’

Friday May 14 2004

To Turnham Green, artichokes, a good variety, huge, perfectly round. The size of a large baby’s head. English asparagus, the thick Norfolk sort. I suppose it grows as thick elsewhere, but if it does, I’ve never seen it. A halibut steak and skate wing, two potted shrimps. More of that delicious yielding, thick-grey, brown-rind Caerphilly. Good. Slept after lunch till 5.40. No, I hadn’t eaten all that.

Had the first bunch of asparagus for lunch. Oh, the taste!

Saturday May 15 2004

Another asparagus lunch, plus a poached egg. Slept till 5.0 this time. The naps are not only greed, but the product of another cycle of poor nights, woke at two a.m. both mornings, and it’s getting hot.

Almost no garden. Oh dear.

Rang M.L. Sometimes you throw out a remark, and it makes it all the more annoying that it’s a remark to be kind or soothing or just anodyne – and it’s greeted by silence. Silence that you have to break. She’s being ‘honest’ you see. Oh, goodness, how many poor utterly unintellectual actors she must have irritated in the dressing-room?

Sunday May 16 2004

Huge celebration for something to do with Arsenal. Crowds in streets. Oh, how I feel for all those poor little people to whom this is a great occasion. There’ll be more ‘backlashes’, I fear.

Part of the ceiling came down during last night’s show at the Haymarket. First reports exaggerated as usual. Thirteen people injured, a chandelier mentioned, star of the show leapt down to help etc. Turned out it was only plaster round the chandelier. It seems big chandeliers have a special safety chain, and the thirteen got a bang or two and a shock. Still it’s worrying as giving ammunition to the undoubted lobby of these who utter about outdated buildings etc.

H rang for only a minute, sounding quenched. Another nose-bleed, to Minehead for treatment, going to be cauterized tomorrow. ‘Don’t make me laugh in case it starts again.’ Now I know this isn’t her imagination. All the same it is fascinating the complaints that people who are interested in illness can summon up. Articles about ME, dyslexia, autism etc. pour out. I’m not going to say that they are all imaginary in every case, nevertheless, they are complaints where arrant selfishness and complete self-absorption ensure a great deal of attention.

Monday May 17 2004

Covent Gdn. day. Rested all day and felt all right by five. Car driven by craggy fifty-year old Scot., Ian, bouncing graciously along – tho’ he went over the flyover – with an occasional person peeing in the streets – I thought how poor I was such a short time ago. At last picked J up at her office, so much better use of the car, and fumbled our way into the lifts. It really is quite confusing still. Our table was further round in the part built across the F. Hall and the floor was glass.

There’s no doubt you put your foot down nervously, even tho’ it’s opaque. First course smoked salmon, the usual, J said her Tereaki beef was delicious. She, saffron risotto, me, black bream on delicious mash and shrimps on the top. She, a cappuccino cream in a coffee cup, and me cheese.I describe the meal all at once, but of course, each course was served in a different interval, seats on the left edge, D13 and 14, of the centre block of the Grand Tier. Ideal, my legs on the aisle, and only a few steps from the restaurant.

First ballet, Daphnis and Chloe – Ashton. 1951, and much of its period, pirate chiefs, nymphs. (The ballet synopses of my youth always seemed to have a paragraph finishing ‘The nymphs are amazed, and run away.’) Nevertheless – this is full of Ashton’s invention and charm, and the perf. had a few good moments, and a furious trampling on the spot, with closed clenched fist arms, by Dorkon, - Thiago Soares, for instance. The Daphnis looked to be in his thirties and staid, tho’ the programme says he’s young. As for the sets and clothes, they’re all authentic from the original – indeed John Craxton oversaw it, in his seventies. I suppose very fifties, a most interesting survival of a period piece. Shades of everyone, those greyish greens and greenish grays, the fungi. Hodgkin and the clothes – all the men in white flannels, like a ‘30s light comedy – but look at M. Somes in the original, and the girls in those carefully variegated dullish shades of full skirted tight-bodices nothing material, for all the world as if they were in Carousel or Oklahoma. Admirable from one point of view, but not what FA would have done if he’d been alive. Then Spectre de la Rose. Too light, Carlos Acosta has a jump and a lip service to equivocation and was cheered loudly by rather too prescribed a section of the audience. No mystery, no romance. ‘Après Midi d’un Faune’, which I’d never seen, and may not have seen now, as I am by no means sure of its authenticity in a climate of such interest. How little dancing there is in it, and Martin Harvey was ill, and his substitute had no face. Finally Les Noces. The savage chorus were almost audible as the curtains closed, saying ‘Well, dear, that’s over for another perf., thank goodness.’

Monica Mason was sitting near, and is no doubt admirable in many ways, perhaps a sensible choice as a stopgap to repair the ravages of Ross Stretton. But the hand of the assistant, the understudy, is apparent. Oh for the person to emerge.

A good evening all the same, of calm appraisal.

Tuesday May 18 2004

A programme about Women in Art from Nat. Gallery, ghastly narrator, ridiculous inflections, some idiot curator no doubt, Richard Stemp.

Tip on TV for clearing sink-drain, bicarb and white wine vinegar. Tried it and it worked. How unlike life.

Medical services on transplants. Quite unknowing, someone said, ‘In this episode things come to a head.’

Found the spring to close the front gate, which had been put on about eighteen months ago, had been sliced off at the bolts by one of the workmen. They can’t even bother to prop it open.

Wednesday May 19 2004

There seems to be a workman doing things upstairs with narrow brass pipes etc. What more can they have? So perhaps he disabled the spring. Either way I can’t make anyone put it right.

77º, what hell. Why do people keep saying ‘light and bright’ about everything?

‘Fathers’ rights’ people threw purple flour at Blair in the Commons.

Thursday May 20 2004

Mowed lawn. It took me some time as I had to sit down twice because of this fucking boiling sun. Eventually I will get some shade in this garden.

Rang H to ask how she was. Still sounding quenched. Going to have her nose cauterized tomorrow, she hopes. Much amused by me telling her that ML thinks her knowing Jeanne Stuart got her into Denville. Quiet W. again!

Friday May 21 2004

Scaffolding gone. What a relief. I was dreading it.

Shopping. To Notting Hill W’stone’s and picking up the new Isherwood biog. Huge, nearly 1000 pgs., ridiculous, and Mr. Norris and G.Berlin in a double volume. More asparagus for lunch, a real treat, with a poached egg. Got the smoked salmon for next Friday. Managed to weed pyrac. corner for half an hour.

Saturday May 22 2004

Weeded for an hour. The new bath seat makes a bath possible, but a fairly limited pleasure. Still, I’m clean round what Sybil Thorndike called ‘all that underneath part.’ Rang K re Mrs C’s lunch. A bit cross as so often when working, despite saying Go on… Turns out she can eat eggs.

Sunday May 23 2004

Weeded for another hour. Good. Pyra. corner looking comparatively meant. Newer Hydrangea Veitchii coming on well, about two feet wide by high. In a year or two, it’ll have made another five feet circle weed-free. How easily you can forget the distance between plants when they’re grown. A plant of Solomon’s Seal three or four feet nearer the wall than I thought I planted.

Monday May 24 2004

Suddenly ordered the four-by-post. Things that have been hanging fire. A testing week certainly concentrates your energy. Braces (for garden trousers), a small non-stick pan for egg poaching, a garden parasol and stand, as I realized I never sit out because there’s no shade, and I have never been able to sit in the sun, and even less now. And two ‘reachers’ – ‘Lazy Susans’ they used to be called. It nearly winds me to pick anything up from the lowish book room sofa, oddly.

Rang K re mobile. Thoughtful, might manage it, but ‘We all have one.’ So… Told him not to say the ballet was crap, if Arlete’s ma has never seen ballet, ‘which she hasn’t.’ Then he told me he wasn’t going. ‘I haven’t been able to do that sort of thing, something big, since Nigel’s death…’

I was upset. I had no idea he was caught in that. I wish he’d told me, or tried to, before. I must have made some crude mistakes in talking to him. Poor boy. I must try to help him if possible. Poor boy. I’d have gone with them, if only I’d known. How insensitive.

Later. Forget to say he cancelled Friday lunch, he’s working. Rang Tim re Ling-ling, good talk.

Tuesday may 25 2004

Ling-ling thrilled. Thrilled to ring Tim. Cleared garden just enough for tomorrow. Oddbins order with two ½ bots of Perrier Jouet.

Wednesday May 26 2004

Chelsea day. Quiet tired, tho’ only stayed an hour. They’ve gone and I’ll have to write tomorrow.

Thursday May 27 2004

A lovely day. The car was there by 10.30. ‘Chris’ a bit more talkative, but a solid fifty year old. A. rang from the flyover at 10.32, lovely. Out they came, A’s mother in a smart trouser suit, pale grey flannel, A? I’d asked on ‘phone if champagne would be good, - murmurs and A. said K. said it would be very good. Good. I took them round the garden. K was surprised as everything had burst out even since ten days ago. The new Graham Thomas rose is fifteen feet high, with forty or fifty huge flowers. Gloire de Dijon, four or five other roses, the pyrcantha, and the Folicite perp. with just enough flowers to show how lovely it is. Oh, and the iris and jasmine. I took S. Camuclo across, pinching the southernwood, and mint and rue and choisya on the way. A success. Opened the champagne, having fished the old-fashioned shallow cham. glasses out of the back of the cupboard. Even A’s mum had a thimbleful, - K finished it. ‘Is there any more?’ Then I found him down in the book-room, with the light on, saying ‘She must see the book-room.’ Suddenly I saw that he was proud of me, and the flat. I have always noticed that he shows off our relationship with other people there, in the most delicate way. My most precious moment was when he brushed my jacket after we came out of the garden, with his hand, casually, to keep me tidy. Didn’t say anything, him or me. One day I really will take it for granted.

We piled into the ‘nice-car!’ K drove thro’ Earl’s Court, Kensington, S. Comucho asked for some red-bricks and got it, A. apparently told her ‘This is a very smart part’, tho’ we were in Harrington Gardens at the time… Entrance on the Embankment, handbags searched by bossy underlings. Amused that I was passed straight thro’ with a polite word. Hasn’t anyone disguised as an old English gent been a traitor? After all, actors… Main marquee vast, no sensation of canvas, apparently made of thin rigid plastic. Vast because you couldn’t recognise someone the other end of it. Marginally interested in one or two things – a beautiful exhibit of Columbine in beautiful colours. Unlike a great spread of presumably held back daffodils, most of them as unlike daffs as possible within the confines of daffodil colours. It’s no use pretending, the whole time in the ‘Pavilion’ (sic) was more or less hell. It was stifling, humid – my hands went soggy for almost the first time since I moved here. It was hideously full, and we were in a moving queue most of the time, when we weren’t stationery. I knew it would be like that, but I also found myself - darting is not perhaps the word for me nowadays – between A. and her Ma, who were slowly looking at more or less everything, and K who was, rather impatiently striding ahead. I seemed to be alone in the horror that we might become separated… After about an hour and a half. I was really stiff and tired and said I’d go. K had looked after me beautifully, and now led me towards the entrance we’d arrived at, I had no idea where it was. As we came out onto the wide asphalt path, someone with a loud hailer called to us to keep to the side of the road. And a little later, along came a double file of about a dozen Chelsea Pensioners, seeming unnoticing the huge crowds on either side. I wonder how many in the crowd knew that the CP’s process every day at this time, Chelsea Show or no Chelsea Show. Good for the RHS.

So we went to the entrance/exit. He spoke to the rather awful ‘dressed in a little brief’ and said he wanted to see his father into his car. What an ill assorted pair we, and a thousand other sons and fathers nowadays make. The car was there – oh, the joy of a mobile phone on these occasions – a hug and I was off, to a quiet lunch. They didn’t come back till four-thirty. S. Camacho said Obligato a lot, and K looked a bit hunted… Off they went, ‘give me a number in the New Forest.’ Biggest crowd at Chelsea round exhib. being talked about by TV ‘stars’ on TV.

Friday May 28 2004

Name in obit. column ‘Tipples, Isherwood’. Very well done. What a creep.

To Tesco. Rather empty, they’re all away already, and it’s half term again. Oh the plebs.

Saturday May 29 2004

K rang with A’s mobile ‘phone number on their way. I do hope it doesn’t make him irritable down there.

Sunday May 30 2004

H rang as usual, and had to tell me at once that two copies of the Spectator had been delivered, one of them addressed to the Dowager Marchioness of Lansdown. What a pity she’s not a snob, or she could redeliver it in person. Her nose is better.

On the Antique Roadshow an Arabian cloak clip turned up with an inscription in Arabic which read ‘Bernard Shaw.’ Someone said ‘Could have something to do with TE Lawrence?’ Well, good gracious, who else?

Planted seeds into big pots, coriander and artichokes, - no, not cori, broad beans. Watered the boxes of plants. Oh dear.

Monday May 31 2004 Tuesday June 1 2004

Bank Holiday. The usual write off. Monday alright. Dreamt D said after seeing someone off at the front door, and going half way up the stairs at M. Rd. ‘After sixteen years of marriage, I’m leaving you.’ Worked out that sixteen years meant 1974, a year of great success and unclouded happiness. So much for Freud.

H’s new detec. story arrived.

Tackled Ling-ling after Tim said she was living in Shepherd’s Bush. Said she was still. Perhaps he got it wrong. Shall do no more about it. All smiles.

Finished the Isherwood. As well done as it could possibly be, though far too comprehensive for the importance of the subject, - or lack of it. An unpleasant man, shallow, empty. Peter Parker tried to make a plea for the later writing. Useless, took down Mr. Norris, and let its ear and economy make proper use of his shallowness. No wonder he went to the States after the two books. He knew he’d shot his bolt, but was too superficial even to admit it to himself, and hoped none in the States would notice. Well, he was partly right.

Planted courgette seeds in the cleared bit of the pyra bed. They’ll keep the weeds down till the shrubs grow over. Younger hydrangea already flowering.

Wednesday June 2 2004

Overcast, thank goodness.

Read H’s book and rang to say it was right up to standard. Mild, witty, passes an idle moment respectably. Which is just what she means to bring off. It was her fifty-third wedding anniversary.

Went on with Roy Fuller’s Stares. Wonderful quiet perceptive humour. Makes poor H look an amateur, I’m afraid.

Thursday June 3 2004

Felicite et perpetue coming into delicious flower.

Did nothing except read.

Friday June 4 2004

Was going shopping but cancelled the cab at half-past eight as I felt so tired. Outraged that I didn’t drop off during my rest. Started a read through of H’s Oeuvre. Just the thing for a tired brain.

Saturday June 5 2004

Managed to shop today. To Ken High St first for the Hart-Davi biography. I must stop writing ‘biog’ out of laziness – it always jars later. Bought a short extension lead for the bedroom, as I can no longer plug or unplug the fan inside the bookshelves on the skirting-board without a prolonged kneeling struggle both up and down. At the chemist’s, fancifully called the Pestle and Mortor, considering that most of the assistants have little English and all look Indian. When did I last speak to an English man or woman in a chemist’s? Nobody had heard of Pinaud, tho’ I only bought three bots. three years ago. A back-bath brush to replace the perfectly good one K threw away.

When I got back the man next door was cutting his hedge and murmured a good morning. Tall, grey haired with a child, looked like a gent. and unlike the husband of the girl I picked up the wine from. Hm…

On the way I’d picked up a folder from J’s. Comically, she was there. When I looked through it, there were D’s two letters, a newspaper supplement about Hay on Wye Festival, a wine offer she could get from Berry’s and an air conditioner leaflet from Ryness. What a friend.

Sunday June 6 2004

Finished Hart-Davis. A little sketchy, showing P. Ziegler’s rather diminished powers but much better than the usual modern hatchet job. My tastes certainly chime with H.D, humbly from a distance. Am amused that there is a passing reference to a blindness to Austen, gives a gloss to his praise of our programme. Well, he sat thro’ it and came round. Was it just duty? Perhaps.

H rang as usual. She has some domestic help signalled. A Man. All the elements of a really boring plot.

Monday June 7 2004

Leaflet from Ryness. Ordered the air-conditioner, £349.99. Expect K will be cross, but I would have gone to see about it if he could have come with me, in February, when it would have been a hundred pounds cheaper. Oh dear.

Tuesday June 8 2004

Ling-ling told me she is saving for her husband to come here – to see her? To stay and work? – not clear. And she has two kids. I think I ought to give her a little something towards it.

Hideously hot, 86º, miserably uncomfortable. The base of the garden umbrella was delivered, reassuringly heavy. Quiet a big chap. I said how hot, it was, and he burst out with a monologue he must have taken from my mouth. ‘Isn’t it hell? What I like is weather not hot, not cold, what you don’t notice.’ The second encounter ended in a tempest of agreement and yea-saying.

Wednesday June 9 2004

The air-conditioner arrived in time. Amazing. Hope it’s not as big as its box. Long talk to H.H. in stitches about M.L.

Thursday June 10 2004

To Mary L for what I suppose will be my last visit to her flat. She had collected a dozen or so carrier bags of books and I took them away. I’d done a last? shop at Tesco on the way. ‘Is this all?’ ‘All in your list.’ Three trips in the lift, - perhaps fifteen bags. Pretty tired, but after my rest I had great interest and pleasure in going through them. But, as I unpacked and sorted, I was also a little shocked. Her bible, her Shakespeare, (unless she’s kept another), her collected Chekhov, Henry Jones, the 1962. Thesaurus twice the size of my wartime one. A pile of detective-stories with little coherence, one or two pre-war. Another pile of French’s, most Agatha Christie, some marked, a sad little procession through a nothing career. Most battered or ex-Boots or circulating library copies. Oh, and another bible, given to Ernest Hardy in 1905. E Hardy was the dentist who took out all D’s remaining teeth after she could afford a proper dentist. Later he became ML’s lover, good heavens.

Friday June 11 2004

K had rung to say the weekend. I fixed Sunday.

Saturday June 12 2004

To Chiswick. 2 Red Mullet, three halibut steaks, potted shrimps, peas and broad beans. Two of those huge round artichokes. (Wonder what the ones in the garden will be like, if there are any.) Lovely chunk of Caerphilly and Double Glo. with that greyish thick rind that makes such rubbish of the supermarkets. Meant to keep going for tomorrow, but felt ropy and just sat and read. Neither mowed or bathed. I suppose things get more, not less, negative.

Sunday June 13 2004

Another perfect day. I am so thankful. They actually seem to like coming and working here all day. She is always a surprise, so willing is she. I know he loves to be in the garden, and putting thing to rights, and it’s a release from his work.

They arrived at three-ish. She began mowing the lawn at once, and he unpacked the air- conditioner. As usual with something he hasn’t ordered himself, he was a bit dismissible at first, but came round in the end, finally saying, at that price, I could have one in every room! After he realized the exhaust pipe would have to go through one of the French doors, - ‘I should have brought my tools’ – he drove back home for them. Meanwhile A. had finished the lawn and was trimming and tidying up all the edges, such a help, even round the pond. By about four, he was not only back but had the a-c installed and working. Then they started on the hedge, that took them till six-ish. Cut it back a bit too far, but people do love doing that, and beggars can’t be choosers. Mended the gate spring, put up the bulb in the book- room, and, as the evening was gently shading towards the gin and tonics, he suddenly saw the post cage for the back of the door and put that up at the last minute. Apparently, chatted to boy upstairs, didn’t tell much. Oh, people again. Oh, and he took the very heavy cast iron base of the ‘garden parasol’ out onto the baseball platform, and started unwrapping it gingerly, in case it should whirl him away like a flying saucer. How difficult it is to describe helpless gales of laughter over a not very good joke with yr. nearest and dearest, but certainly the gales whirled us away better than any flying saucer.

I had told him of Sian’s letter, and left it on the table in the sitting-room.

Later he picked it up, and murmuring something took it into the garden to read. He has never paraded emotion – he doesn’t come from the North for nothing – but in this case, how I understand. Everything to do with Nigel is his. And along with the expected grief, there is his feeling of responsibility – he should have been able to keep N. safe. He came back, dry- eyed. While he was out, A. and I talked of him, ‘He’s a very strong character.’ Well, yes, but not too strong. I hope. I found an old shoebox lined with red material, with a load of D’s old theatre tat jewellery, from the ‘50s. (I noticed him trying on slave bangles…) amused that the only things they rejected were the only objects which weren’t cheapish costume stuff – a two foot necklace of carved wooden beads, a bit bigger than yr. thumb-nail, and another of red and clear marbles of the same size. These last I’ve seen about on models lately, tho’ not in those colours. He’s fancied that tatty old mirror in the Oxford frame, that hung over the sink at the cottage for years, so he took that. One way and another they didn’t go off empty handed. I am so thankful, and console myself with the thought that the work he does here will be all his one day – any day now if the obituary columns are to be believed.

Oh that boy is a card – saw the work bench from upstairs in the hall. Clearing all his stuff back in the car ‘Oh, is that mine?’

Monday June 14 2004

Recovering! Still v. hot. Did I say that yesterday I could only spend a few minutes in the very hot sun? I can so easily now feel dizzy. A, certainly showed her Mediterranean ancestry by working in the sun for at least a couple of hours without a hat. It was 87º or so. I’d started the John Lehmann biog form Mary L and finished it. What a cold unprincipled shit he was! Book a bit slack and chatty. Started the Holly Roth ‘Operation Doctor’, which I’d never seen or read. She has some distinction.

Watering the garden after K’s adjusting of the sprinkler was a bit of a hazard. I thought there’d been a low water pressure. Now if you turn the outside tap an inch, the water goes over the fence, a great thrill, tho’ a fingertip control on the tap had me walking back and forwards to it. But a great improvement.

Tuesday June 15 2004

Ling-ling looking a bit blurred. No doubt working non-stop. Stifling.

Wednesday June 16 2004

Claire Tomalin biog. about Dicken’s lover, Ellen Ternan, is my next from the ML bequest. Excellently done and so fascinating, as anything about Dickens can be to me. Another bad night, so finished it from two thirty to seven.

Thursday June 17 2004

Still much too hot, but the air-conditioner helps a lot. With its exhaust pipe extended to its full extent – bother – it has an effect in the book-room as well as the dining room and kitchen, gets the temperature down to 19º, sometimes 18º, from 30º.

Next ML, a nasty book-club edition of the Ian Flemming’s biog. by John Pearson. Workmanlike, but no more, and with many longueurs became of Ian Fleming’s unattractive personality and habits. I think part of the problem was his too undiluted ‘masculinity’ – self- absorption, prejudice, dreary male chauvinism. Like all Mary’s books, it’s dog-eared.

Friday June 18 2004

To Tesco. J, having cried off Wed. had suggested lunch in Ken H. St, but I cried off, though not in revenge. No Rain.

Saturday June 19 2004

Went on with the new biography of Nigel Hawthorne that J lent me. By a young, - only 23 – Australian academic. It’s very thorough, and, as far as I can tell, accurate. For instance, there is a completely comprehensive list of every part he played. amateur and professional, company, director, theatre, everything, from the beginning to the end. I can’t off hand recall quite such detailed treatment of a career. The book has every scholarly advantage, except experience. I’m afraid the words ‘great’ and ‘genius’ are banded about, when she hasn’t really seen a great actor or a genius. For instance, Alistair Sim was N.H’s first great idol. What does that tell you? Now and again when telling of N’s greatness, she finds resemblances in his acting to A. Sim and R. Richardson, another of his idols. I suppose she has no idea that a great actor cannot be compared to anyone else for it is part of his greatness that he is like nobody else. It is also revealing that it is those two who were N’s idols – both character actors. A. Sim was too canny to attempt any heroic classical part – Ralph always failed when he did. N didn’t like John’s acting. How could he? I have to confess a personal prejudice. I met N.H. once or twice? More? and found him insecure and patronising, ‘Hello Angus, how are you?’ on a downward inflection, shot through with humorous deprecation. Reminded me of Peter Barkworth, and I can’t say worse than that. Cooler, thank God? No, goodness.

Sunday June 20 2004

Woke at 3.30. Read and then ran through those wretched soap operas for H to pass the time. Thank goodness for K’s earphones from years ago – this till 6.0. Papers in bed, dozed off and woke at 12.0! I’d put H off, thankfully slept again p.m.

John N rang to put off Wednesday. Going to Turkey. Hostage? Blown up? Buried in earthquake? Very sweet. Wonderful to feel it doesn’t matter, he’ll be there one day – July 7 actually.

Monday June 21 2004

Rang M.L. to see what if anything was happening. Plunged in despair, and disgust, as they have told her that after two months at Denville, they can ask her to leave. Goodness knows what was actually said. I presume it is a routine trial period, during which both sides wonder whether they can stand one another’s routine, because people’s disruptive personalities can be suppressed for a few weeks, vide Fay V. setting her bedroom on fire. As usual, M.L. dumps her depression on you undiluted, as I suppose she has done all her life, with dire results. I’m sure her adored father was a completely uncompromising trade unionist.

Going on with her books. I’ve found a pile of curiously old and ill-assorted detective-stories. A Nicholas Blake, ‘A Tangled Web.’ Not really a detective story, ominously based on a real- life story. But still, it’s well written as always, and passed the time. A sharp and individual American novel, from a time when American thrillers were still literate, The Horizontal Man by Helen Eustis, 1947, and there’s a photograph, tall handsome, 31, cultivated looked, - still alive? I remember the title over the years, but don’t remember any other titles. One of Nicholas Freckling’s Amsterdam novels, Detective Van Der Valk. Didn’t they make a television series? We never read them at the time. I shall try this, as it may seem better now standards have slipped. Keating, with those ridiculous initials, H.R.T. or H.M.S. or something, shan’t even try that. Oh, I shall be glad when M.L. gets to Denville.

Tuesday June 22 2004

Wakes at 1.0 a.m, and couldn’t get to sleep again. Another book in ML’s bags turned out to have Angus Mackay, 1983 on the fly-leaf. Hm. A.N. Wilson’s Oswald Fish, spent the night reading it. I was interested to find that I had no recollection whatever of characters or story. And I can see why, and I can see why A.N. W. had stopped writing novels. He is so intelligent and witty and inventive, that he can distract attention from the fact that he cannot create living people in a believable world, that he is not a novelist, despite his gifts. I finished it, but… didn’t dare to doze off over the papers, in case I overslept for Ling-ling, and it would be bedroom day so that I had to bed down on the cramped book-room sofa. Asked her what the fare from the Philippines was and she said £600. Which gave me a shock. She still needs £100 odd. Shall give her fifty pounds next week. Asked her to post the three padded envelopes with the P.D. James for M.L.

Wednesday June 23 2004

Read the Nicolas Freeling. Found it rather good, and rather ashamed of my prejudice against Amsterdam. I must find the others.

Five services spokesman, Name, Matt Wrack. I mistook it at first for some fire fighting piece of equipment.

Rang M.L. as usual, for optimism purposes. ‘How’re things?’ ‘Absolutely ghastly. Cmplications everywhere. I don’t want to talk about it.’ This delivered in a tone suggesting that I had been attempting to get her to talk about it for some minutes, and anyway it was all my fault in the first place. Poor bitch. Woke at 1.30 a.m. by the way.

Thursday June 24 2004

Read R. Hill’s Arms and the Woman, a longish book, to pass the time.

Rang Mary L to wish her good luck for tomorrow, and to tell her I’d sent the three P.D. James. ‘Thank you’ in sepulchral tones. Well, at least she’s still going to Denville, which I was afraid she mightn’t be, and didn’t like to ask, or dare…

Friday June 25 2004 Saturday June 26 2004

One way and another, a most interesting evening last night. Tim picked me up about six- fifteen or a little earlier. How casually he dresses now, a jersey thinning with age and sandals; we set out for the flyover. At some point I scarcely noticed, we turned off it, and were in those curious straight up and down Camdenish streets, with traffic jams at every traffic-light and then, equally suddenly, we were in Hampstead. I never understand drivers. It’s right off to the left for me as a route to Alexandra Park. All the same I was really pleased to go past all the sights, the Everyman, the tube, ‘That’s the church where we were married’, the way the streets curve round the hills, Muswell Hill, Queenswood, then we were going down Cranley Gardens and Nielsen, - not that that’s an old memory, - ‘this is the last traffic jam.’ But it wasn’t. At last we turned into a heavily wooded road with large Victorian houses – ‘That’s where Alison Steadman lives, they’re great friends.’ – (I suddenly remembered she went off with Michael Elwyn, who didn’t seem her type at all, wasn’t he at that ghastly last dinner party I had at David and Fiona G?) So we rolled up to the three-story imposing semi-detached 1880 ish town-house. Immaculate geometric garden – no wonder he can’t find a place for my artichoke seeds – wide hall, with as perfect and beautiful titles in as well as out, pitch-pine panelling. Helen came forward, good round bump under a dull wild dress with a bit of a peplum over it, at front instead of back, otherwise unchanged, no overall weight, sweetly welcoming, against the kitchen and the garden beyond a beautiful impenetrable mass of green. It seems it backs not only onto Alexandra Park, but a wildlife site. Into the front sitting room, double doors shut but dining table glimpsed. Handsome fire- place with larger glass over mantel green titles. Glass resting on its base on the mantel. So often you see such glasses pinned to the wall, their solid base standing on nothing. Helen and I had a get together about that. Two sofas, one in a sort of tartan, neither in period and rather low and anonymous. A big coffee table in African? wood, rather ‘70s, on it a dish of olives with a little part for the stones, and a wood holder with wooden mats. A big club chair in brown leather, and a vaguely Arts and Crafts rush-bottomed chair by the double doors, a bit out of it. Not at all a feminine room. For dinner. doors opened, a long table, me at one end, H at the other, Tim in the middle. Asparagus, a little undercooked as usual now so the full taste is not released, but eatable. Main course, a fallen soufflé - dear Tim, who’d done all the cooking, was upset, but he needn’t have been. What was left was perfectly eatable, tasty, a rather scrambled omelette. Strawberries, good cheese. A good Chablis, fireplace with a brass – heavens, what do you call the bit that pushes in and out to help the draught, at the top of the fireplace?

An interesting evening mostly from the view of Helen that it gave me. Her mother is an unreliable drunk, lives with H’s godmother, who’s grandmother’s age, has already hoped the baby was – I forget which – but devise either way. The worst thing is mother is only 60. So when godm. dies?....

And I think mother has had a great negative influence, and who can wonder? I feel the house, which she bought and furnished before T met her, I think is a wish-fulfilment, order and beauty as a bulwark against drunken mess, the home that perhaps she’s never had, I don’t think anything I saw was a family thing. The cutlery was all new, sparkling and not real silver… Poor girl, she can talk about her mother, and that’s a bit of a miracle.

My only worry is the comparative grandeur of the house, it must have at least four bedrooms, the thought of painting the outside is frightful and as for the council tax…

Today, Saturday, have felt distinctly hungover with food and drink and talk, to the point of a little cloud of unreality, tiredness, of course.

J proposes Wednesday for dinner here, - book and D’s letter. I hope I’ve recovered.

Sunday June 27 2004

H rang as usual. Geoffrey, ill again, to hospital for tests but not ‘decided’ if it’s heart… Hm.

Monday June 28 2004

Slack. Attempted nothing difficult.

Tuesday June 29 2004

Gave Ling-ling £50 towards her husband’s fare. She took it with a bashful smile and off to the kitchen. Perhaps it wasn’t true? And me expecting her on her knees clutching my knees in passionate gratitude. She took the newspaper bill, six months in adv £431 odd.

Wednesday June 30 2004

Rang darling K re our date at Brack. He’s off to Ireland again, for a fortnight over my b’day, not that I care about my b’day, till the 17th. And then three days in studio here, ‘so that Thursday or Friday, because after that, I’m going to Liverpool.’ ‘Oh, family?’ ‘No, work.’ Didn’t ask whether he’d stay with Ernie! Or tell him? ‘I’ll try to ring before.’ J cried off again. Glad!

Thursday July 1 2004

Yes. J was sick and a splitting headache, and rang at twenty to six. Long after I’d taken the smoked salmon out of the freezer. And she’d suggested coming round! I suppose one day she’ll just say she hasn’t the energy to come and not invent illness. ‘I expect Vanessa and Corin Redgrave ringing up separately about – what? Was it an evening for Rachel? Both were driving her mad, so why not say so?

Interesting, I see rationing ended after the war on July 3 1954, a month almost exactly, before the first night if S. Days. A piece of luck, as there was certainly a feeling then and the next year of release from the war and the return of some sort of prosperity. I think the mild optimism and innocence of the piece sailed in on that feeling.

Read Perdita, Mary Robinson’s memoirs. Often heard of it, and never bought it. I felt it was uninteresting and I was right. Written in the all-purpose style of a hack journalist of the time with no more weight than a Georgette Heyer. It has neither interest nor importance. Part of the M.L. bequest from whom I have still heard nothing.

Started my Rest at 2.0, and woke at 7.0! Put me right out and only scrambled on toast for dinner.

Friday July 2 2004

A round of shopping. Skate, halibut, a whole small salmon, smelt? and two potted shrimps. Two pounds of peas and broad beans, and rasps at the greengrocers. A lovely lump of Caerphilly again, the same of Double Gloucester, and of Tallegio. Those lovely large olives, Gordal? Gondal? Delicious. Then to Tesco, after a call at the Post Office in Chiswick to buy a sheet of first-class stamps, £31? Excellent. Tesco’s, and bought an E. Standard, first for a bit. At bottom of a list of one line items, Peter Barnes dead of a stroke at 73. Now that doesn’t surprise me. A doubtfully talented writer given, by J’s account of late, to obsessive writing of incredibly lengthy and, in some cases, ill written film-scripts - wasn’t one a nine- hour version of the Bible? – he has nevertheless maintained some sort of position. Film script writing, if you have any sort of reputation, can be quite remunerative even if none of them are ever filmed. They seem quite often to be bought. So there he is obsessed. He is married to a forty-something – possibly fifty-s.thing by now – American called Christie. They have one daughter aged seven? eight? between them? Belonging to only one of them? – but a few years ago she had IVF treatment and had triplets. They live in a mews house in Bayswater, there is/are nanny/nannies, so isn’t that enough to bring on a stroke? At 73?

Saturday July 3 2004

Poor J is naturally worried as P.B. owns the house whose ground-floor is her office, at a rent, I find out now, of £300 a month!! Just off Leicester Square. She’s trying not to think of it. I’m afraid he can’t have been all that prosperous, and four children, four and under? That house must be worth a million.

Marlon Brando also dead at 80. A disgusting contemptible figure, who has betrayed himself and acting, after such a brilliant beginning. He started in the theatre and should have stuck to it, if there were a theatre in US to stick to. Still, I feel the faint compassion that I feel for all American actors and actresses, with no possibility of a second, let alone third, period.

To rest at 1.45, read till 2.45, thinking I wouldn’t have a snooze, and woke at five to seven. I do hate that.

They keep forecasting rain, and we get none. And now fireworks at eleven. One day early for that Yank anniversary.

Sunday July 4 2004

Just as I was expecting the usual call from H, Mary L rang at last. She only had a little change, so would I ring back. I said I would, later on in the afternoon – after my rest, tho’ I didn’t say so, and of course she didn’t think of it. Jolly talk with H. Geoffrey’s little affair wasn’t heart, but muscular. Really. At four o’clock M.L. rang!

Rang her at last on the resident’s number, and after a staff member and a pause, there were the loudest atmospherics I’ve ever heard, as if an inferior pneumatic drill was being dragged across some silly boy. Eventually her voice surfaced, but I could only just hear her. As if talks with her weren’t difficult enough, however, I was touched by her distress, largely imaginary tho’ it was. She is worried that the bank doesn’t answer her calls. The solicitor says he’s paid in the flat money, but she can’t get at it, and she’s has to sign an agreement passing it over to Denville, an agreement that has to be witnessed, and, it is in three weeks. Oh dear. I can’t do anything without her authorisation, and even then, I can hardly go to her Cricklewood bank just for ten unproductive minutes. I tried to point out to her that Denville wouldn’t turn her out. Only then did she tell me that her next door neighbours had come to see her – ‘They brought the children and I was worried in case etc. etc.’ Of course they brought the children, they’re only eight? and six? and can’t be left. The husband promised to take her bank statement to the bank, and clear things up, she said nothing of their great kindness, as two working people, in sacrificing their only free day for her. Didn’t want me to come to see her yet. She seems to have no idea how difficult it is.

Monday July 5 2004

Sun again, no garden. H rang unexpectedly at three, as I was dozing. Didn’t say. Interesting. She was, for her, rather gushing and girlish. I imagine she was suffering more than usual from Geoffrey’s negativity, self-absorption and general egotism.

Tuesday July 6 2004

Rang Roy and M as Roy hadn’t answered my call about the books, or about dinner. It was seven, and Roy was ‘doing the gravy.’ Ella answered, then M, Roy was rather tetchy, and said he’d ring me during my dinner. I wasn’t aware they had meals at any fixed time. Oh the horror of children and holidays. I must leave it to them to ring me in future if they ever do. When did either of them ring me for a chat? It’s no use pretending that people with children are comfortable friends with me. I’m too selfish for that. Ella is going to Girl Guide camp. Good heavens, does that still go on?

Those ridiculous racing-cars have been allowed to drive cautiously up and down Regents St. from Oxford Circus to Piccadilly Circus. Who allowed them? And the biggest crowds I’ve ever seen in those streets turned out to see them, more than filling the pavements form the shops to kerb. to the point of creating real problems of crowds control. If ever there was a ludicrous wasteful meaningless nasty ‘sport’ this is it. Future ages will, I hope, raise a detached eyebrow for a passing second.

Wednesday July 7 2004 Thursday July 8 2004

Delightfully tight last night, taking John N to the Brackenbury. Well, you see, with him I know he’ll look after me, and I don’t think I disgraced him, but today I’ve felt, I suppose, hung-over, the vague and not there. I didn’t have lunch, in case.

A lovely night of intimacy. A starter of poached egg, truffle, mushroom sauce and bruschetta, scrumptious. Poached salmon, on a delicate salad finely cut, cucumber, chicory, celery, an almost unnoticeable dressing. A raspberry feuilletine, raspberries and cream and a little sandwich of almost transparently crisp layers. No coffee. It was a stormy day and the rain, when we came out, was terrific. Just to walk from the restaurant to our car soaked my umbrella so thoroughly that it was still dripping at home ten minutes later. Can’t have been too drunk as I clawed out of my trouser-pocket the five pound coins to go with the twenty- pound note, to pay John’s cab fare home. Comic, as he’s so much richer.

Friday July 9 2004

Queasy? Hung-over? Neither quite. Just feeling unreal and had no lunch. An odd feeling and aching in every limb, all that sitting at a restaurant table… So, still yesterday, I see John Barron is dead at 83. How the Salisbury Company went on about him when I got there in ’56 – he was quite a figure in the Salberg universe. All that work over three or four companies, one line in the obituary. Photo of Len and him in that TV series. Most interesting – and touching – to read of his marriages. His first was to Joan Sterndale Bennett! Did anyone ever mention it? The obituary didn’t mention the divorce. Second wife, the one we all knew, Joan Peart. His third wife died in 1995. The name leaped out at me, Helen Christie. A dear woman and good actress. She was one of the few people D and I asked to the cottage. It was during the run of The Constant Wife. Happily a beautifully, sunny day. I can see her now, lying on the lawn, on a rug, her warm ample presence, always a laugh in her voice. She was living with a rather saturnine gloomy actor, Derek Tanskey, who was in SD at some point. I always felt her life had not been especially happy, but she’d made the very best of it. And she’s been dead for nine years, and I never knew.

Rang M.L. The couple next door as was, have given her a telephone for her room… she contrived to suggest that such a thing had been on the cards. As if I wouldn’t have paid for it. But she never said a word. Oh well, no more atmospherics.

Saturday July 10 2004

J came round at five to look at what I’ve left of ML’s books and some throw-outs of mine. She packed them up in two huge smart cloth bags she’d brought with her, with great efficiency, speed and precision. I saw her qualities that make her business successful. But I was much amused that she couldn’t talk as well. I never saw what she chose, except for the Peter Parker Ackerley, which I’d commended to her, and she possibly took to please me. Imagine me going through a lot of books, and not talking for or against them, and celebrating a choice and looking forward to it. Odd. But then she had little encouragement early on.

H rang to say she couldn’t call tomorrow. Good. I must try and break it to her that I like my rest.

Charley from upstairs said he was cutting down the ivy round their window, and… Said K cut ours, but I’d like to keep a bit. Theirs was all over the window and it’s all from next door.

Sunday July 11 2004

Bit of gardening. Central heating on this a.m. Good heavens.

Monday July 12 2004

Hoped to do – things. Read The History Boys. First act all the old wit and fun and originality. The second act has it too, but needs something more which is not quite there. Perhaps the production supplies it. And this may not be the final text.

Tuesday July 13 2004

Ling-ling as usual, the bedroom, dread week. Dozed in book-room.

S sent me that book about Brian Desmond Hurst, but no mention of my birthday. Rang M.L. and was the first to ring on the new ‘phone. She seemed all right, but a little hesitant. Well, I suppose it’s a big shock.

Wednesday July 14 2004

To the West End with the silver for repairs at last. Cab dropped me on Duncannon St – for some reason I saw Daddy and I and that parcel of underwear we picked up and took to the police station in 1945! – and walked round to William IV St. to the jewellers – still can’t remember the name. Had to ring a bell to be let in, in the middle of the West End, autre temps, autre moeurs. Good solid well stocked shop. I’d taken the little silver basket matching the cream-jug of Edna's coffee-set. It was crushed when I sat on the coffee tray. What a delicate behind I must have, as the three coffee-cups and saucers, the cream-jug, the cafetiere and the delicate gallery of the coffee-tray, all survived unscathed. The jug needs a look, too, as it’s a little unsteady. Then there’s the shoehorn from the dressing table set – the finely ornamented handle has come away from the steel? Heel-horn. Finally, and most important, D’s pearl engagement ring, which I more or less destroyed by wearing it round my neck for twenty years. The thirty-something assistant, a pleasant rather anonymous chap. I bought a silver-frame at last for D’s photo on my desk. The blue leather frame is very shabby now, £80. All v. satisfactory. Walked to the NPG and went through the postcards carefully. One block of every ‘celebrity’, seven of the Queen, two of Princess Diana, an assortment of pop figures, Oasis and so on, going as far as Joan Collins. Now I quite see they feel they must make their gifts shop (ugh) profitable as the gallery is subsidised. But surely they also have a duty to make the postcards at least approximately representative of the pictures and the importance of their subjects. I was thankful to see the Watts/Ellen Terry still there and the Bastien Lepahe Irving, but – no Hardy, no Shaw, no Sarah Siddons or Edith, no Trollope, no Waugh, no Powell, no Muriel Spark. I don’t care if they don’t sell to Japanese tourists, who have never heard of them. Despicable. Bought two Jane A mugs, for ironic purposes and display, in inverted commas, but was relieved to find that at least the quote on them was ‘I like to laugh at follies… as much as I can.’ So she, and a sensible person at the NPG has supplied her own irony. I was already flagging but went to Waterstone’s – further than it used to be - ! No sign of the Chekov/Tchekov letters yet. A nice girl from Salisbury, - who knew the close. Made one or two remarks to her, which must have come like a voice from the 18th century, but she was sweet. Bought a Susie Boyt to see, and an Elizabeth George to throw away. Glad I did it.

Thursday July 15 2004

Seventy-eight today. A sizable bouquet from S, in answer to my thanks for the book. Big wonderfully smelly lilies, scabrous, roses and idiotically one or two heads of blue hydrangea already shrivelling. Heavens, they hardly last in a bucket of water. On the card, to the bewilderment of the florist, I should think, ‘Birthday? What birthday?’

Television even more of desert than usual. Golf after the football and the Olympics after the golf. I wonder if the great mass of men will ever have an inkling how dull they must be to like activities which are so trivial and dull. Glanced at list of contestants, with three letters after each name, GBR, USA etc. After one man’s name NIR, can it be Nirvana? J said tartly it was Northern Ireland. There you are, trivial and dull. If only it were Nirvana…

Friday July 16 2004

Still tired. Dozed a.m. as well as rest. Flowers from Roy and M, rather ugly mischief like roses, all orange and vermilion and crimson clashes. A guilt offering? I think perhaps they quarrel more than I think. Roy is certainly more moody and difficulty than his intelligence (and his behaviour to me, which doesn’t engage his emotions) might lead one to think. Put J off Ken High St. Have to shop.

Saturday July 17 2004

To Turnham Green and Tesco. At the fish monger’s, skate, a good piece, halibut – which I got him to cut a bit too thin – potted shrimps. At the greengrocers, peas beans, small and globe artichokes, rasps. They deliver! Another big lump of Caerphilly, Taleggio and D. Glouc. Gordal olives.

K rang, back safe thank goodness. Fri. still on. I hope.

Sunday July 18 2004

Rang M.L. on the private ‘phone. Quite interesting. She seemed rather more vague than I expected. B. New is there, with her husband. She is recuperating from some sort of hip op. I said, ‘Darling, Michael Narrrington died ten? years ago.’ ‘Well, P. Green said…’ She mentioned a couple of other apparent revenants. Interesting if a sort of relaxing into confusion. I hope not.

Monday July 19 2004

Rang J later on, and she had a pouring out. No wonder.

Peter Barnes’ death means the office may be lost to her, and matters are not promising. His American – ugh – wife Christie, is rushing through the reactions and duties of a widow on speed, and an estate-agent came round with her last week. J is upset of course, but is already looking forward to a move with courage, and the comforting knowledge that she can carry on the business form the flat until she finds the right place. And didn’t I say, one of her grand clients will say ‘I think my agent has a room…’

No mowing. Guilt. Poor night, but not caused by guilt.

Tuesday July 20 2004

Ling-ling seemed bright. Asked for advance on her money, for the two weeks after next week, a complicated arrangement in her limited English. For a deposit on a room, for her and her husband, I suppose, tho’ I couldn’t quite gather that. Gave it her, £60. Oh how I can imagine what K would say. Or J or John, or almost anyone.

A pity.

Wednesday July 21 2004

Re-read the ’94 Holroyd Lytton Strechey, because the first volume of the first version in the M.L. bequest. Interesting comparison, the first version goes into even closer detail into L.S’s younger self in suffocating detail of a character that needs more, not less, air. Oh dear, what a crew they are. With mostly minor gifts, their selfishness and often mindless incontinence, they made a melancholy company. My least favourite is Carrington. How sexually attractive she must have been to disguise her incredibly self-indulgent, incredibly selfish, incredibly stupid and coarse behaviour!

Poor night. Poor J. Humid.

Thursday July 22 2004

Tried Portraits in Miniature again, one or two amusing sketches, but he cannot interest me in someone I am not already interested in.

Rang Mary L. Rather more animated and has had no more visions of the dead. Watched a TV series! Trevor Eve, she likes him, as in another mode, she liked K. More, for their undiluted, if rather dull, masculinity. Very long story of Nairobi and filming in a school there. She was at the Donovan Maule for two separate seasons, and feels she invented Africa. Didn’t she say she has always felt she had black blood? I suppose she thinks that explains her ridiculous dislike of the English climate. How exasperated D used to get. ‘Why was she born here if she needs the sun as she says she does?’ Still, she’s been in and out of the room, that’s something.

Friday July 23 2004 Saturday July 24 2004

He arrived early, having delivered a CD to Chiswick High Road… loved the restaurant which was pretty empty, all the main clients are 20-50 with children on expensive holidays by now, I expect. More or less alone at table 32. Silly woman maître, but didn’t spoil because he wasn’t missing Philippe. I could tell he really liked the food. Moment I loved, to the waiter, Can we have another half-bottle, of the Pouilly? Without asking me because it’s his money, too. Gave me a hug at the door and came back for another. A perfect evening, warmed and safe right thro’.

Today recovering but happy. I’d mowed half the lawn before he came, but had to stop. It was so hot and I felt a bit dizzy and sick. I don’t want to drop dead quite yet.

Sunday July 25 2004

Mowed and finished. The Buck House Gardens book arrived. Fascinating.

Monday July 26 2004

Rang Tim to thank for the card. No baby yet, due on Wed, but will almost certainly be late. He’d said he was up for 39 Steps at The Arts. Heavens. He didn’t get it. Pity, I’d have liked to know how they fitted it in. Pulled out the Georgette Heyer biog. to read over lunch. Unsatisfactory. G.H’s very private life has, I think, escaped. A poor effort and poor judgment of the novels. Praises the wrong ones, and over estimates her gifts generally. Yes, they are, for popular novels, well-researched, as pages of faithful sketches of Regency clothes testify. But they are only gracefully written popular romantic novels all the same and I imagine will fade away with my generation. Are any of them in print still?

Tuesday July 27 2004

Very poor night. Woke at five to one, after lights out at eleven and never got back. Had to shop, and so was fearful of over sleeping because of my cab. Did manage to doze between five and seven, and to Tesco with that rather dim driver. Forgetting shopping-list and remembered everything but the little batteries for my favourite remote control, lemons for my g&t and whisky! What striking self-abnegation.

Wednesday July 28 2004

Told K about the whiskey. ‘I told you you were senile.’

Rang M.L. and she was not in her room. Good, and she’s watching a TV prog.

Buck House nook has some good and revealing maps. One of those ubiquitous property programmes caught my eye. Young couple in Birmingham ‘Moseley is out of their range.’ Effie would be pleased. ‘King’s Heath is on the way up.’ My b’place. I’m so proud.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 187

July 29 2004 - November 17 2004.

Thursday July 29 2004

Finally got myself to Ken Church St. with the dear old lamps to be recovered. Ann’s By Royal Appt. which she reminded me of three times in ten minutes. Tall, loud, assertive, Northern? Skin tight silk shirt, pale jeans, gold chains, moist tan of an intensity that a childhood and life in Barbados, and a scare skin-cancer in Sydney would but ill account for. Creakily, mechanically, perfunctorily, she vamped her way through her routine. Couldn’t match either the green, the fine pleating or the gold lace. What do I care nowadays? To Safeways briefly, curiously down market branch for Ken High St, no known brand of whisky for instance, and Waterstone’s. The new book on O.Wilde, and two detecs by someone I read about, Andrea Camilleri, a man, it seems. Didn’t find batteries, and left missing them, lemons and whisky. Back here exhausted, as I’d had a very poor night.

Rang ML. Out!

Friday July 30 2004

Decided to ring M.L. in a.m., not 5.0. Out! Or at least engaged.

Started Oscar Wilde. Rather well written, and with more ‘frank’ detail of the trial and sex than before. Quite impressed with many of the echoes and parallels he hears and draws from the work. But I think he’s gay and may become too partial. Already there is little sign that he is aware of the pile of rubbish O.W. wrote. I suppose it’s the gay pride movement that has led to the grotesque over-estimate of his gifts. I hope posterity will realise that his poetry is ridiculous, his judgment of life and morals non-existent, most of his prose reveals a tin ear, - and he wrote one superb farce. Hot.

Saturday July 31 2004

Hideously hot. Hardly slept, if at all, but not because of the heat, it seems another patch of bad nights. This time didn’t even sleep and wake at five past one or whatever. Read, rather unpleasantly under pressure, as it were, until 6.30 – to the book-room to watch television, good heavens. Took the papers back to bed, and, after the book reviews, dozed off, woke at 12.30 with the curtains still drawn, and hurried to tell H not to ring this afternoon. As she usually does on Sunday… She kept a very straight voice, and said would Monday at five… Lunch 3-4. Dinner at 9.0 and didn’t sleep too badly, but v. tiresome. What a waste of time.

Sunday August 1 2004

So H rang and told me of some B. Pym offers – one, a hand-written letter from Lisa Eichorn, about an adaptation, of No Fond Return of Love, film or TV. The letter was hand-written, a danger-sign for business, I suppose. Poor silly business. All the same, LE is an American, trained at RADA, film ‘Yanks’ is all the commercial world would know her for. Said I’d ask around for her – J and S quite a reasonable source. H also worried about her new novel going to her two new publishers here and in U.S. I am always appalled at the activities of publisher’s ‘editors’ asking for more than tactful correcting of errors or misspellings. A clear sign of decadence. Like the proliferation of ‘staff’ in the theatre, as opposed to actors.

Long chat.

Monday August 2 2004

Need shopping, but no energy. New detec. Camillen, recommend by Donna Leon. Well?

Tuesday August 3 2004

J told me that Feely’s husband has left her, she cleans for that director who’s so famous I’ve forgotten his name – oh yes, Pete Yates. Apparently it’s taken her so that she Hoovers for hours on end. ‘She had a lovely flat and an allotment and everything hunky-dory.’ (What a word!) Obviously the husband felt the shades of prosperous middle-aged complacency closing on him. Did he go off with anyone? I expect so. And would it be a girl some twenty five years younger than his fifty-ish wife? I expect so.

K rang. Delivering a CD in Chiswick tomorrow, coming round! ‘Do you want lunch?’ ‘No. I’ll be there about three.’ Lovely.

9.30. Very heavy rain all day. Charley from upstairs has just scratched at my front-door. There is water pouring down one of their walls – inside! – Just over your study, isn’t it? We had a get together over the roof-repairs causing a leak. He’s builder, and says he’ll put it right himself. Went and looked, and there was a tiny trickle about two feet in from the window, on the party wall. It hardly reached the top of the bookcases, and in ten minutes, or so, it had actually dried, thank goodness.

Wednesday August 4 2004

He arrived at 2.30 just as I was dozing off. Chats. Then, ‘Got anything to eat? No lunch! Did him a cheese and bacon omelette. At the fridge ‘Is this wine – when was it opened?’ Coldly, ‘Today for my lunch.’ Cut up the saucer of pots to fry with omelette. ‘Want some raspberries?’ ‘Ooh.’ John’s wine and the Sancerre delivered yesterday, were still in the hall. ‘Ooh, Sancerre, my favourite. I’ll carry them through for you.’ ‘You can have some of John’s Chablis.’ ‘Mm. Premier Cru.’ ‘Take two, and two of the Sancerre, if you like.’ ‘No, that’s too many.’ But they found their way into the car all the same. I absolutely love him taking stuff as his right. For it is.

Thursday August 5 2004

Recovering, slept from 2.30 to 4.30. No p.m. rest for two days. Hot.

Friday August 6 2004

Thank goodness yesterday went by with nothing about the 50th anniv. of S.D. I was a little afraid of a sentimental gush on Julian’s behalf. Happily it seems not to have been mentioned. Not surprisingly, but you never know with C. Mackintosh etc. Too silly, and just Julian’s luck of it had been. Oh so hot and the ‘fridge-freezer’ had failed again. I went to get the ice and found water. It was only twenty to six, but the Hoover repair number was closed, and no answer machine number. And a hot weekend…

Told K Sunday weekend? This Sunday to be 30, which is no weather for weeding and I couldn’t go out much. I’ll have to watch any serious weeding, as the poor darlings don’t know a rose from a ragwort.

Saturday August 7 2004

Long talk again to J. Obsessed, poor dear, and who can ‘wonder?’ She is trying to sort all the boxes of MS and scripts and books in the flat upstairs. Interested to find she is paying ‘Willy’ to help. Odd. He was rich enough the other minute to take a party to C. Garden and The Ivy. Mysterious. J. Schlesinger biog. reviewed. 600 pages. Too long, whatever it’s like. Hideously hot still.

Sunday August 8 2004

HOT.

Little bits of ice and the gin-bottle and tonic in the bottom drawer of the freezer gave me the illusion of cool. Sancerre sans ice, compensation curious vivid tastes. 31º. Torture.

Monday August 9 2004

Hottest day in London ever, 22-8º. Even with fan in room and air-conditioner outside in corridor. And now pouring, torrents. K rang. Sian and Charley want to come round 4.30 on Friday. Most interesting.I said ‘I picture C as you at 5.’ ‘Oh.’ Rang Hoover to look at fridge. Can’t come till Friday! Agreed, but rebelled and rang a firm out of Yellow Pages, can come tomorrow. He and Ling-ling can fight over the territory.

Tuesday August 10 2004

How I hate waiting in for people. I can’t settle to anything, can’t have my rest, and, with my ears, have to listen all the time. Happily things resolved better than I’d feared. Ling-ling arrived as usual, about two-thirty and the ‘fridge engineer only a quarter of an hour later and left after twenty minutes or so. Not Hoover, but a firm in Raynes Park, £52, £30 cheaper. Oddly the man was very similar, Asian not African, but, like the African, completely English in accent, and even more striking in expression and behaviour. Excellent.

At last rang Mark Baker about making me a reading stand, and reviving another dining-room chair.

Wednesday August 11 2004

To pick the lampshades. The mechanical vamp asked me how I was while making out my £300 bill. I told her four sentences, later she asked me how I was again. Shades not the copies I hoped for – she couldn’t match the gold lace, the green chiffon I wanted or the pleating. But they’re perfectly good in straw, gathered. I wonder who she’s told ‘I have some rare gold lace… And she’s By Appointment. I hope she only does the spare rooms and servants.

To Waterstone’s in Ken High St. The Bram Stoker and A Powell biogs., the Duke of Devonshire autobiog., an Andrew Taylor and Jane McGown I found I’d got when I got home but hadn’t listed. Then to Tesco and home really tired after poor nights and S tomorrow.

Thursday August 12 2004

Dear Tim W rang to say Helen had a girl yesterday. 9lb 8ozs. Had to go to hospital eventually, tho’ home delivery they’d hoped for. ‘Is she all right?’ ‘Well, she’s walking with a limp.’

So Jane McGown and Andrew Taylor go in the Oxfam bag at once. The Taylor is a ghastly ‘Regency’ pastiche, accurate in its period details – after all, he did go to Cambridge – and quite lifeless. I kept expecting it to turn into hard porn a la Fanny Hill, during the half-dozen pages read while hoping to sleep.

So to the Brack with S, who turned up at 6.45 and drank the half bot. of champagne left over from Chelsea. I never noticed it was Perrier Jouet – the other was Moet etc. Nasty stuff. I have to record yet again I can scarcely remember anything he – or I – said. Did he say he was writing a script or something about Noel C or something? What a terrible idea if so. Told me an amusing tale of Eileen A and the new young Irish star Colin Ferrell. On a film together, in the hotel he made a dead set at her after dinner, making it plain he meant it. She went firmly to bed. He come knocking at her door, stayed two hours? making it even plainer, until she was obliged to say. ‘Colin, I am 69. You are 30. Go to bed, alone.’ But I expect she was pleased all the same. She will be fascinating till she dies. And even then… I’d forgotten the poor creatures have got two creatures. Boxer puppies.

Friday August 13 2004

So Nigel’s partner and son visited me, well, just about 4.30, the time, she rang from a ‘bus on Uxbridge Rd. Which stop? I said hopefully, by a big redbrick block of flats. Put the ‘phone down and saw it was pissing down (why was she on a bus, surely she still has a car?) So tottered off to meet them with two umbrellas. Struck with how much effort it is to walk to the corner now. At the ‘bus-stop, saw Charlie at once, dashing in and out of the shop, in that maddening pointless way small children do. She came out with some roses she’d bought me, a good start, even if they were those Baccaras, almost artificial, although they’re real, all she could get. She kissed me warmly and I realised she felt warmly towards me because of my letters, for we’d only met once at Elfort Road.

The rain had stopped, and there was Charley. Thick blond hair, blue eyes, and a dear little face, not at all unlike K’s photo at 3ish by the French Windows at Woolton. Almost before I could speak, she said, ‘He’s very shy’, and there was his head, looking at the floor, and during the hour and a half they were with me, I only heard about a dozen words. In the sitting-room, I saw what a pretty child he was – he could go straight into an advert and charm the nation, oh dear. She is trim slight, fair, humourous, rather narrow aquiline face, attractive.I have to say that I saw at once how much more balanced and ‘grown up’ she was than Nigel. I consciously decided to make her laugh, and I think I succeeded. As for Charlie, I asked him to try the musical chair. It had the usual effect. He knelt down to look for the source. But there was a quizzical look somewhere there which didn’t quite fit the shyness, and a dangerously charming little smile. Shyness is a two-edged affair. It can come from intense self-absorption, a conviction that everyone is thinking of nothing but you.

He looked out at the garden and came back with that big ball I never found an owner for, that he’d found behind the curtain. That and a magnifying glass were the only objects he showed any interest in. Dreary? But then I know nothing about children. She has brought him up well for manners. She hardly had to say to keep his feet off the sofa, and asked if he could have a piece of chocolate while sitting on it. The only false note she struck, was when she said she couldn’t live in London because of the dirt and the pollution. You have to be very careful how and whether to say such things. Even she did not avoid the usual implication, ‘It may be all right for coarse old you, but it won’t do for fastidious little me.’ Still I was glad to meet them both. She said Kevin and I would be welcome in Swansea. A likely thought nowadays.

Saturday August 14 2004

Tired. Slept quite well, why?

Sunday August 15 2004

H confessed her anxiety over Geoffrey, and out it poured. He had another episode, to hospital for tests etc. A long drive. Turned out he hadn’t taken his tablets, and they may be too strong for him, and he spends most of his time sitting and worrying. More tests later this week, more long drives, and she’s not all that mobile, she says. Irregular heartbeats, palpitations, and hypochondriac. Eeyore sitting broodingly encouraging them. Oh dear, he is a creature, with no real thought of her, tho’ I’m sure he keeps making her say ‘It’s all right, you can’t help it and so on.’

Rang M.L. No answer again. A treat.

Finished the A. Powell by Barber just as I expected. A rather coarse-textured affair, with nothing original about it, as you might expect from a third rater prepared to write an interim biography and get it in before the authorised one.

Cut the grass? Alas no.

Monday August 16 2004

Cut the grass without the box. Mainly because the bending and emptying is most of the strain, but that can’t go on. Weeds.

Tuesday August 17 2004

Ling-ling subbed again. Three weeks money to send to her mother who is ill. She’ll work for next three weeks for nothing. I hope.

Toenail that fell off and grew again, hurting, ingrowing? Quite painful.

Wednesday August 18 2004

Rain, Rain. The frightful pictures from Boscastle are the stuff of disaster films, cars bucketing down the street from the car-park to the sea, like toy boats, thank goodness nobody killed. By extraordinary luck, of course, it was daylight, afternoon, that’s partly why. Many ruined all the same, only know it thro’ photo of Irving on some steps, from G. Robertson’s Time Was. But better nights. No perceptible reason.

Thursday August 19 2004

Actually got myself in a cab at ten, to barber’s, and had a really quick cut. Young barber asked me with a twinkle if I was a pensioner, a special price, you see. Then to the jeweller’s for Tim and Helen’s baby. So pleasant to see Mr. Bradshaw from Pearl Cross and the old days in neat suit and collar and tie, of course. The assistant who served me before, Stuart, was in a jersey and jeans, looking a little worn. Out till 3.30, hungover. Heavens, in the old days he’d have got the sack just for being improperly dressed. During the half-hour or so I was in shop he served like that. An odd sight in an expensive Jeweller’s, but in fact, tho’ Mr. Bradshaw served me, it was S. who produced or suggested the things I in fact bought. Mr. B showed me two sets of spoons and forks, but in far too fussy a style, Edwardian or v. late Victorian. Queen’s something, I think one was. Stuart called casually that there was a pusher and spoon set, but left Mr. B the dignity of it coming from both of them. Lovely simple lines, with only just perceptibly engraved across the bowl of the spoon, adate in 1917. How odd and vulgar collectors are, that personal engravings reduce the value of such objects. Then all the way back to Tesco’s. On the way back, we went past the park and Queen’s Gate had just been painted – with that red rust paint, all over, in every rail and interstice. An odd and fascinating glimpse. All those tourists have no idea that such gates and railings are not kept for them - August their busiest time- but have to be prepared for the season. They are Royal Parks after all and are still refurbished when the Queen is out of holiday. A nice thought.

Long talk to Hazel. Poor girl. Geoffrey’s ‘bad turn’ so amusing. He’s now sitting on the motor mower doing the lawn.

The hideously interminable Olympics enlivened the blasted television programmes by a list of swimmers including the Russian Anna Pavlova. So that’s what she’s been doing since 1934? was it?

Friday August 20 2004

Circular from swish Health and Gym club to Peter Vallely, who left upstairs in a wheelchair and multiple sclerosis a year ago last October.

Toe better but still limping. At its worst yesterday, bother it. Card from S in Northampton where his Tommy Cooper show, with Ferne Flynn, is being put on for two perfs. ‘Better than in the West End.’ Also been asked to write a musical on O. Wilde’s life. Composer and lyricists Lieber and Stoller. Biggest hit, E. Presley’s Jailhouse, so perhaps they could set Ballad of Reading Gaol. I wish he’d said he wasn’t going to do it. I’m afraid I so often find his choice of work foolish and it is far too often not greeted by success.

Saturday August 21 2004

Started on garden clearing for K and A. to help weeding. If good nights go on, I can do it.

K rang later on. So sweet and mild and apologetic being too busy to do more. Can I do the oven and ‘fridge freezer? I’m not sure. He told me he’d rung John Lewis etc. and J.L. deliver, but no more. No installation, no taking away of the old ‘fridge. What is happening? How can I manage that? Who would take the old one, and what if, as would almost certainly be the case, the old one was still there when the new one arrived? And the switches in the cooker? Oh what hell such things are, and poor boy, he’s so busy. Anyway I’ll wait till the sales are well over.

Sunday August 22 2004

Pouring. Bother. A bit more energy. Getting on with the thriller shelves and boxes of letters instead of garden. Threw away for Oxfam, two bags of detecs.

Monday August 23 2004

Rather helmless. But still good nights.Pouring.

Tuesday August 24 2004

Ling-ling took the A Powell biog. to the post for H. Rain all p.m. Still no acknowledgement from Tim and Helen. Lost in post? Oh.

Wednesday August 25 2004

Rain, rain. A tiresome day. As there was still no word from Tim and H, and I didn’t like to ring them I rang the jeweller’s. Got Stuart, who said he didn’t know when the things were sent, and Mr. Bradshaw wasn’t there today. Again I got the impression that Stuart was standing up for Mr. B, against his will perhaps. After all, it was S who suggested the pusher and spoon, and produced the coral and pearl necklace. Hm. No ‘phone call back a.m. or p.m. Mark Baker was due at 6.30 to talk over the reading-desk and take another dining chair for repair. Got everything ready, my notes and a drink – and at seven thirty, no sign. A whole hour. Left a message on his machine, to say I was going out, in case he interrupted my dinner. Turned all the front lights out, and skulked in the kitchen. But no sign. Two depressing events, and no fault of mine, nor can I think I have ever inflicted such tiresomenesses on anyone else. Well, I’ll see tomorrow.

Thursday August 26 2004

Independent:

So. Message on machine from Mark B. He is a dear. He’d put it on the wrong page of his diary. Arranged a new date. Lovely. Realized his workshop was on Twick. Green where that poor French girl was murdered. Spoke of that a little and well.

Rang Jewellers and got the girl. Do jewellers go out a lot? Buying? So neither Mr. B nor Stuart were there to tell me the things were sent yesterday. After my call no doubt. Hm. Is Mr. B simply slack, or an anal retentive?

Dear Tim rang, delighted and charmingly reproachful.

Friday August 27 2004

Interested that I forgot, in the tiresomeness - what a word - of Wednesday, I said nothing of a good shopping trip. As well as the usual food, I stopped at the antique place in the oldcinema and bought two book-slides. One of them is more modest and like Tunbridge ware in its ornament. That sits beside me in the book-room. The other is more handsome, with a quite elaborate brass inlay on either end, enlivened by five agates! on each end. Really my writing gets worse and worse, - I mean, the quality of it, not my handwriting. ‘It is time to recast your sentence’ comes to mind. But the book-slides are not a luxury. One on each sofa – the agates are in the sitting room, of course – stops them looking like a pile of books which keep slipping down when I sit on the sofa, often onto the floor.

Back here, had the Globe artichokes – or is it a small g? – for lunch. They were large and sweet, as a nut is sweet, each leaf with a good mouthful of flesh, the choke came off the hearts cleanly and easily, and were sublime. Any excuse to eat melted butter. I’d bought the Standard, and there was Fay Macchler’s report on Maquis’ replacement which, I had realised was underway during the last few months. Now Chez Krystov. When I say that FM finished the article by saying she wished she lived close to it… Chef Polish but menu French bourgeois. Promising. Braised pigeon, boudin noir etc.

Finished Roy Fuller’s Stares, which I have relished and saved up. A perfect minor novel. No events except Oddbins being late. Pouring worse than ever, more, than forecast, on this hideous holiday weekend.

Saturday August 28 2004

In re-organizing the crime shelves, I pulled out the Rex Stouts and starting them, couldn’t put them down. How good they are! The writing the humour, the solid moral framework which is never scamped or undermined, the characters – everything wonderfully good. Finished the shelves. People upstairs back. How odd not to stay away for holiday. Or isn’t it? It would be torture to me!

Started the Susie Boyt ‘Only Human’. Good. Delicately perceptive.

Sunday August 29 2004

Talk to H as usual. Geoffrey ill again. Fell in the bath, and then later, didn’t seem to have hurt himself, but dizziness is, I suppose, worrying. The comic thing is that next time I talk to her, he’ll be out mowing the lawn etc. What a mess he is! And what will she do if/when he dies? I suppose she can’t go on living there alone.

Poor J still goes on packing and unpacking the thirty or so boxes of Ms. T’s and books in Peter’s Barnes’ flat upstairs. She’s paying ‘Willy’ to help her - £30 odd. I thought he was well off, he was taking six of them to the Ivy for dinner. Odd.

Monday August 30 2004

That complete lethargy of a bank holiday, a day on which I would never go out. If ever you needed evidence that the masses don’t know what enjoyment is, the existence of bank holidays are there to prove it.

Tuesday August 31 2004

Ling-ling had a job and for a moment I thought it meant she was not coming. But it turns out she only wants to change her times here to the mornings. Really that will suit me better. I never sleep in now and I do have a rest p.m. So. Good.

Roy rang. Asked them to dinner. Made a delicate attempt to clear up the Trollope problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if it bored her to sobs, as she has, I suppose, little context for the extracts, as witness their reaction to Miss Mackenzie. I must make yet another effort to explain the nature of readings. – They are not even play readings, and the audience is not exactly a theatre audience who had come to hear an already known author bodied forth. There is, after all, history there as well as drama.

Wednesday September 1 2004

Tired again. Ordered William Morris hand-stitched rug and scissor set.

Thursday September 2 2004 Friday September 3 2004

Lovely mild calm dinner with John N. He is such a comfort to me. He had an auberginey starter and thick juicy slices of lamb, which he said was ‘perfect’. I had smoked chicken and endive salad, and monkfish tail with peas, and Charlotte pots. Might be at home - delicious. Cheese. He seems solved and happy. Joyce a little better. Still feel sad I don’t see her.

Today, feeling v. well. Till that young roofer turned up, wanting to put scaffolding at the back again. Agony, agony. I grudgingly let him go in the garden to look round. He was polite as before. I tried not to be as cold and cross as I felt. He said Sat., Sunday, Mon., or Tues….! So on tenterhooks till… Oh what it is to have no imagination. Found his leaving garden windows open has let in fruit flies for the first time this summer.

Saturday September 4 2004

Meant to say my right arm just above the bicep and in the shoulder and that big muscle, v. painful, like toothache, tho’ can be helped by holding the arm across my chest, supported as if in a sling. Had it before, but not so bad. Bother. That is why I need the book-stand.

Pleasant shopping expedition to Farmer’s market. Just missed the three young grouse on the game stall. Bought a guinea fowl and two partridges. A dozen and a half eggs £3.80, and some butter and cheese.

Had a leaflet from the Liberal party councillors. It had a space for suggestions and complaints. I thought I’d scribble a bit about the graffiti on the security shutter of the empty shop on the gr. floor of Hanover Court, the mansion block on the corner of the road. The graffiti has been there ever since I moved in, in 2000. The garden of the flats was overgrown and squalid, - the low wall at the corner facing the road was often occupied by a couple of tramps, and the space behind full to the top of the wall, and it’s whole width – about seven or eight-feet – with beer cans. About a year later, the cans were cleared, and turf laid on the two lawns, more time went by, and the turf wasn’t mown, and the old weeds came through it. The council had a blitz on graffiti and successfully got rid of, for instance, the mass of graffiti in the main road, and on the big plastered wall on the corner of the right-angle of the cul-de- sac. Our road was completely free of it, - except for the security, shutter, part of the frame of the street, as you turn in from Uxbridge Road. At this point Hanover Court was smothered in scaffolding for months, - a new roof, redecoration and so on. This happened just after I’d written and rung the council, and been told they couldn’t do anything because their high- pressure hoses would go thro’ the slats of the cover. So I waited for the Hanover Court people to do it, they did a lot – the garden was put to rights, the wall of the tramps had a railing put on it – taken away in the war, you see another reason to dislike war… Finally the scaffolding was taken down a year? ago, and – the bold arabesques of the graffiti blazed out, untouched. I wrote again, got the same answer, and gave up some months ago, the tall narrow metal gate in the hedge at the sac of our cul was welded shut. The house at the right angle was extensively refurbished, with, I hope, a paint-repellent surface on its huge blank wall. And I felt that we might be safer from graffiti artists, for they work at night when they were allowed to walk through then. But- the graffiti were still there on the shutter.I took the liberal leaflet and put it on my desk - I really will… On my way to the shop, I saw the shutter was clean. What was the little lever in the end?

Sunday September 5 2004

Oh the pleasure of N. Mitford and H. Heywood, who catches her tone to an amusing extent. J. Grenfell I’m fond of, but she needs a slap of the sort she often gave other people. H rang, less worried. G mowing lawn.

Monday September 6 2004

No scaffold. They have no idea how they destroy one’s peace of mind. Did various chores in readiness. Took Edna’s stones off the bathroom (outside) window-sill. Rang roofer to tell him he couldn’t move the compost bin, because it has no bottom… polite as ever. Said he could avoid it.

Started S. Boyt properly. Impressed. Slight, but good.

Tuesday September 7 2004

Ling-ling asked for her money, gave it her tho’ really not till next week.

Scaffolding in the front.

Wednesday September 8 2004

Rested. Stiff.

The meeting with Mark Baker took place at last. He was half an hour early, as I was changing. Changed back into my pyjamas with relief and to his amusement. A large pleasant young man, a native of Hastings! And I can see him as the farmer I think his forebears were. His taste and concentration are obvious when his work is discussed. He took measurements and we talked details. He had a glass of wine quite slowly, and went off with the next dining- chair to mend.

Thursday September 9 2004

I am quite surprised at the strength of my feelings about women clergy. They aren’t helped, I admit, by most of the female clergy I’ve seen and heard are absurd people and the vast majority are so vast.

Tired and a bit low. No scaffold workmen.

Friday September 10 2004

Had a moment of claustrophobia in the night. Had to go and stand at the open garden-doors. A feeling a little like finding you’ve been buried alive. Nasty. The only trouble, the air was exactly the same in as out. Or out as in. No sleep after 2.30 a.m. Dozed off over papers, and missing J ringing up and the laundry, which I’ve only done once before. Felt bad about the driver’s wasted call.

Saturday September 11 2004

Shopping. Four partridge, duck and orange sausages, two dozen eggs and some lovely Cearphilly. Books, the new Jonathan Coe, Cressida Conolly on the Garmens, and R McCrum’s biog of P.G. Wodehouse. Then Tesco, and home finished.

K rang. Today? No I said tomorrow. Too tired today.

Sunday September 12 2004 Monday September 13 2004

Another wonderful day with Arlete and Kevin. It stayed fine all through, tho’ the forecast was doubtful and rained in the night, just right for a mown lawn.

They arrived about twenty to three, just as I was nodding off, - as if I cared – and worked solidly thro’ till dinner. She weeded and mowed the lawn, cleared the fritillary patch of its long grass, and altogether made it look like a garden again. He nailed up the big Souvenir de la Maison again, cut the hedge, and filled nine or ten bags with garden stuff. All I had were the orange re-cycling bags, and I’m afraid they won’t be taken away, as there are special white garden bags. I didn’t tell him as all their hard work had to go somewhere. A little job for me. I’d said drinks at 6.30 but knew it would be later, as they are both conscientious clearer-uppers, to a fault. Dinner, guinea fowl, peas (fresh), spinach, and a bit of asparagus, raspberries (or blue or black-berries, Arlete) and the Farmer’s market cheeses, was a great success. I think A. thanked me three times. K made the coffee in the new individual-for-one coffee maker I got from Lakeland. He was being bossy about it as usual, telling me I needed a small cafetiere, when the small machine let down a loud fart, following up with clever variations on the same theme. K and I were helpless and screaming, while A looked on in amazement at the rude children, as woman do. I gave him the rest of the Chablis, hope he likes it more than I did, and watched them drive away with much love.

I had done little but answer questions and a little advice and cook the dinner. But I was so tired and lay down most of today. Started the Jonathan Coe, and was not impressed. After about fifty pages, I put it down and said ‘Really this might be by J.B. Priestly.’ Full of real people and real events, a great mistake journalistic. I can’t think why I kept the first volume. It and The Closed Circle off to Oxfam.

Tuesday September 14 2004

Went in to get lunch and scaffolding all over the lawn. Drew the blinds and tried to put it out of my mind, torture.

K rang. He’s found a gardener! 11.0 Tuesday. We’ll see. He’s so good, comic talk. What would I do without that boy? And he’s bought me a one-cup cafeteria, too. Bedroom day, so on sofa in book-room, possibly last time.

Wednesday September 15 2004

The two things I ordered from some catalogues, assorted pairs of scissors supposed to stay sharp forever, only £14.95 the lot, so I wonder. They look alright for the hearth, in its muted medieval colours. It’s not actually a rug but a piece of hand-stitching on a thick linen base made in India, of course. 5’x 3’, £159 of a perfectly acceptable quality, which would have cost three or four times as much if it had been European, - am I exploiting the under class? I’m afraid I am, but would they be better off if nobody bought their work? I remember similar rugs in sitting rooms before the war. They’d ruck up with family use, but not as a hearth-rug that one old man will almost never walk over.

Started the Garmans. Hm.

Thursday September 16 2004

Took Roy and M out to dinner. Pleasant enough despite a rather poor display by Roy, that I had to sit on quite firmly. Being a host is a position of some little authority, not least because the guests need to know whether they can order caviar and lobster all round or not. Well, before I was even in the door he had gone in ahead of me and was up at the back asking the waiters if we had a table. We had, no.4, which I’d booked three weeks before. Then through the meal, he talked to the waiter more and more so that the waiter, I could see, started to think him the host. And even by the pudding, I heard him saying ‘What dessert wines have you?’ I had to be quite sharp with him, I don’t care, certainly not with him after all these years, but I felt I had to say something, as I imagined him doing it to some television producer. Poor knowledge of manners. The evening ended mildly. M nodded in agreement, but that might have been politic. I thought a little tension between them, apart from all this. Restaurant full but a little askew for service. Food excellent. Still no sign of Philippe.

Earlier darling K rang. He’s found me a gardener, from some firm called Busybody... well, we’ll see. So good. Oh dear. I’ve said that. Is my mind going? No, I’m drunk. 2 bottles of Pinot Grigio.

Did I say I found the garden door’s jammed by scaffolding? It is.

Friday September 17 2004

J suggested lunch tomorrow in Ken H St.

Reading the D. Bogard biog. Oh dear, oh dear. As false as his acting.

Saturday September 18 2004

Had to put J off. Too tired. Thursday was really tiring. So no shopping either. I had ordered the Schlesinger biog. but couldn’t pick it up as promised, so asked them to send it. Told him I’d broken my ankle. Why? It gave me pleasure. Letter from S which upset me. I’d asked him for details of Lisa Eichorn for H, and he said we’d talked of it exhaustively over dinner a few weeks ago. It upset me because I’d forgotten, but his tone upset me further, and I’ve only read it once and put it away.

K rang, off to Greece, at 3.30 a.m. tomorrow. Really! He’s bought me that little cafetiere, and ‘have you my mobile no in case of emergency?’ Dear thing. Talking responsibly. When he’d rung off, imaging ringing him and saying ‘Come back from Greece tonight, the bulb has gone in the utility room.’

Sunday September 19 2004

Hazel rang. Geoffrey is a pain, one way and another. She’s comes out about him a little more each time, but I’m sure she’d deny it fiercely. Long funny chat with J. Impossible to recapture light wordplay.

Finished the Bogard. Oh dear, what a creature. But I suppose he must have been less impossible sometimes, otherwise some of his respectable friends wouldn’t have liked him. To me, his acting was at best second-rate – in the Vortex, for instance, - so no wonder he gave up the theatre. But oh the cheapnesses, that pulled back chin, that raised eye-brow.

Monday September 20 2004

D.B. sounds awful, despite everyone making a case for him.

Quiet day, such as I need more and more with nothing happening. Finished the Garman book. Oddly inept in its writing for someone like Cressida Connolly. A student at Cambridge – odd. I wish we could have photos and reports of the girl in old age, especially Lorna. Sex appeal of their kind is a really poisonous chemical.

Tuesday September 21 2004

The woman K ordered as a possible gardener turned up twenty minutes, ‘walked from Shepherd’s Bush’. Didn’t K pay her fare? Her first words were ‘Hello darling.’ Didn’t K tell her boss I was an actor? About 50, blond bob, dark glasses pushed up in it, a limp brief- case with unidentified ‘documents,’ shoulder-bag, like a TV PA on an off day. No gardening refs, made a patronising reference to some ‘cuttings she’s taken.’ Made it clear she was going rather down-market and when she looked at the garden, but I’d opened the door to show she couldn’t go out, she was safe to say, ‘I was going to spend three hours there making notes.’ Her two references mentioned ‘public relations.’ An inexact and elastic term. I guess her favoured job is in a big and rich enough household for her to slip in between a secretary and house keeper, so that no one notices she isn’t doing anything after all. Neither of her refs mentions any definite skills, such as typing.

Wednesday September 22 2004

Shopping with driver Pat told me had no sense, and he hadn’t. Pleasant enough, but parked miles up T. Green Terrace after having told me he was parking where I’d left him, and the same thing at Tesco’s at T Gn T. Skate, halibut red mullet, potted shrimps, rasp blue and chanterelles.

Tree to be cut down in road I first noticed seeing off R and M. is to be replaced. Looks all right.

Thursday September 23 2004

Woke at 1.30. Read till 3, dozed. Woke at 7ish for papers. Dozed. Rang news agent re Spectator’s non-arrival. Read till 10.0. Post early? To book-room for TV and news art 11.0. Video clock said 12.38… My watch had stopped. Disorientated, and felt I’d lost two or three hours forever.

Britain had 24 medals for swimming in the Paralympics, 10 of them gold. Aren’t we wonderful? I find this competition distasteful and cannot understand them exposing their deformities, and pretending to some normality when they have none, cannot be good. It smacks of fantasy.

Friday September 24 2004

J rang, lunch tomor. in Ken High St? No, at once. I need these three or four nothing days. She v. solicitous. Perhaps I need a tonic? Fancy. Said I remembered being made to take an iron tonic – she’d said ‘iron, do I look as if I lack iron?’ – before the war. I can’t now remember why I had to take it or what it was for or how old I was? but under fourteen. Remembered its name later in the evening – Parrish’s Food, good heavens.

Pulled down a Margery Allingham. How good she is.

Saturday September 25 2004

Talk to Mary L. Cautiously mentioned the Bogarde. She jumped smartly in on cue, and said of course she met him because Tony Forwood was married to Glynis Johns during Quiet Weekend.

Really I can hardly decide whether Quiet Weekend will be found written on her heart or mine…

The Schlesinger biog is by a rather illiterate Yank. Thinks ‘fortuitous’ means ‘fortunate.’ And that things can happen by ‘incredulous chance.’ Not promising, I also sense proselytising gayness.

I see there is a play on Television, about obsessive compulsive behaviour and Tourette’s syndrome. Written by an actor who suffers from both. How often such complaints are mentioned, and yet I have only once seen even a possible example of o.c. and heard of Tourette’s. The o.c was in the Gents somewhere, in Bristol perhaps, a quite grand Gents in a big shop, where I’d gone for a rather unexpected shit. A man was washing his hands when I went in, and was still washing them when I came out. As for Tourette’s, tho’ we had never heard the word then, Julian S got some fun out of very respectable woman, furs etc… who occasionally barked in the Brompton Rd. and then looked round accusingly to see who’d done it.

Sunday September 26 2004

H as usual. In better spirits. She and Geoffrey are off to an amateur perf. of The Sorcerer. One of their Tory/society affectations is Gilbert and Sullivan. The point is, are G&S part of the status quo still? A safer capitalist bet would surely be the pop scene? Killing. G&S are good. Dukes are good. Etc…

K rang, safe back. Will come over soon. When didn’t know. I only ask so as not to arrange anything to interfere.

Monday September 27 2004

Mark Baker came round with the repaired dining-chair. A little harassed, and had nothing to say about the book rest. But he has a large benign presence, and gives you a feeling of confidence. He is certainly good casting for a cabinet maker.

Forgot to say S wrote me about Lisa Eichorn rebuking me for forgetting. Left a nasty taste.

Tuesday September 28 2004

Ling-ling said it was p.m. Still next week, a.m. after that. Hm.

Wednesday September 29 2004

Shopping trip. Two bags of books to Oxfam. Sea Bream, skate and halibut. Glob Arti and rasps. Still. And peas at Tesco’s still. Caerphilly, Taleggio and Ardahan at M & Bennett. Oh the Ardahan… Groans of ecstasy. Unpasteurised milk you see. Why is it allowed?

I have now finished the Schlesinger. Poor John, every chapter begins with the biographer and J’s boyfriend talking over his head after his stroke. He could no longer walk, and hardly speak, could he understand? I hope not. How I hate that militantly gay world, like all, beleaguered minories, a sense of proportion is quickly twisted out of shape. I shan’t be keeping the book. Did I say I saw him play the Princess Aurai’s handmaiden at school?

Thursday September 20 2004

Much talk just now over the Olympics coming here in 2012. (I’m glad to hear the BBC have started saying twenty twelve and not the ridiculous two thousand and twelve. Yanks, I suppose.) I have no interest except the tiresomeness of it being all over the papers and television. In any case, it’ll be in a part of London which we haven’t heard of or been to and a comfortable distance away. Not mention that I shall be 86 if I’m still here.

K rang. He’s got someone he’s producing, a girl called Kathy, or possibly Cathie, who performs playing the Celtic harp. I think mermaids were mentioned and Ireland, and the Celtic Twilight leapt into my mind. I turned out a few quotes and sources that occurred to me. He is always so good at wanting his imagination stirred, and sensitive enough to know that I can pick up such quotes and sources. Coming at weekend, wonderful.

Friday October 1 2004

Chat to Tim W. Both out of work and broke. Good heavens, two months after the baby. And Ling-ling had left. Well, it’s a bit more mutual. They told her not to come one week, as they didn’t that week and she hasn’t come back. Oh dear, they don’t know, do they? No doubt that’s why she subbed. She lives on a knife-edge obviously, and has to work weekly without fail. I must make the best of her while she’s here. She has no loyalty except to money. I’m sure Helen did a Doctors, he did a humiliatingly small bit in something, I’ve forgotten. They’re thinking of new agents, or he is. Goodness, I thought she was comparatively well-off, in a film/serial way. It seems not, and there is that huge house. Why on earth didn’t they do the agent business before conceiving the baby? He’ll be back in Woman in Black before you can look round. Ling-ling’s ironing was too fastidious. She took ages doing ten perfectly finished articles, instead of romping through the whole lot slapdash in a hour as they wanted. Oh dear.

Saturday October 2 2004

K rang and came today absolutely heavenly. Arrived a bit later than he’d said – two accidents which made him go round by that Homebase. He’d brought me the small individual cafetiere he’d promised. Lovely. Did bacon and mushroom omelette as of old and some pots and peas for him. I love to see him eat with appetite. He liked the Pinot Grigio too. After we went on with a chat about the Celtic Twilight we’d started before. I’d left him reading the Oxford Comp to Eng-lit, and when I came back to say lunch was ready, he said I must give it him for Christmas. Well, if he doesn’t read, he can at least look authors and books up. After quoted Gordon Bottomley on the seals singing on lona, told him about the Sirens, and gave him the score of The Immortal Hour. He opened it to look for the song of the Shee and said that he had been thinking of - oh dear, was it 6/8 or what? – the same as Rutland Boughton. Also he took away G. Robertson’s letter, and D’s Oxford Book of English Verse, which was her Senior Drawing Prize. Really? She couldn’t draw a thing.

After, he put the bulbs up in the book-room, and I helped him put the nine bags of garden refuse from the other Sunday into the proper bags for collection. Comforting to be able to work with him, and struck by his lifting the bag to the windowsill after the first one, without a word, so that I wouldn’t have bend down to twist the tag round the top. How lovely that he went off with a bagful of books! How lucky I am.

Sunday October 3 2004

Rang John N. Back from Turkey and pre-lots of other things. Thought he sounded a bit quenched, and after two sentences, he said he’s had really bad food-poisoning. On the last night in T, he’d ‘indulged’ a bit, and at what sounded like some sort of hors d've. or that ghastly meze in Greece, he had ‘some octopus, which no-one else had.’ I think he’d really had a bad time for once! We went on chatting and I hope he cheered up. Told me Constanti. is bigger than London… and eventually we shrieked. But he has to put off Wales to try to be ready for Florence. I must copy out his itinerary which he sent me the other week…

Istanbul 22nd September – 28th. Atlantic Collage, Wales 4&5 October. Florence 7-10 Oct. New York 8-12 Nov. He’s already cancelled Wales, still hoping for Florence.

Monday October 4 2004

Suddenly made the two ‘phone-calls I’ve been brooding over. First to the young roofer to find out whether the work is over or not, so that I can legitimately complain about the French- doors being blocked by an errant horizontal scaffold pole. Have I recorded that before? Perhaps not. It’s irritating enough it happening without writing about it, but that isn’t right. Anyway being prevented going into your garden is outrageous, whether the work is finished or not. Though he says it is. So far, so good.

As for the Horological Institute, I can only sketch the intensely irritating situation. I suppose I described taking the clock and watches to Mr. Oliver. I’m still trying to get them back. The woman I spoke to told me to write to the general manager. No more details.

Both situations are maddening. Have I ever inflicted such situations on anyone? No.

Tuesday October 5 2004

Ling-ling as usual. Rested after the letters.

Further to what I’ve so often written about the crime of not teaching people better English, I saw a black intellectual interviewed, Dr. Vincent Mogambe, a keen intellect and beautiful speech. I am so angry that Africans and Caribbeans especially are allowed to go out into the world with such a handicap that will condemn then to inferior work in what is now for many of them their native land. Perhaps someone could help them not to talk so loud.

Wednesday October 6 2004

Expecting scaffolders every day. But can’t keep saying no.

Shopping. Remembered the flyspray. First go, tonight, spray quite heavily and shut the door, and see.

Thursday October 7 2004

Last survivor of Balaclava died aged 96 in 1927. I like the thought that I was in the world for a year with him, not to mention Ellen Terry and Thomas Hardy. It’s always amused me to think that if Hardy had been a Swinburne, and had come over to B’mouth for some - then possible luxury shopping, I might have been molested in my pram.

In TV soap, seen for seconds, a gay man says to girl he’s had a baby with that he’ll probably stay with her. ‘How are things with you and him?’ ‘Well, the ball’s in his court.’ Not a smile.

Friday October 8 2004

That poor man, Bigley, beheaded. Why does no-one seem to say that the people who do such things are savages, whatever their reasons or beliefs?

Talk on TV about dreams. Three most commons, ‘Being naked in a big city, sitting down for an exam and knowing nothing and your teeth falling out – we’ve all had that.’ Curious. The only one I can get near is the exam – but in the form of struggling over a large building, a theatre, guess what, and knowing nothing of yr. lines. Everyone’s had a dream of their teeth falling out? Who?

Saturday October 9 2004

Farmers market, eggs, partridge, cheese – Buffalo Caerphilly, delicious. Chemist for nail- scissors, £15. French slotted spoon to replace the rusty one which leaves rust stains on the sink – this is silicone. A non-stick saucepan to replace one D used. Books – the new Sue Grafton, Well-Remembered Friends, an anthology of eulogy compiled by Angela Hath, and Tolkien’s Gown by an antiquarian bookseller, a chapter on each over-priced category. Double-size postcard from S, all smiles and smoothing, suggesting lunch, good heavens. He knows he was rather overbearing.

Sunday October 10 2004

H called as usual. Much laughter, too allusive to write down. J rang, and told me about Cloaca, K Spacey’s opening prod. at The Old Vic. Fairly disastrous notices. Sounds dire, flat, aimless, feeble. Goodish actors, house half full if that. J has not yet the gift of concision when telling a plot, but I was very glad to hear about it. I hope K. Spacey is being clever and not stupid.

Monday October 11 2004

Rang M.L. She rather surpassed herself. Unusually she asked how I was. I said very well, really! Obviously that irritated her. ‘I’ve always noticed that it’s really healthy people who get cancer.’ She said it quite mildly, as a detached intellectual comment. Oh dear, one can see her progress thro’ life. The worst of it is these things she says, she believes – well, really, and I’m not even drunk. And must have said them to superstitious actors.

Wrote about the doors being barred to that man I had a civilized letter from about the Banham Lock.

Tried ringing the council and got three people to whom I had to tell the story one after another, and the fourth – a low gulp repeated three or four times which I took to be a background noise and turned out to be hullo in an accent strong enough for me not to bother to understand him. Hopeless.

Tuesday October 12 2004

Ling-ling arrived for the first morning session at 10.30, and finished at 12.0. Short time, but I like that, and if she does the work, which she did, it suits me.

Letter from Horological Society, passing my letter on to their Standards Director, I’m happy to know they’ve got one. Also invoice from the silver-smith for the magnifying-glass. Rain all day.

Wednesday October 13 2004

Finished Eulogy book. Hm. Can’t understand the choice of extracts or the chronology, tho’ it says it’s the date of the memorial, not the death. Some good bits, Noel Aman saying that Anne F had no idea of the difference between right and wrong. Eric Sykes on Dudley Moore. John on Vivien. Alec G on L.O. All the same, a missed opportunity, with many dud bits.

Thursday October 14 2004

Read and finished Tolkien Letters by an antiquarian bookseller. The choice of authors alone is an indictment of the trade. I nearly threw it across the room, but in the end l kept it because he did condemn the absurdities and vulgarities of his trade. It seems a perfect dust wrapper can now add £20,000 to the price of a book. I’m glad he does blame the ignorance and greed of Yanks.

Saw Bob Mason had died. K knew and worked? with him didn’t he? I remember thinking him a humdrum affair. Only fifty-three. Married in ’94, two daughters. Hope they’re all right for money.

Tesco’s shopping. Rather tired, tho’ still sleeping well.

K rang quite on cue. ‘I’ve got you a mobile. I’ve put £20 on it, and there’s SIM.’ ‘What’s SIM?’ ‘Don’t ask. I’ll bring it next time I come.’ Told him about Bob and said I’d send him the obit. ‘Don’t put any fruit-flies in with it.’

Friday October 15 2004

Picked up Tchekov’s letters again. The first few are rather characterless, a v. young man looking to please and finding a style. I always find a difficulty with translations except on the full sweep of a personality and its talents.

Cooked the half lamb blade I brought yesterday. Delicious, with the crisp fat and tender feathery slices underneath. Red-current jelly.

Now we’re getting to the literary and theatre part. That’s the stuff.

Saturday October 16 2004

Woke at one-ish with quite sharp indigestion and was more or less up and about all night. Two draughts of Gaviscon, and still acid. Odd. It’s true I haven’t had a joint of lamb for some time How long? Six months at the outside? But it isn’t particularly indigestible – not to me ever…

Had a scram. egg on toast for lunch, soothing, usual dinner, - perhaps certain twinges here and there. Proper coffee, but no ill-effects. Whisky as usual.

Sunday October 17 2004

Door-bell rang at 7.30 a.m. In book-room waiting for S. paper. Delivery van outside as high as the first floor windows. A five-foot metal girder? prop? and a half-filled carrier-bag. Neither of their names on form. Closed the door as he rang their number. Opened door again, as Charlie G. came to top of stairs pulling on his trousers. Outraged, as I was, at 7.30 a.m. on a Sunday. Bag-eyed with his precious Sunday sleep-in. Told him about the scaffold, a similar tiresomeness. ‘Back to bed’ I called. Maddening for him. Still young enough for sleep to be a powerful appetite.

Monday October 18 2004

Rang Mary L. to say I would visit her before Christmas. ‘So is there anything I can bring you? Wine? Can you have it in the dining-room?’ ‘I have a glass of wine in the bar before dinner and make it last an hour.’ ! Talking to who? Without irritation? ‘Right. So six bottle of red wine.’ ‘And would you bring a corkscrew? One of those ones with two bars either side you press down?’ ‘Oh, I thought you’d brought yours from - ’ ‘No.’ ‘Smoked salmon?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’ll bring some Rex Stouts if I can get hold of them.’ ‘Good, and perhaps some whisky.’ ‘Oh, right.’ ‘A half-bottle, I think.’ ‘Right.’

Plucked down my couple of W. Plomer biogs and auto. Satisfying.

Tuesday October 19 2004

Scaffolding gone. No answer to my letter, so goodness knows who’s done it. Perhaps it’s just the incredibly chaotic scaffolder needing some poles. A deep relief. Rang K.

Ling-ling took Eulogy book for H, two detecs for M.L., and Bob Mason’s obit. For K.

Went out into garden for first time for over a month. Couldn’t bring myself to look beyond the basket-ball platform – I think I must find a more sympathetic name for it – and the trampling feet. Near enough is bad enough. They’ve left one fifteen or twenty foot pole which has sheared the G. Thomas big bush off its stakes and how do we get rid of the pole?

Wednesday October 20 2004

No sleep at all. Can’t decide whether it’s a return to bad nights or real coffee. And I do love real coffee.

What harm the continual news repetitions do! How hysterical everyone is nowadays, compared to forty or fifty years ago. Pulled down the Plomer biog. and am reading it with great pleasure of knowing so well so many of the roads he lived in.

Thursday October 21 2004

Shopping. Pouring again. Nice driver. Have I got a cancerous mole on my lip I wonder?

Oh Paul O’Grady’s chat show, talking about touring, he said ‘I’ve played in theatres I wouldn’t throw a petrol bomb into.’

Friday October 22 2004

Pouring. At Tesco’s bought a book. Is this the beginning of the end? To my surprise it was the new R Hill. Have read half of it, rather better than lately.

Vignette from a film trailer. Plump young author, next him at dinner, girl: ‘Do tell me the title of the latest book?’ ‘The Day After yesterday.’ ‘Oh... oh, you mean today?’

Saturday October 23 2004

Rain.

K rang. Next Sunday. Told each other two funny stories. Shrieked. He went on cooking.

Sunday October 24 2004

Is it old age or are the papers specially dull and negative these days? I know optimism is not fashionable, but such a procession of unpleasant and useless reports and opinions makes me turn straight to the obits. At least you can see we’ve got rid of someone bad, and celebrate someone good.

Eventually got H after missing each other. Didn’t mention Geoffrey which is good news.

Glanced at the War of the World film, to see if it was as bad as I thought originally, and because I have plucked down some H.G. Wells. (Odd the W of W is missing.) The film is worse, all flavour lost in a flat flavourless ‘50s Yank film, ruined by that all pervading hysteria. Entirely missing is that gradual tension, and the English outer-London suburban and village atmosphere that is so central to the book. How incredibly stupid people are to take just the physical events of a novel, stripping them of the frame that gives them meaning.

Monday October 25 2004

Yes, H.G. Wells, oh poor chap. One of the earliest polytechnic students, with his need to make practical, political and philosophical points in the texture of a novel. Every now and again his great gifts as a writer pour through and succeed. ‘Mr. Polly.’ for instance, is as good as you could wish for.

The four vols. of Tales, that were my father’s, are very patchy. In the Days of the Comet has a fearful amount of ‘social realism’ or whatever, and moralising going on. ‘The Invisible Man’ has a terrific period feel, and more or less works. But there is still the sniff of a tract. As in the stories, there is that dangerous turning aside from the person who should be central to a polemical point. He was so gifted, but only half-educated. No wonder his last book was titled Mind at the End of its Tether.

Tuesday October 26 2004

Woke at 4.0. Not too bad, I suppose. First time of Ling-ling doing bedroom in a.m, so that I could have my rest as usual. Slept from 2-5, perhaps to celebrate.

Ella’s b’day. Had to ring to get book-token. No answer. No doubt away for this ridiculous registered it happening. Quite deplorable from every point of view. And my papers come two hours later!

Wednesday Oct 27 2004

Went to pick up the magnifying-glass at the P.O. place in the god-forsaken industrial estate on Silver St. It’s the sort of place where you’d expect nothing to happen except a featureless boring murder. The whole approach to it is so choked with cars, vans, P.O trolleys etc. that a man coming out of somewhere took pity to move two trolleys to let me get by. Inside the door to the bigger room was locked, and there is just a small space with, as it were, a ticket window, only room for three or four people standing. Well, I hope they organise it so that there isn’t a queue in the rain. Only one old man waiting – so I was out in two or three minutes. To W’stones in Ken High St. New Margot F. Biog. The new Lees Milne vol., Muriel Spark’s poems, and a Diana Athill I hadn’t heard of, Tesco’s, back to start the Lees- Milne. Sparkling as ever.

Gales were forecast, but, as so often, they mean the West Country and don’t go into enough detail.

Thursday October 28 2004

Lees-Milne a delight as ever. 3 hours sleep a.m. till 2.0, and 3 hrs sleep p.m. 2-5. Oh dear.

Rang H. Re-sending L.M. Jolly.

Friday October 29 2004

Going on with Wells, skipped thro’ Dr. Moreau. Sweet memories of K’s tapes but book marred by the usual polemics.

Rested for Sunday. Rang K to fix it as the day for me.

Didn’t sleep as usual, came to b-room for the news, and caught an ancient Australian sit-com. A woman caught herself out telling her troubles for too long, she felt. She stood up and said ‘Here am I, going on like a pork chop.’ Oh the mystery.

Saturday October 30 2004

Shopping at Turnham Green. Well-meaning driver missed me twice, making me stand with two heavy bags until my back was breaking. V. tired. Rest at 2.0. Woke at 7.0. Bother.

Went on with Margot F. book. Writing rather uneven. What a mixture she was.

Sunday October 31 2004

Tired but so happy. Another day so funny and so sweet. They arrived at ten to four and insisted on weeding the left hand bed thoroughly, tho’ I don’t suppose they know much about roots. I’m too drunk to write much. He brought me a present of a mobile ‘phone and tried to explain it to me, sitting side by side on the sofa between shrieks. Went off without giving me the number.

Monday November 1 2004

Yes, a precious day. He pulled the box of wine away from the cellar door to get something or other, and pored over it, saying, with overdone exclamations of excitement, ‘Ooh Chardonnay! Ooh, Sancerre etc.’ I said he’d better take a couple, especially as he’d brought me a Bombay Sapphire, and wouldn’t take the £15 I’d put on the sofa table, although I’d asked him to bring it. Later, when we were clearing up for them to go, I said ‘Don’t forget the wine.’ ‘It’s in the car.’ And it was, 3 bots, the dear creature, oh how I love it. Told Arlete about Arpège, said she was going to try and find a green coat at Selfridge etc, and would also try a squirt of Arpège. I don’t know what I’ve done for them to come and work and praise the dinner and surround me with love.

Despite the exertion of the day – cooking the dinner, halibut and large hothouse black berries they innocently enjoyed, I woke at 1.25 a.m. Read and TVd, and passed the tiresome time, till the papers. In p.m. rest, slept 1.45-6.40. bother.

Frightful car crimes about James Boffey, unlicensed and hadn’t passed test, and not insured, knocked down a 15 yr old. He was fined £200, tho’ his record showed that he’d appeared for 6 other offences. There must be some changes. Autre crimes, autre moeurs.

Television programme about very young ‘Mums and Dads.’ The four young women were all plainly catatonically stupid.

Tuesday November 2 2004

Ling-ling as usual. Sent the Lees-Milne to H by her. Two messages on ‘phone, so rang K. Irritating, - his two messages from Sunday, although the disembodied voice said I’d deleted them. Still, I was able to tell him A. had left her stole, and ‘Don’t bother to send it on.’ And reminded him of ‘It’s in the car’. More shrieks.

Wednesday November 3 2004

All day, waiting for chiropodist. She was about ten minutes late, par for the course in London. When I opened the door, her likeness to Caroline Quentin was quite startling. Same slope of face, same suppressed amusement, same comfortable figure. C.Q’s elder sister perhaps. Very pleasant and efficient. What a predictable relationship is a medical procedure. I was soon telling her about K and asking her about her children, 14 ½ and 11. She’s Polish, and her name is Adriana. Full of humour, and, when I said I was reading the new translation of Chekov’s letters, and she reacted at once, and it turned out she’s read them in the original Russian. Oh, how I envied her.

She cut my six-inch long left toe-nail, and stopped it in-growing. Very satisfyingly, she used a little abrasive machine to take away all the incrustations of dry skin on my heels, all in those cliffs and valleys like the Giant’s Causeway. Did both corns, and when I said ‘Who do I pay?’ said, with exactly C. Quentin’s irresistible simper, ‘Me!’ Most satisfactory. No pain.

Good chat to J to thank her for recommending Adriana. Finished the Margot book. Much good stuff, but curiously uneven writing. And a melancholy story in many ways. Especially as D and I felt little for the Nureyev time, curious lack of judgment of people. And guilt!

Thursday November 4 2004

Quiet day. A little colder. Rang H to see if she’d got the Lees-Milne, and had v. funny talk. Couldn’t resist telling one of the jokes. Oh dear.

Friday November 5 2004

Less fireworks than when I moved here, just as there is no loud talk from one of two houses nearby as there used to be.

Plucked down two Ngaio Marsh, Surfeit of Lampreys and A Man Lay Dead, Alleyn’s first appearance. Rather sketchier and more clouded then in Lampreys. Like D. Sayers, she fell in love with him a bit later on.

Saturday November 6 2004

Still a few fireworks. In the night, read Death in Ecstasy, also early, 193-something and a bit silly. To Farmer’s market. Two partridge, a dozen and a half eggs, three halfs of salted butter and a piece of Norbury Blue cheese, forgetting I didn’t like it much. Rather sharp, like gorgonzola. Then to W’stones. Bought the two Camilleri again and the new one (and later ‘phoned Mary L to tell her to give the two I sent her to Denville book shelves). The new and last Betjeman-Hillier vol. a – I think – new detec, and the Joan Wyndham diary?

Sunday November 7 2004

Started the Betjeman with keen pleasure. Hillier is so good and so full of detail, just like J.B.

Eggs Florentine for lunch, with the wonderful fresh eggs poached in delicious little firm circles of freshness. Dinner, a juicy pleasant.

H as usual. I hoped we wouldn’t mention the Yank election, but she did, with excitement. It is still surprising to me that an educated woman can be so blindly prejudiced. To take one attribute alone, if anyone else suggested to her that an evangelical Christian would make an admirable head of state, she would laugh. She would be quite right. I cannot imagine an intelligent person being an evangelical Christian. Every such I’ve met, and I’ve met many, has been a monument of stupid prejudice and ridiculous logic. I wonder if H has ever consciously admitted that what she reveres is money and capitalism. I’m not sure that she even likes upper-class and aristocratic people unless they’re rich.

Monday November 8 2004

Rain. Prawn cocktail for lunch – old world dish. Tesco now do fresh mayonnaise, well, fresh with pasteurised egg, whatever that may be, and good olive oil. Of course it isn’t real mayonnaise, but it is the nearest I’ve found, now that I can’t bother to make it. At least it is only the egg, the oil, salt and sugar. No stabilizers or preservatives or emulsifiers… with a bunch of parsley from the garden – it’s perked up a bit after the wretched scaffolders – it was good.

I wish I could see any difference that ‘foreign travel’ makes in people.

Tuesday November 9 2004

Yesterday ‘Lord Coe’ - still boring Sebastian Coe – talked about the possible London Olympics wearing the usual Flanders scarlet poppy, hard up against a deep magenta tie. The clash was so violent that it is difficult to believe he could have done it if he wasn’t colour blind. A good thing he was an athlete and not a golfer, or cricketer. No colour problem in being a bore.

Wednesday November 10 2004

Oh the Betjeman is such a pleasure. The laughs and the wit.

Another railway accident. It seems a car drove onto a level crossing to wait for a 100mph train, killing six people, seven, with himself. Frightful how people rush to judge and papers print it now. He’s a chef (mind you mad chefs?) Plenty of people to say he was a loner. He was odd that night…’ etc. Was he gay? Was he naked waiting in the car? Lack of judgment and conception of evidence are more and more terrifyingly wide spread.

Going decisively colder tonight it seems on the lemon ‘bush’ – will it be a tree ever? I shouldn’t think so – and the ‘big-hat’ cover on J’s spider plant.

Only complaint about Betjeman, all notes at end of book. Common practice, now of course, in the age of non-readers, who cannot glance to the bottom of the page for information and remember where they were in the text when they glance back. For example, ‘everyone’ says, ‘what an exemplary’ editor R. Hart-Davis was. He put the notes at the bottom of the page…

7º in town.

Thursday November 11 2004

Service in garden of remembrance on ‘the’ day. Have I missed it before? Queen, and all.

Betjeman a joy.

Arafat dead at last. Nauseating ‘spin’ not saying he was on ‘life-support,’ so that political jockeying could go on.

Forgot to say picked up and finished in a trice the new Joan-Wyndham diary. I take it to be a bit of book-making. Rather tedious passages from her mother’s diaries, and a certain degree of padding but, when you get to her diary at RADA, before the other three columns, you are back with the authentic tone. To my amusement, her main idol, at RADA before the war was Bill Squire. Well, he always was one, rather laboriously, by the time I knew him, one for the girls. She called him ‘faun’ – fancy. But I do see, because he had an odd face, with big slanting cheekbones and eyes, and was probably stick thin in those days. With her usual truthfulness, she told what poor circumstances he came from, and how ‘strange’ he smelt, and how poor he was. I wish D could read it. Interesting, but all the same, even in her own diary bits, I am pretty sure she did some doctoring. The author’s photo has a faintly riotous air, and I can imagine she needs the money. Anyway, it’s still a good read.

And so abundantly, is the Betjeman. I shall re-read the whole thing.

Friday November 12 2004

J asked herself to dinner tomorrow. Good. Rested in preparation.

Film of Arafat’s obsequies, and reams of idiot Arabs milling about like ants round the coffin destroying their own mourning and any shape of a ceremony. How I despise religions and nationalities that depend on keeping their people stupid. Italy. Ireland. We did it too but in the name of money. I’ve never been able to decide which is worse.

Still distant fireworks.

Betj. He asked B.H. to write it, and Penelope B fully co-operated. I understand E. Cavendish standing aside, her reticence, her background, perhaps her lack of any sort of academic education, but I don’t agree with her Candida L.G. I don’t understand at all. But families! ‘No faults’ is rather a silly idea. Does she think her father was wrong in his choice?

Rain most of day.

Saturday November 13 2004

J to dinner. She always goes by 9.30, my bed-time now. She arrived with the usual array of small presents. It’s her generation, I know, tho’ it has spread to Prim, for instance, thirty yrs ago. American origin of course. Still, there was an interesting article about the latest Lees- Milne, the Waterstone’s Christmas catalogue (odd that she didn’t know I must have it already, if I wanted it – I don’t of course, as like all such things, it’s for non-readers), two slips of paper, about four inches long, with a little magnet at the bottom of each slip. Joined at the top – bookmark, it seems and a Paxton and Whitfield jar, which I looked at eagerly but oh dear, pickled onions, something which has never crossed my lips and never will, as rawish onions and pickle are instant heartburn. But oh! how good and kind of her. And what a curious mixture she is of sophistication and provincial naiveté. For instance, when the cab I’d ordered came - she seemed not to want to walk home as she always has, is it the dark? – she more or less rushed to the front door to say she was coming in case he should drive away without her. Boiled bacon, spinach, broccoli, pots. All she ate with relish. A teaspoon of gin. And a full rummer of tonic, no wine. Oh dear, spoils dinner as I get a little elevated and she doesn’t.

I was really glad to hear that she’s going to buy her flat. At last.

Sunday November 14 2004

Cold. Central heating on all day. First time. Main power switch turned off by Hoover? Bedside lamp off till switched back.

Monday November 15 2004

In a burst of energy, to avoid letters re Oliver, rang tiler, Oddbins, and Chums, who’d taken down my card no. Wrong again. Tiler sounded pleasant, and didn’t seem to be working – perhaps promising. Rang J.N., safe back.

Tuesday November 16 2004

Ling-ling. Told her of power switch, and Hoover tube. She laughed nicely. Oddbins 4.30.

Wednesday November 17 2004

Took the papers back to bed as usual – about 8.30, the bedside-lamp went off again. Tried in the d-room – that wretched switch again, which this time wouldn’t stay up. Boiler off, cooker off, ‘fridge F off, anything on a point. TV. Put off ringing K till after 9.0. No answer. Rang A. just for backup. Sweet, at work! Oh dear. K rang at 9.45. Considered, hummed and ha’d in case he needn’t come, then said he’d re-arrange a few things and come. At 10.50 smiling and comforting. Went at it, pulled out all plugs, checked everything, sat on sofa, said ‘I’m not an electrician.’ And the thought of the wretched floodlights. Found one gnawed thro’ by rat and squirrel. All on again, the dearest chap. Told me that on way he’d given a lift to Sharron! Bad knee, rather bitter. I had letter from Oliver to Horolog. Institute. Curious concatenation. What have I done to deserve him?

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 188

November 18, 2004 – March 3, 2005.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

That poor woman taken hostage in Iraq, has been killed by her captors. She is married to an Iraqi, & has for thirty years devoted her life to caring for poor & ill people & their children. I can hardly think of a better illustration of bestial stupidity, & the pointlessness of war.

Rang M.L to discuss her needs & my Christmas visit. Asked me this time to bring some cash, £50, for presents, treats, perhaps. I remember her asking for that before because she couldn’t get out. Well, I can give her that, and a bit more. She must be thinking of her flat money being eaten away by her time at Denville.

So the tiler said he would come between 6.30 & 7.30. Came at 6.30. Mid forties, tall, thoughtful, took time. ‘A Friday or Saturday?’ ‘Yes’. ‘not this, next, I’ll ring you’. Good.

Friday, November 19, 2004

Second poor night. How odd the seeming cycles are! Suddenly couldn’t go shopping & cancelled cab, with relief.

Lights flickering in the morning, but not just power lights, overhead as well.

Feeling below par, rang J. & maundered. Oh dear. She tells me off for talking about money. Odd. Little she knows. Rang K. bout the flickering. He was amused. I think he thought I’d imagined it. I’ll check, if I can summon the energy.

It’s gone really cold. Good.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Rain all day after freezing night, 6°, 4° tonight, it seems. Started the second Betj. vol. in my re-reading. Rather shocked to find how little I remember of it.

Various books reviewed that interest me. John Fraser has written his autobiog. Which Jonathan Cecil reviewed favourably in The Spectator, ‘well written etc’ & I believe him up to a point. Certainly he might have an interesting story to tell, – if he can tell it. Then there are two MacLaren-Ross reprints. Most interesting are continuing & yet sporadic attempts to keep his reputation alive, starting with his appearance as X Trapnel in Dance. I never read anything of his at the time. Or perhaps I did, & suppressed it. I’d like to be sure. Then there’s another tiresome creature, Lindsay Anderson. Oh, how glad I am I never worked for him, I’m sure he would have sat on me, for my accent if nothing else, because it was like his own despised voice.

Diaries & Collected Articles; my guess is there is a cold likeness to John Lehmann. We’ll see.

Then in the Christmas lists, Hilary Spurling recommended a book about domestic cows, & someone else? her? Ling-Ling threw the paper away, a book about Hughes & Plath by Diana Middlebrook. Yes, it must have been her, because so few people could make me want to read about that charmless & talentless pair.

Rang K re-bank statement. V. funny talk of squirrels. A. in Portugal till Wed.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Music last night from upstairs till 2:30 a.m. A come down from the permission asked last year & a sign, perhaps, of puberty kicking in with the boys. Odd, when they are so quiet. I never hear a sound of TV & so on, & just the occasional footstep. Still I can’t say that it disturbed me, as I was already awake & with my earplugs – or plug in, I couldn’t hear it at all.

H. as usual, & rather fearful tales of the dry rot skirting-boards, presses full of stuff needing sorting, cupboard’s full of china that needed to be taken out, washed & put back again. (Why?) All this against the background of two floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which had been cleared & now had to be dusted & put back, now the dry rot was done. A v. tiring job, which Geoffrey insisted on helping with. Rearranging books is more tiring than un-bookey people think, & all that bending & lifting can’t be good for G’s angina.

Also so mysterious they didn’t put them in alphabetical order. Amazing. She bravely tried to pass it off by saying that you got pleasant surprises, but I’m sure she hates it really.

Talked to J. & was intrigued. She taxed me lightly with bringing money into everything. Goodness, I’ve never been accused of that, in fact been told off for not doing so enough! She said she was going to say ‘ching’ ‘every time I did it’. She really has the wrong end of the stick. I am never interested in people who have money. But I do ask about actors I haven’t heard of for a bit, ‘is he/she all right for money?’ Because I am interested in people who haven’t enough. Interesting that she perhaps doesn’t like to mention of money at all. Must listen.

Later. John. N rang to say sorry he was a bit short the other night. He wasn’t – he was eating. He has applied for the Gt. Ormond Street job. And no wonder, with everything going on at the R.A. If you ask me, Norman Rosenthal is the centre of it all. J. sent him a memo about something. NR Came storming into his face! office, where there were two or three other people, & the door was open on a room where there were a few others, & said, more or less, ‘What the fuck did you write me that memo for? I don’t give a fuck for you. I don’t give a fuck for the Royal Academy. In fact, I don’t give a fuck for anyone but myself’. An exit line if ever I heard one, in more ways than he perhaps, thinks.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Rang bank, that £1004 entry was credit card. Hm. Wrote to Horology at last. Purging. To Tesco a.m. Holland Rd still closed. Still house falling down.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Completely sleepless night. Unpleasant side-effect meant that I got up at 6.0, sat in book- room, & took papers back there when they came. Didn’t dare to go back to bed in case I dozed off & slept through Ling-Ling’s knock. Prawn cocktail for lunch again. Encouraging detailed estimate from tiler? 4 hours? £155 after discount. Good.

Wednesday November 24, 2004

Deliciously sleepy day of rest.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Ditto.

Friday, November 26, 2004

To Chiswick. Way down the High Rd & at last got some files with pockets, on my list for months. Bank. Huge queue, what for? Noone at cash machines. Reminded me of D saying of the post office queue taking so long, ‘everyone else is sending contraband to Brazil’. Then to Turnham Grn, Globe Artich., skate, red mullet, smoked haddock, pheasant. Caerphilly & Taleggio eggs etc at M & B.

Lovely driver I’ve had before, quiet & thoughtful. Found a parking space in that little cul-de- sac in the middle of the terrace.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

Work at 3.0. I’d read the notices of a new film starring Annette Benning, based on Maugham’s ‘Theatre’. Plucked it down last night, but was in the middle of another revenant from behind the shelf. At 3.0, I picked it up & started reading, going to myself, ‘this is one of the greatest page turning authors of the last century’, catching the tone of the tabloids. And I didn’t put it down until I finished it. Of course it is from the inside of ‘30’s theatre, but still I was interested that it held me so well. M. has faded sadly – is he still in print at all, & he & Walpole were as materially successful as any, – but he was also a v. successful dramatist & knew the theatre. I think it’s his best thing, just as ‘Trelawny’ for much the same reason was Pinero’s. A nice little essay might be written comparing them, as two writers who caught the taste of the time, without capturing more than the surface. Grateful, because I didn’t risk going back to sleep in case I wasn’t ready for the tiler. Arrived at 9.45, overalls, all very professional & worked for four hours. Put coffee & mug etc out for him but didn’t bother. Did a good job, though the black stains of adhesive are still by the cellar door. He said that trying to remove them would mean digging into the tiles. I think he is a rather blinkered tiler, & goes no further. Very respectable but no imagination, I would guess, but thorough. The net result is certainly better. From the broken down tiled pavement with a lot of stains & a line of tiles to be replaced, the first impression now is a black & white chequered hall with a few old tiles. Good. £155.

About half an hour before he left at 1.15, a policeman & woman appeared at the front door, which of course in the immemorial way of workmen he had propped wide open from the moment he arrived….. I was just teetering on the edge of the treated tiles having come along to turn on the heating, & could only appear round the corner, the tiles still wet &, for all I knew, with a slipper-dissolving acid.

‘What have I done?’ I said. The policewoman said truculently, ‘did you ring us?’ How long is it since I had a policeman at the door? Thirty something years when D had her bag snatched. I was interested that she was truculent to someone who may have reported a crime. I suggested upstairs. Calm returned.

Later. Charlie from upstairs to tell me they’d seen an Irish woman feeding the pigeons the other side of my garden wall, & throwing things over. He went round & she screamed at him. We had a little get together about the Irish. Then he asked if he could keep his scooter in the front garden. I had to say yes. So no flowerpots or window-boxes. A good thing no one is in my life from the past to see such a vulgarity. But how lucky I am that he asked. Oh dear. Even K. wouldn’t understand.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

Usual chat to H. I fear her life is duller than she lets on. After all the dry rot, books etc., this week the oven broke down. If I were ML I suppose I’d say ‘how much longer can you go on living here, miles from anywhere, & G – has angina etc. And goodness she must think it. Even without illness or broken ovens, they are getting on for eighty, – G., nearly, H. 74 – 5? – & H. isn’t v. mobile any more, tho’ she doesn’t quite specify how.

Long talk to J. I notice she is often led to go on once she gets onto something troubling her. The workmen Paul, he did a lot of work at Maggie Smith’s, & has been redoing the house upstairs at Whitcomb St. There have been difficulties. J. thinks he’s been giving different stories to her, Christie, scaffolder’s, etc. Strong reaction if she said she’d speak to scaffolder’s – ‘no, no’ because he’d said to scaffolder’s one thing, & used scaffolder’s apparent lateness or inefficiency to cover his own. Tho’ mind you, scaffolder’s….. But I was really troubled that his reaction was so violent that he sent notes saying – & oh, answer machine messages – to say he was worried the scaffolder’s might break her windows, & other very upsetting, less exact threats. (J. doesn’t talk v. coherently, tho’ she thinks she does.) Such threats, direct or indirect, are a danger signal, rendered even more worrying when she told me that he beats his partner, who is Christie & Peter Barrie’s triplets nanny. I fear even she doesn’t quite see the mess. How can people be so stupid?

Asked after Toby Stephen’s Hamlet in that dear familiar theatre. Maggie S. went to the first night. Not that J would know necessarily, but there seems to be no difficulty in M.S. going to her sons first nights, despite her legendary acid comments on others. But I know nothing of her directly. Only comment J told me, was that the set had been cut down for The Albery, &, said M. ‘it seemed a bit cramped’. Seems to have made little impact, he should be possible, but I’ve only seen him the once.

Rain all day.

Monday, November 29, 2004

I see those ghastly spelling competitions have now appeared on television, imported of course from Yank-land. You would have thought there would be a resistance to such idiocy even among television executives, but I’m afraid not. Probably they can’t spell. All such affairs betray lack of education. If you have read enough words & remembered them, you know how to spell them. If not, you open a dictionary. Watching people – not that I have – trying & failing to spell quite ordinary words is only melancholy.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Work at 1:30. Oh, what a bore! Not least because I daren’t nod off over the papers in case Ling-ling comes. So it’s more of a strain. Read in the book room, & watched ghastly dead of night TV., Anything to stay awake later on.

L.L. asked for next week’s money in advance again. Gave it her & J’s Paxton and Whitfield’s pickled onions. She arrived early at ten to ten & therefore left mercifully early. I had that nice little piece of smoked haddock I bought last week, with two poached eggs on top. Slept 1.45 p.m. to 4.15. More bore.

Round K at seven-ish. In a bit of a turmoil with work & no Nashville – ‘don’t ask’ – no computer news – ‘don’t ask’ – & v. funny advising me about upstairs, & Christmas – just a card – if they ask you up for a drink, say ‘you can’t manage the stairs’.

Wednesday, December 1, 2004

Decisively colder.

Thursday, December 2, 2004

Letter from Horology Institute. Disobliging & inaccurate.

Friday, December 3, 2004

Markova dead, at 95, in Bath. Why bath? I somehow always missed seeing her in the theatre, partly because she was in the States in my early youth, mid forties & so on, & then I was working out of London. But D. saw her in the 30’s, so I have a witness I can trust.

She was clearly a great artist. As far as I can judge from film & TV, she was faultless technically, but not cold or impersonal. Her delicately balanced physique & personality she dealt with most wonderfully, to present a certain sort of perfection. I can see why some Judges preferred her to Fonteyn, tho’ I can’t see clearly enough F’s supposed technical imperfections. Certainly British ballet owes a very big debt to her integrity & strength of character. I wish I’d seen her in theatre. All the same, Fonteyn moved me to the core, & I’m not sure Markova would have, & nor was D.

Cab trip to West End. That is an event now. That big Italian, driver I don’t much like. First to Murder One to get ML’s Rex Stouts, him waiting at yellow line curb. Briefly to William Page at Cambridge Circus, but no luck for corkscrew. One to Ken High St Waterstone’s. Not much luck. Alan Bennett’s three novellas, the only pearl. McLaren Ross Of Love & Hunger because I feel I must try on X Trapneleffort. Tesco & home. Troubled that he charged me £60. It was ten o’clock to 12.30, but still.

Saturday, December 4, 2004

Tired. Slept this pm 2.15 – 4.30. Bother.

Sunday, December 5, 2004

Dozed off before H’s call. If this insomnia goes on, I’ll have to ask H to ring later, so that I can have my rest. Rang her back, delightful talk as ever. But how arid the poor girl’s life is. Oh Christmas, the ridiculous distortion of everything in the name of…. absurd newspapers, television programmes, having to think, however superficially, of cards & so on.

Monday, December 6, 2004

Reading first vol. of Betjeman’s letters – heavens, already ten years old – to go with the biog. Struck by the dodgy scholarship of the daughter. Interesting for children of such men. Yes, they have unique facts to tell, but so often they don’t realise that being too close to a big personality clouds the judgement. And after death they are sometimes shocked & judging at unexpected revelations.

British Mus. rang – got card number wrong. Mild little conscientious voice, glory of England. Slept 1.45 – 5.25. More bother. What am I to do? If I don’t sleep in p.m., I don’t sleep any better in a.m.

Tuesday, December 7, 2004

Saw fearful sights in the Philippine floods. Happily Ling-Ling’s family are all right. Rang recycling number for more bags, which you’re now supposed to fetch yourself from the Town Hall. Put on a low vulnerable 78 year-old voice & they’ll deliver.

Slept p.m., 2.45 – 5.15. Where will it end? Death, I expect. British Museum audio catalogue arrived – some books as well. Bibliographies, A. Powell, & a new vol. of Shaw’s papers, a comprehensive term for all the mass S. himself bequeathed to the museum, together with play scripts returned from the Lord Chamberlain &, I presume considerable bodies of papers accumulating thro’ the years from other bequests & purchases. £50. Published next March. Most interesting.

I see there was a feature on the Hungerford massacre. Caught a moment of a pompous psychiatrist – how many of them are– I hope a sexual expert, Professor Badcock.

Wednesday, December 8, 2004

Chat show. Hostess says ‘& we’ve got the first lady of the West End stage’… I thought, Judi Dench? Maggie Smith? Helen Mirren? Joan Plowright? No. ‘Elaine Paige’. A low ebb, indeed.

Transferred the littke bergenia remnant to the little raised bed at the front. I must have the left-hand bed analysed.

The British Museum CD’s arrived. Most fascinating. The 1909 records of Lloyd George & Asquith could be modern. Even the 1890 Gladstone & Florence Nightingale are clear enough for an opinion. Both have those downward plunging seemingly quite mechanical cadences that I remember from very old preachers in my youth. But the end of FN’s two sentences reminds you that she could give people a jump. ‘Florence’ is breathed out, & suddenly ‘Nightingale’ is bitten out. Lovely.

Thursday, December 9, 2004

Rest, slept 2.30 – 6.30. What to do?

Chris Smith appointed to make London ‘a centre of cultural excellence’…. Odd, so many people seem to have thought it already was, at any rate for the last thousand years or so.

There you are, you see. So S. does feel apologetic. He rang for the first time for years, rather than the secretary. Wanted me to go to dinner, with K. & Arlete, ‘but they can’t go, so –’. I refused too, office party time & full restaurants, impossible.

Interesting. Silly ass.

Friday, December 10, 2004

Woke 1.30. Tired. Slept p.m. 1.45 – 5. Tesco. K rang. Away till new year. Oh dear.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Leading the life I do now, it is quite easy to forget what day it is. Took care to ring John N. to ask him about his jobs, in the p.m., at home so as not to interrupt his work, & he answered, because it was Saturday. Rather hilarious, because I’d read that Yank woman, whom he liked, had resigned after only two years, & Norman Rosenthal had been snapped in blue leotarded drag. Not to mention they may re-elect that man who seems to have embezzled £80,000…So John went for an hours talk with whatever her name is, Chief Executive, I suppose. J liked her very much, funny as well as capable. Really capable people are.

But there is a new element. The Tate has approached him, & he’s had dinner/lunch at Mark Birley’s private club with Serota & will probably take it. More money and art. It’ll be his last job before retiring, & he was enthusiastic. I’ve probably got the details wrong, but I was able I think, to be a good audience, as he could, of course, say anything to me. My main misgiving, which I didn’t voice, was the horror of Nicholas? is it? Serota. He looks & sounds the nastiest, coldest fish, & a lot of the art he supports is the same. But it’s only judging at a great distance.

J. rang to say she’d crossed swords with her sister.

Hazel rang to say she couldn’t ring tomorrow.

I rang K. He was out.

Pinched the tall white bucket that’s been out front for some months. It’ll just do to drown any squirrel I catch. It would take the whole trap.

Did I say, woke at 5:30 p.m. Bother.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Weather people talking of white Christmas, oh dear. Turns out, from their point of view, only ’38 & ’81. Well, ’38 was B’mouth, which has probably never had a white Christmas. I certainly don’t remember any snow at all in my childhood, for we were right on the cliffs, five min’s from sea. As for ’81 they have strange ways of measuring it, one flake on the weather centre roof. I can’t remember any year as far back as ’81. But certainly here, in this warm garden, there was a decided covering around Christmas tho’ not on the day it self. New secretary at Covent Garden just stopped by someone sending in a programme proof of Doris Godunov.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Cold. Turned the heat up, instead of off for the first time this winter. Ordered two wine deliveries & the Halcyon car for ML’s visit. It’s Christmas & it’s her, & I am determined to avoid a double curse on an unknown journey. All the way to Northolt. What a traveller I am! Fascinating article on religion in The Telegraph using statistics from the census in 2001. 37 million Christians fancy, 7 million, none. (Fascinating, that last, I didn’t think so many people had the courage to test fate by claiming that), Muslim, a million and a half, Hindu, half a million, Jedi Knights over quarter of a million (they turned out to be something to do with Star Wars, good heavens). Sikh 300,000 odd & then the Jewish quarter of a million. That last was the big surprise to me. I thought they’d be the biggest after Christian. And only 10,000 atheists. No mention of agnostics, I suppose they’re under none.

Read Alan Watkins Brief Lives all through, after dipping. Well worthwhile.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

H. rang, instead of Sunday. At last got over to her that five-ish, as today is better because of my rest. But I hope without making her feel she’s been making a mistake all these years. One of my wine orders from yesterday arrived. The Meursault. Gracious.

Suddenly recalled, I can’t think why, Effie Rogers & the hydrochloric acid. E.R. was a friend of my father & mother from Birmingham days. A professional pianist, she was one of two pupils of Tobias Matthay, the other being Myre Hess. And to prove it, she had her hair in earphones. A striking character, she was also a fairly striking hypochondriac. She was well off apart from the work, had a housekeeper who called her Miss Effie, and a younger sister called Lillian, whose main interest, it seemed was lighthouse keepers. One day when she was staying with us in the thirties, after lunch, sitting next to me still at the table, she asked for a glass with four tablespoonfulls of water in. She then dropped for all five drops from a little bottle marked poison into it from a pipette. My mother asked nervously what she was taking. Effie Said the doctor had told her that she was lacking in stomach acids, & recommended this dosage of hydrochloric acid. I was ten or eleven, & eagerly looked forward to an agonizing convulsive death on the hearth-rug….

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Oliver rang, happily when I was asleep. Mild again.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Oliver arrived on the dot at 2.0, thank goodness. I was v. cold & kept him at the front door. Looked thinner & older. Tough. Poor silly little creature.

Watch works, I think. So far the clock has only gone twice for two, ten minutes.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Tesco’s session over £100 pounds for first time. Only the Christmas holiday.

Saturday, December 18, 2004

Dead quiet already. Heaps going away abroad. In some antique programme v. simple people, a handsome two handled 1750 silver cup. Owner, a working class man who said it was from his wife’s family outside Manchester, name, Isherwood. At no points did anyone mention Christopher, nevermind suggesting that the Isherwood connection might add any value. It’s engraved H.S.I……

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Very cold, but the joy of central heating for the first time, & in old age, when you need it. Wretched scenes at B’ham Rep, good gracious. A play by a young Sikh woman depicts goings-on in a Sikh temple, rape & such like, – do they have choirgirls? – & the Theatre was picketed by two hundred enraged Sikh’s, a door & window smashed, plentiful police, first slot on News! Poor old theatre, at last. Play may very well be rubbish, the product of a silly girl with a repressed upbringing, & an attraction to Royal Court conventions, where every vice can be crammed into one room. Nevertheless it must go on. After all, it was sold out.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Very cold. A good day. Cab to barber ten o’clock, served at once, out again in ten minutes. Cab to Ken High St., nasty Lindsay Anderson’s collected Writings, the Agatha C. compendium, & a new detect’, – one hopes. Bought ML’s wine at a down at heel mini thing in Goldhawk Rd. Poor old dear, she greets plonk with a thrill, & these were a little better all over £5 & labels I knew. She’s also having the last two Chablis of J N’s b’day present. Very acid. Christmas shopping done.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Shortest day. The turn of the year. Not that I don’t like the long nights & short days.

TV flash. New Zealand female estate agent, in black coat & skirt & white blouse, about 40, coming into the hall of a house with a client, ‘and this is the very gracious wide hall area’. Accent pinched Australian/a touch of South Africa vowels. Where do they all get it from? It’s a subtler thing than the many simple mistakes in Yank speech, the result of simple people far from their roots for some generations. They knew no better. And Yank accent is much in debt to Ireland. But I can’t account for the pinched vowels, unless they are the same as ‘refeened’ speech here. Interesting.

K. rang. To Liverpool tomorrow. I hope Ernie’s hernia is only that, despite a bit of bowel removed.

Quiet day. Gave Ling-Ling her £30, £30 for next week. Tho’ told her not to come, & £20 for Christmas. On some TV prog., little boy about five, turning the pages of a big book with one hand & licking the fingers of the other hand. A mis-observed ritual. On the back of his photo, in a deckchair, W.H. Auden to John Betj., from Clemency to Mrs. Faircloth.

Wednesday December 22, 2004

To M.L. At Denville Hall. Had the proper car to avoid ML’s luck. Middle-aged Scots chauffeur, v. pleasant & quiet. How hideous the length & barbarity of Western Avenue. Denville’s completely different from my memory of twenty-five years ago. Surely it wasn’t so near the road as that? The inside is, I know completely rebuilt, & I recognised nothing. Neutral colours with red here & there, theatrical you see. It looks like a middle-class hotel. Entry-phone, automatic door, which automatically closes behind you just as yr chauffeur comes up with yr packages. M.L. came shuffling from wherever she’d been sitting. Little steps, scarcely more than the length of a foot. Led me to a modern lift, & out of it, thro’ various landings & passages, to her room, Pleasant square room, with a five paned rather turret like bay window, with an upholstered window seat. I saw it looked out on the front door & thought how I would like seeing the comings & goings, some of the goings in coffins, no doubt. ‘I’m only waiting till I can get a room facing south’. Her room is about 16’ x 16’, neutral in every way, & if she died tomorrow that would be nothing personal to deal with, no pictures, notebooks, no ornaments, nothing. Like all of the property programmes, ‘light & airy’. Heavy going as usual, saved by Peter Green coming in, little changed, white hair, ready laugh, helped. Put six reds in the wardrobe, two Chablis for presents, a bit aside, seven or eight detecs., & half bot of whiskey.

K. rang. Found what may be oil lamp chimneys in loft. He does make me laugh.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Collapse.

Shocked to see that the B’ham rep has kow tawed to the Sikh protests & taken the play off. What is interesting is that it is the result of ignorance on both sides. If the Sikh seventy-year- olds had been in top hats & frock coats the management would have known exactly what to do. And of course the Sikh elders in their sleek turbans & immaculate moustaches are just like Roebuck Ramsden in M & S, I do hope someone, a bit later on, is sensible & humorous enough to turn them back to front to prove it. Oh what a curse religion is.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Two tiresome presents the result of no social convenances. The nice couple upstairs left me the bottle of wine again. Last year it was alright, as a return of the two bottles I gave him for carrying in two cases of wine for me. Awkward, as they should have left me to approach them. Chocs? Perhaps a bottle of wine…..

In the p.m. Mariam rang the bell, I never answer anyway at night, & I thought it was upstairs. Happily for clarity, she rang after a bit, & left a message. Mm, later I found a bunch of freesias in the chrisya, & some cards. Messages from Ella & Tom…, cheery. I read all of them with disgust, as there was no word of apology for not acknowledging the book token sent for Es b’day, nineweeks ago. And too add insult to injury, she hasn’t spent it yet. Well, I won’t bother her again. One way & another, I’m tired of all of them. With the Trollope & the restaurant as well.

Saturday, December 25,004

Cold again. Good, I feel better & sleep better. Delicious mushroom & grated cheese & potted shrimps omelette – the butter from the shrimps to flavour the mushrooms in the cooking. Beautiful, ripe comice, dripping juice onto my sleeves.

Watched a little of the first Harry Potter film, at last on ordinary BBC., withheld by the absurdly greedy creatures like Murdoch, who have no more business expertise than withholding objects people very much want. As they have no imagination, they have no inkling as to how it will resound against them.

Watched a bit of the first H.P. as I said, & I shan’t watch more. It tries to be faithful – I expect the poor authoress, did her best – but the dead hand of the famous BBC classic series authenticity weighs it down. Heavens, it might be Dickens, with everyone in the same ‘period’ clothes taken from authentic pictures without imagination. A great loss that the contrast of the modern world & Hogwarts is not properly maintained. You should never forget that it’s modern. No Perfs’ to remark on. Children awkward as is almost usual.

Recorded middle of Michael Blakemore’s Kiss Me Kate filmed in the theatre. Valuable if you bolt the camera to the front of the dress circle. Otherwise you simply produce, as here, an awkward film. No wonder he didn’t like it. Have only sampled it while recording it, my guess is that it was v. good on stage, but it takes an actor to tell now.

Pheasant for dinner, especially tasty, compared to the first two last week.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Dreadful earthquake in the Indian Ocean, causing huge tidal waves. 8.0 something on that German – it would be – scale. Damage?

Started the H. Potter books again, as an antidote to the thinness of the bit of film I saw. Very cold.

Monday, December 27, 2004

The only consolation is that it’s not criminal or water damage. But it seems to be turning out to be much worse than at first I thought. The implication seems to be that it is the worst disaster for forty years. Already there are thousands dead. I saw some ritual bathers were drowned, poor creatures, but where not protected by the magic of religion.

The evening news shows more & more horror. This is frightful.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

More horror. A wave crashing into a smart swimming pool. That will hit the ghastly package holiday public, another way of ruining the world. Hundreds perhaps thousands killed all round the Indian Ocean.

K back. L’pool, Ernie seems alright. I wonder. His inamorata has a family of thirty-four people. He rang back later to say he’d been in the attic, thinking of my CD requests, & he’d found the Nicholson, ‘only without your voice’……

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Watched the awfulness on & off thro’ the day. The mixture of feelings, the naked pain of it. The tears for helpless people, the revulsion for journalists who are already searching for controversy & interviewing people at Heathrow hoping for tears, & the contrast with the comforts & safety of my own life. Getting up to get a gin & tonic, conscious that this given flavour by the desolation on the screen. Fury that they always try & fix on the negative. Forgetting the whole thing to cook some titbit for dinner, & relishing the boiled bacon. Sent a cheque to the appeal for the first time.

Thursday, December 30, 2004

Tired. To Tesco, dear Aziz, a Moroccan driver, worked over Christmas. Forgot Fairy Liquid and frozen peas, tho’ I had a list

K rang. Bad cold so no Swansea. Found the Nicholson tapes. ‘With me on?’ Yes, & further on me singing, ‘You Are My Sunshine’ & ‘Let The Rest of The World Go By’ to his accompaniment. No recollection of it at all, & no intention of hearing it, except under torture.

Friday, December 31, 2004

British public has donated £45 million already. Wonderful,

K rang. Coming at weekend with A. ‘to get rid of the nettles, don’t argue’. I didn’t. Cold better but not enough for Swansea. Do I detect a certain resistance? I don’t think he feels so drawn to Charltiein case? Has mentioned it before tho’ not explicitly, doesn’t want any pseudo…. father, uncle stuff, I think.

Saturday, January 1, 2005

To bed last night at 9:30, as mostly usual. Resting for tomorrow. Put off J. but she wasn’t fazed. Cold again.

Sunday, January 2, 2005

Another heavenly day. They arrived about two. I’d had smoked eel in the book room at twelve. They cleared all the nettles, etc. – a really big three-foot pile on the platform. Asked A. to brush the lawn. Sensed at once the broom was not to her liking. Showed her. Found her later raking. A mistake. But otherwise so much done. Of course they had to stop by five even with accustomed eyes. He told me of his dinner with S. – it’s to be at The Wolseley, the new Jeremy Corbin – Ivy lot place. ‘Next to The Ritz, ‘well – nothing is next to The Ritz’. Did all the little jobs needed. Brought a halogen long life bulb for the book-room. Also brought some of the oil-lamp chimneys that I’d forgotten he’d got. One perfect one for the big cottage oils. One with the bulge for lamps long gone. Good.

Over drinks, he said I must get people to do pond….. ‘I know’.

Dinner, pheasant, specially delicious. I don’t know why, except for the bird itself. Where did I get it? One of five. B’berry, rasps, cheese, St. Veran. After main course, talk turned to Neil & his letter. Gave it to K., who read it, & with perfect artlessness, ‘there’s nothing about me in it?’ A. erupted, I shrieked & we shrieked together. I quite saw because he’d seen N. long after me – all the same…..

They left about ten, saying unusually warmly how good the dinner had been, so perhaps it was. What luck.

Monday, January 3, 2005

He rang in a.m. ‘you’re going to laugh’. I did. ‘What’s the name of the restaurant S. is taking me to?’

Am re-reading the whole H. Potter affair with great pleasure.

Tuesday, January 4, 2005

V. poor night. Gave Ling-Ling all those CD’s that have been given away with my papers. Meant to give them her at Christmas. Some big & smaller names. Who knows? She took them.

Wednesday, January 5, 2005

The limousine arrived at 5:30. It was Paul himself, who told me he’d stopped doing a lot of corporate work or around Christmas & New Year, ‘because people don’t behave’. Two of his drivers are doing The Alexander premiere tonight, but not him.

Arrived at The Garden, J. skillfully avoided being picked up on excuse of the premier, odd creature. Lovely to sit in the car & wait. J. hurried up after ten minutes & had already bought two programmes – shades of Roy. We went up to the restaurant. There was the Pinot Grigio, & in a moment her marinated goats cheese – ugh – & a delicate salad & my smoked salmon appeared. Good bread. Our table on that extra connecting gallery, floored with almost transparent greenish glass, – I forgot it happily as soon as I sat down.

Back in the familiar seats & a full house. An actress from Only Fools & Horses TV series in front with her husband & two children. J. wondered, I remembered, Sue Holderness.

The main impression was very much better & more encouraging than last time. I think I allowed for the impact of a ballet I’ve never seen, by my favourite choreographer. The Cinderella was Alina Cojocaru, a genuine ballerina, delicate, slender, touching. Her first little dance, with that hand held up to her face expressed exactly her regret for her mother, her rueful acceptance of her step-sisters nastiness & her father’s weakness. Johan Kobborg, masculine, considerate, with a proper polish (he comes from a monarchy too & I have always noticed that people who don’t tend to play prince’s as assertive businessman. Americans are naturally most at sea, complicated by an inferiority complex about George III!) Excellent showy jester from Jose Martin, a favourite obviously from his cheer at curtain call. Wayne Sleep & Anthony Dowell as the ugly sisters I was dreading, but I was pleasantly surprised. After all nobody could be camply cruder than Robert H, & nobody could expect another dancer to match Ashton’s pathos & tall delicacy, even glimpsed from a television clip.

First interval, J. had a little lumps of lamb, & I had equally delicious lumps of guinea fowl, still on bone like old-fashioned land cutlets. Rather overcooked beans.

Only complaints about the ballet, & those arguable, – the old crone was presumably the Fairy Godmother, but there seemed to be no transformation. So a Eskimo – before, global television might ask who was this svelte lilac dressed figure. And, as a coda to this. I couldn’t quite see the point of the spring-summer-autumn–winter divertissement to close act 1 sc 2., though most agreeable in themselves, were placed where they were. It seems more likely to me that they were wedding divert. Final complaints, Cinders ran away & brought a gold pumpkin – & nothing else. It lay up stage, & when the wand next waved, the lovely light spindly carriage sped on, – but its horses etc. were still rats & mice. Curious, I can’t believe Ashton would have made the magic so perfunctory. Nevertheless, altogether a perfectly respectable & enjoyable affair. J. is a good companion.

Thursday, January 6, 2005

Tired. Packed away the Christmas cards. Started reading thro ‘Borrowers’.

Friday, January 7, 2005

V. tired. Rotten, almost sleepless night. No coffee after lunch. Started Lindsay Anderson’s articles out of conscience found him not as rebarbative & tiresome as I expected. Well, not quite. Dear Mary Norton, how well she writes. That never fails me; good writing, I mean.

Saturday, January 8, 2005

Woke at 1:30. 2 hrs sleep. Watched TV with sound off to keep track & be sure not to nod off at an awkward time – & did. No sign of sleep, I thought, & to bed with the papers at 8:30 with the light on…. & was woken by K. at 1.30! They had already been here & working. I shall not forget the mild love on his face as he shook my shoulder & said, ‘it’s half past one & we’re hungry’. I wasn’t flustered & up & did my teeth & bustled round & got lunch. Omelettes for K & I, – she has seldom, if ever been to lunch, so I found she didn’t eat eggs, good heavens. (I wish my fonds were greeted so mildly.) Did her spinach & bacon.

They worked so hard. Never like to look in detail at what they’re pulling up. Put down that awful bark stuff. They’re so good, & how can I refuse their help.

K., under my instruction – ha, ha, – baited & put into position, the squirrel trap. Dear bossy young people left, she saying she would put the trap over by the shrubbery – this because, I think, they saw a squirrel there last week – K left, saying magisterially, ‘you won’t catch any squirrel’. Oh, what would I do without them? They are so good to me, I fear they are going away. I suppose I will bear that as I have everything else.

Sunday, January 9, 2005

A collapsed haze of a day.

Monday, January 10, 2005

As tired, one-way & another, as I’ve never been. Couldn’t bother with coffee after lunch or dinner, slept. Slept an hour & a half over the papers. Woke up in time for a glass of wine, & lunch. Rest, slept 2.0 to 4.45. Slightly better night. Slept till 3., electricity surge last night! Whatever that is, broke television sets & caused small fires in houses in small area of Highgate. Nasty shots of flats & precious things ruined by smoke, but not completely destroyed. I idly watched, thinking I expect it was Talbot Road…. & it was, & a turning off it. Odd. Immaculate it looks now.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Slept till 2.30. Worst thing, I’ve probably said many times before, is trying to keep awake so as to, for instance, let Ling-Ling in. Helped a little by a message on machine saying, I think accent thicker on machine, that she wanted to come at 9.30. Happily did so, & was gone by 10.30. Appt with doctor. Husband arrived a while ago? Pregnant?

Good rest.

To garden. Caught squirrel. Snubs to Kevin Malpass. Looked to see if trap had been sprung, & it had vanished. All the garden things I made K. pile round it had been scattered. For a minute or two I thought it had been stolen, by an anti-hunt protester perhaps. But then I found it some feet away under the shrubbery, very much full of squirrel. Brought it in. Filled the small white bin from the front, & plunged the trap in. It exactly fitted. I put a weight on top just in case, & it was over quite quickly. Now for the other one. Later took the corpse out, put it in the bin bag, & a lot of carrier bags & put it out for the rubbish.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Slept till twenty to six. Encouraging but why? Did have a further small whiskey on top of my usual two fingers, but?

Rang a gardener, Coopers Landscapes. A nice stupid wife. 11.30 on Sat.

Two omissions – I think. Wrote to Roy & M., Saying let’s not be in touch till – when noone acknowledged, let alone thanked, for Ella’s b’day book token. Also H. depressed me by saying she’d lent Our Theatres in ‘40’s, which I gave her years ago, to Tom & he’d said to her, ‘I don’t like to be shouted at’. Don’t you agree?’ She said.

Goodness, doesn’t she remember I gave the three vols. to her as one of the seminal books of my life? No. And their verdict, leaving quite aside any thought of S. being right perhaps about anything, shows up their poor little insipid parochialism. I wonder if either of them have ever listened to anyone’s opinion of their work, but their own. I believe they ring most days, – every day? For mutual admiration purposes.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

My disintegration proceeds apace. What’s that a quotation from? I slept thro’ Oddbins visit yesterday. Still it was on the doormat. I suppose noone’s remembered I said leave it in the garden.

Woke at 1.45, as almost usual. Later, in morning in a burst of energy & initiative, rang Mark B., Brown & Forrest, & Berry Bros. Afternoon rest, sort of slept, that felt stifled, as if buried alive. Perhaps thro’ reading Lindsay Anderson.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Woke at 2:15, but dozed, I think. Interesting that, in the last few years, as well as sleeping badly, I often find that I think I have lain sleepless, but every now & again, I pee or whatever, look at my watch & find an hour or two has gone by, which to my thoughts, seemed about twenty minutes. So I suppose, in some sort of way, I have slept.

Shopped. Asparagus & poached eggs for lunch. Rest at 1.50 – woke 5.40.

Gardener’s wife rang to say a job had run over, so could he come at 8.0 a.m. Yes.

K rang at 8.0! ‘Aren’t you on the way to the Wolseley?’ Yes, but he wanted me to be sure to get at least three quotes for the work. Oh dear. Three awful men to talk to ….I can’t.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Didn’t sleep at all. Really finished. The gardener came, a fat slob who looked hangover. Deeply stupid. Bustled stupidly round. Half an hour late.

Dreading K & A coming, as so tired. K rang saying tomorrow. Thank goodness.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

Another wonderful day. They arrived at 12.30. Lunch, he a cheese omelette, she three sticks of asparagus & a tin of Portuguese sardines. She ate it all & dipped her bread in the oil with her cheese. Said he had a proposition to make; that they did all the work, pond etc., – except the fence – oh, the thrill of seeing him so often, how good of them.

Platform cleared, big bed all ‘barked’. They left by 4.30, to entertain someone at home. What I have to look forward to!

Later. Found his notecase in an otherwise empty carrier bag, by his chair. Rang him, utterly unmoved. ‘Just give me the numbers of the Morgan Stanley card’. Also a black top & grey trousers – his, hers? Didn’t mention that.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Found an Everest brochure on my reading stand. Phone. ‘Do you want it?’ ‘Yes’. Hung up.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Rang fence firm. The chap who goes round to look at jobs, wasn’t there, but could ring me at four. It was now ten o’clock. Around lunchtime they rang, – ‘what’s your name?’ ‘ Norvik’. – To say he would call round at four. Good. At 4.45 I rang, to find said man in office, answering the ‘phone & saying he was waiting to speak to their central heating engineer. Although their panel in the Yellow Pages was only about fencing, I got the impression that it was part of their business. He said he’d come tomorrow at 1.0. At 1.50, sans lunch, I rang & told them to fuck off.

Ling-Ling asked for a weeks’ advance, poor creature. I’ve gone into Wed from rage. H. chat.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Mindless day.

Friday, January 21, 2005

The difficulties of parenthood, even surrogate style.

A shopping trip, but couldn’t ring K before as it was too early, to Turnham Gr., big & small artichokes, rasp., & black b’s, then three large halibut steaks, skate, & pheasant, & at Tesco, half a shoulder of lamb, & everything to fit in. At home, rang K & said was it Sunday? No. He’s too snowed under.

I must try & get him to arrange a bit in advance, tho’ with work like ours, it’s often not possible. I’d bought an assortment to give them a bit of choice. But I was selfishly pleased to get the weekend to myself. I have a chance of sleeping better if my poor brain isn’t arranging. So Sat & Sun free.

Saturday January 22, 2005

V. cold. Good. Back to the Chekov letters with keen pleasure. It is such a humble satisfaction to me that I can sympathise with his attitude to himself & others, &, in however small a way feel that I am not alone in my vision of the love of friends, & the difficulties of our work. And it’s inalienably central importance, K. not coming over….. Had the skate for dinner. Good, but not superlative. I read somewhere it’s a bit of a different species now?

Sunday, January 23, 2005

V. cold. Such pleasure in the central heating. How wonderful to be embraced by central heating at 74. I hadn’t realised till then that you really didn’t notice the cold at all, if you didn’t want to. A reaction to be careful of.

Cooked the lamb. Delicious. Odd. The wretched fan oven browned this all right, tho’ of course at least two hours on max.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Still very cold. Not above 5.0 all day. In Braun book, ‘I heard the mother & stepdaughter having a terrible row. You know how thin the walls of these flats are. I was embarrassed’. ‘But not so embarrassed that you didn’t listen I hope’.

Rang Clifton nurseries re fence. Reassuring accents. Someone – Simon Hornby.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

4° all day. Ling-Ling seems all right. Sent tax return to the post with her. Oh dear.

J. sent Covent Garden timetable. Decided on triple bill in June. Biches, S. Variations, & Mth in Country. Haven’t seen the second for fifty years.

Finished the Chekov. Everything one could hope. It’s the first uncensored & complete edition, even in Russia. I know it sounds impossibly self-centred, but I mean it in the humblest possible way, to say that I am proud to find myself the same sort of person. Mut. Mutandis, he has to make the same sort of allowances for insensitivity & self-absorption, & the capacity for delusion & selfishness is so visible all around. The work comes triumphantly first. And pushes comedy & wit to the edge of the grave, as I so hope, so much more feebly, I hope to do.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

D’s 92nd b’day. Poor darling.

Perhaps a good omen for fence man, Simon Hornby. Big, taller than me, polite, but not an Etonion, or whatever, as his name might suggest. Knew to shake hands. Accent unidentifiable, but not obviously uncouth. Perhaps doctored, colonial. Very polite, in & out in minutes, to walk round the block to look at wall. Went out to call over in case at wrong house. Heard myself saying, ‘many thanks’, a phrase I never use. Garden showing quite good growth. Irises & madonna lilies with good leaf sprout. The southern aspect kicks in. Three groups of primroses fully out before Ch’mas. Felt cold indoors with thermostat at 73°.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Rang K. Going skiing! Didn’t I tell you? No. Gary & a friend. All the same age going to prove they’re not really forty, I suppose. I think he had really forgotten himself, as it means two missed weekends here, which, I think he had intended. Don’t care about that, I just load the worry. Said he would come round & pick up the wallet etc., on Sunday. ‘Don’t try’, I said, with all he’s got to do, – going away unexpectedly – which I didn’t say.

A clump of calls. Dear Tim W. rang, wheeling Mabel round Hyde Park. I shall never be modern enough to assume a mobile phone. Helen is in Man & Boy. Wonderful news. Gets her back in the spotlight, tho’ it’s not solidly profitable, as I think it’s quite a short run, to allow David Suchet to go off for more Poirot.

J. rang coming to dinner Monday to collect the CD’s, asked herself to dinner, especially after she confessed she’d never had pheasant. Or did I say that? Then H. rang, as promised. Was on the ‘phone for an hour & a half. Exhausted.

Holocaust anniversary at Auschwitz. Frightful pictures.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Long letter from S., with the usual rush of events & places & fun. His new agent is Jeremy Conway, rather old hat, surely he must be the same age as me, but I expect it’s a new whizz kid coming in at the bottom.

Rang K. about wallet & fence. May come round on Sunday. I do hope he doesn’t crab Clifton’s in his desire for ‘quotes’.

Shared more than one tear over British Iraqis voting in Wembley with such keen delight.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

To W’stone’s in Ken high-st. A new life of Elizabeth Siddal – ‘a truly extraordinary achievement’, A.N. Wilson. Hm. Author is a great gt gt g’daughter of Dickens. More Hm. She should have sense to let us discover that after she’s written an acceptable book. John Fraser’s autobiog’, a flip through showing one line paras., typical of cheap showbiz, still I must look it over. Three detecs, none of them – oh, yes, one a new John Harvey. I suppose he only gave up Resnick, ‘the Oxford murders’ by an Argentinian, might piquant. Tesco. Rang K. to say he needn’t come for me. He’s coming.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Rang H. to put her off, because of K & A., who came too! Lovely. As it turned out, they only stayed about half an hour. I love it the way he walks in & does things, & takes things without asking. Took too big bagfuls of small logs from the cut down tree. Took his wallet & looked at it – & said nothing more. Not from the North for nothing.

Told them not to come because I thought he was off to Switzerland tomorrow. It’s Thursday. And those three 40’ish hoping to feel a bit young. Oh God.

Monday, January 31, 2005

The little prophecy. Hubris will overthrow poor little football in the end. Hubris dictionary meaning is wanton arrogance. How about this? Television programme announced ‘hallowed be thy game’. At first I thought it was a tilt at the cult, but as I read on,….This is a little conflation of the little preview para in the programme….. diary, & the longer para on the ‘Choices’ path, without, I’m sure, any inaccuracy or full certification.

‘Is football now a mass religion’? …….. Manchester united fan & former Dominican friar Mark Dowd… makes the point that if a Martian came to Earth looking for scenes of devout public worship, he’d find them as readily in football grounds as in churches. Ashes are scattered in goal mouths, weddings take place in stadiums …… at one point a clever montage evokes the ties between football & Christian ritual – from the swaying arms of the faithful to the climatic raising of a cup….. (Dowd says) ‘at its best, the beautiful game may occasionally point us to a higher plane’. Well.

Seemed to work all day, one way & another. J’s dinner for instance. Rang K. to tell Clifton’s estimate of £189. I rung them to try & stop him putting them off. Happily he thought it all right, & rang back to say S. Hornby was great, so all’s well. Money isn’t all. Rang Edward Goodyear – that’s who I went to for flowers, & ordered a spray of orchids & a plain glass to put them in, for her first night on the 7th. Nice plain girl took the order – plain in manner, I mean, she may be Helen of Troy.

S. rang on taxi to Daniel’s latest production, at the Guildhall, to arrange & fix Thursday. Good.

Tuesday, February 1, 2005

Post at 7.30! Worrying. a.m. I mean, almost more worrying than p.m. would have been. Clifton want 40% of estimate before going on. Couldn’t remember the sequence of buttons to press on J’s calculator so had to ring the nursery – no answer from 9.30 to tennish & nice man said he couldn’t work it out either, would ring back & did. £75.60. Why not ask for half? Oh well, it’ll be done.

Ling-ling arr 9.50. Only just in time for her. Andy Warhol b. 1928. Goodness. How charlatans manage to die young, so that they won’t be found out; Elvis, Marilyn, J. Dean, numerous pop singers, Dylan T., Peter Warlock.

Wednesday, February 2, 2005

Rested, as if I don’t every day. Asparagus & poached eggs for lunch. Trout peas & carrots for dinner.

Ordered six half bottles of Perrier just for S. Well, one for tomorrow….

Thursday, February 3, 2005

S. arrived at 6:30. All smiles, thank goodness. I realise now that the last time we met, he was in the middle of his difficulties. Reported on everything; tho’ no job in prospect, it seems. His mother has lost her memory, but not like Mother. She is much milder, & nicer to him, which wouldn’t be difficult. When told of her past, being a good cook, especially baking, she says she has no memory of it, but seems to enjoy hearing about it. Talked quite a lot about Daniel. We were tasting the wine, & he told me rather wistfully, that Daniel, who it now seems is from the Middle West, both geographically & socially, likes big fruity grape juicy wines that happen to be alcoholic. His manners? Well, we were lucky that night. At private dinner parties, he has been known to push away a plate put in front of him, saying ‘I can’t eat that!’ Oh dear, I hoped he was just boring.

The production at Guildhall was of something I’d never heard of, and S., predictably said it was brilliant. There is always, with his generation, showers of compliments for a production that is entirely unexpected, bursting conventional ideas apart, a complete surprise etc., Etc. I’m not quoting him, but words to that effect. Poor old conventional ideas, they’ve now been ‘overturned’ for fifty years. What strengths they must have had.

My impatience with all this was, I hope, concealed as Daniel’s opinion of his hostess’s food was unhappily not. Amusingly I had an ally, if unwanted. At the perf’ was – Peter Barkworth. Gracious, & here have I been watching the death lists with some eagerness. S said all those jovial crinkly laugh lines round his eyes, the camouflage of a savage predator, have been smoothed out by age, & he is revealed. He came up to S. after & knowing nothing of the connection, said ‘that is the worst production of anything I have ever seen done by anyone’. Hope S had Daniel at his elbow, & said…. Who knows what it was like? All were prejudiced. Oh how I wish we could get back to letting the text quietly be itself. Alas nowadays almost nobody seems to be able to judge a script accurately.

Told me about his bathroom being refitted. Perhaps the difficult year has made him a little more prudent. He’d had the boiler put in – by a black Caribb, called Osric, thrilled to find his name was in Hamlet – paid for it, & chosen & paid for the bath & shower & basin & loo. Firm to put it all in, re-tile etc etc, estimate, £17,000… no negotiation, we are the best or some such manipulative nonsense. Even S….!

Still wants a detective series. Oh dear, so many are tall & dark & lean.

So glad of the diversion, so that I couldn’t worry all day about K flying to Switzerland. ( I suppose it’s S. – he’s never said.) And then legs breaking in every direction, oh dear.

Friday, February 4, 2005

More tired than I expected. Rang cab to pick up parcel from J. as I’d promised. Couldn’t bother to dress & shave. Sent me new biog. of Olivia Manning.

Saturday, February 5, 2005

Below par. Had no lunch. Vaguely queasy, why? A bit better later. Finished the Elizabeth Siddal & started on O. Manning

Sunday, February 6, 2005

Relishing the O. Manning. I wonder if I wrote anything about O & Reggie Smith at the time. Dear silly irritating Reggie, a contemporary of D. at Birmingham, so poor D’s poor mother used to give him his bus fare home, when he & D. ‘studied’ together. I can’t believe they didn’t have a bit of get-together at some point. Olivia was a figure of bitchy fun. D. was a witness to her jumping up & down on the floor of the room above the sitting-room of her maisonette, whereupon O. went down to tell her guests the neighbours were banging on the ceiling, & they’d have to go. When D was in that play with Alastair Sim, O & R came round. O’s opening sentence was on the lines of ‘well, Dorothy, do you have to appear in such rubbish?’ And so on. Reggie, D. & co., always talked of Birmingham as ‘University’. Odd to me, but I suppose on the lines of college, a badge necessary when no one would know what you meant if you just use the place name. Cf American usage. Interesting to find out how lower-middle-class O.M. was, & a dicey education. She certainly made up for that. No fault to be found in the quality of her writing. Goodness, she & Reggie might have been invented to rub each other up the wrong way.

Monday, February 7, 2005

Fence to be done at 8.30 today. Me asleep. But when I looked out, it hadn’t been. We’ll see. Started on the 600-page Orson as a chore, because it’s too huge.

Tuesday, February 8, 2005

Rang Clifton. Foreman not Hornby, ill. Still wish they’d told me. It’s tomorrow now. Most apologetic.

John N. rang about tomorrow. Exalted, a bit frantic. Resigned today & off to a reception now. I bet he’s had a few reproaches. What a crew at RA.

Wednesday, February 9, 2005

Poor night. Look at 1:30 & never got back. P.M rest nervous in case I didn’t wakeup for John N. On the dot at 7:30. To the Brackenbury, where dear Philippe greeted us. I must always go when he’s there, as he is by far the best maître there, & everything is better when he’s there. John told me of his resignation, & yes, there were reproaches, ‘how could you?’ & so on, to his secretary saying, ‘how can I get a mortgage now?’ ‘How old is she?’ ‘53’. The civil servant attitude in a nutshell. I’m glad he’s out of there. Starts at the Tate in May. Delightful, quiet, mild as ever. Dear Joyce & Jeremy – not so dear – seem more stable, – well, they’re older. I listen, but never like really to hear of Joyce’s life, & the friend I still miss. But John is still here & a sustaining friend.

His ma 86, & he hopes, not much longer. So I’ve got seven years….

Amusing end to the meal. I’ve seen little machines in the supermarket, where you’re supposed to key in your pin number. Surely there ‘people’ can see it even more than at a cashpoint? Oh well. So dear Philippe fiddled with it & couldn’t seem to come to terms with it, & finally gave up, after I said my other pin number, – no witnesses, our bit of rest. was half empty – &, after much shrieking, off we went.

J. liked his food, I’m glad to say. We both had a lovely bowl of pea and chervil soup, lovely. He had pork, which he finished to the last mouthful, & I sea bass again. Then cheese, the two English-words, waiter saying it’s the same cheese you had last week. Successful. S. Rew Is only 48. Often seems older than J.

K rang on train from Stanstead. Safe. Didn’t want to tell. ‘Well, I won’t go skiing again’.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Philippe rang up, rather contrite but far more shrieks, saying he charged me too much – £84. Seemed rather cheap to me. After some to & fro-ing, I realized he charged me double by his button pressing on the little machine. He is a dear, & the real thing as a restauranteur. I must always go when he’s there.

V. tired. No lunch again. Long chat to J. about Acorn Ant. Saw final number on BAFTA tribute to Victoria Wood. All right, but I doubt her ability to write a score. Only watched that number. How loathsome the self-congratulation is.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Rang K re-weekend. ‘Shall I get something out of the freezer for Sunday?’ ‘No’. Put H. off ringing on Sunday. & J. off tomorrow or Sunday. Dishonest but necessary. 2 days nothing.

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Lovely empty day.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Woke at 3.0. Read till 5.0. To book-room for a different till 8.0. Took papers back to bed when they arrived at 9.0, fell asleep over them & woke at 11.25. Bother.

Went on with the Welles. Proof-reading etc. I know nothing of the time in South America, so I can’t judge how well he’s controlled the all too copious material, let alone how much of it is true, or its selection original. Anyway, it held me, a compliment considering how inherently dull I find S. America.

On the Antiques Roadshow, a woman told of her grandmother’s dog being killed, crossing in front of Buck House by a Rolls-Royce. Its owner, a dreamily benevolent looking idiot of a middle aged woman, sent to the bereaved (sic) owner some money & a studio portrait of herself with her own dog, alive at the time, as it happened. Pet worship coexists easily with God worship, & happily cross each other out.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Cold. Another poor night, looked out of window at about three, & saw a fox poke his head through the gate on his way to scatter the contents of the bin bags everywhere. Rapped on the window smartly, & he went off. I waited. He came back twice more, & got two more raps. Any permanent effect, I wonder? A night or two? Perhaps. He has got some sixty choices, so it might….

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Rang ML. She has ‘her chest’, the bronchitis that has never produced any visible symptoms, at least in my presence. So I was glad to think that it would be treated properly in Denville, with carers & doctors on tap & controlled warmth. ‘So what have decided they can help you with?’ ‘They’ve given me Lemsip’ it never seems to occur to her that if she had the sort of bronchitis she claims – staying in doors from Nov, to March – by this time she’d be in an oxygen tent.

Good heavens, Prunella Stack interviewed on the news, completely compos mentis, charming voice & appearance, 91. There was The League of Health & Beauty, white satin blouses & all, 50,000 members before the war. None of us ever knew one. Oh, Orson, how I’m struggling. Delicious pheasant for dinner.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Cold. Poor night. Ordered Canterbury, £119, & the new H. Potter, published the day after my b’day.

My rest lasted until 5.15, till after H. had rung as arranged. So rang her. Geoffrey ill again. ‘Wryneck’. Really? So? But off to hospital, doctors next week we…. Etc.

Orson is a struggle. Triathlon on TV. Shot of runner from waist down, ‘this is the final leg’.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Seventieth w anniversary.

Work at 3.a.m., again. Shat twice about an hour & a half apart, getting up to date. Sometimes now wanting to shit, I want to pee but can’t, then do when I shit. This time it was worse, a want more like a pain, so I couldn’t sit with comfort. Each shit helped, but I began to worry, as the discomfort, more than pain, made it more difficult to sit comfortably. Curled up on the bed sideways for a bit. Then felt it was like indigestion only behind my balls & not in my stomach. All the same, it was in my water, which came from my stomach, so leapt up & took a spoonful of Gaviscon & the pain went. Good. Because it seemed a bit like cystitis, that I had fifty years ago, – good heavens – but no blood, & it seems gone. Oh goodness, Orson Welles, such a bore.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Woke at 1.0. a.m. A misery when I have a cab ordered, as I daren’t settle in bed with the papers & hope to snooze, in case I oversleep. Having to stay awake….

A further twenty pages of the Orson arrived. J rang, waiting for Julie Walters to ring back, as there are days of letters & so on to be signed. Told me of what seems to be a fairly well authenticated rumour that waspish Nicolas de Jough, E. Standard critic, has been heard to say that he won’t give Derek Jacobs a good notice until he ‘comes out’, – as admitting to being homosexual is now called. Another triumph for the half educated.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Another Welles body-blow. A notice of two more Welles books throws in, as an aside that S.’s book is in three vols. Oh heavens!

J. came over to pick up the movable ‘phone to find a battery. She brought the big crocheted antimacassar that needed more experienced & safer washing than I, or the laundry can provide. Wrapped carefully in a bath towel, marked hotel property. She also brought a little present – like Prim, she always brings one, generous of course, but a pity all the same – a very well produced paperback of Cecil Beaton’s portraits published by the NPG. She only stayed quarter of an hour. I put the big antimacassar along the back of the sofa, the place D. made it for.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

H. told of Geoffrey’s neck.

Woke at 1 a.m. again.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Rang Fortnum’s & ordered upstairs chocs. Got a nice suburban girl, chirpy & amused. Was it £30? I forget already. I wish I could have gone & looked. But where would even a Halcyon car have stopped? Also rang W’stones & ordered Mary L’s books. Olivia M. & the Chekov Letters. Letter from S with amusing enclosures, a list of ‘cohort’ meanings, for instance. £2000 to current a/c.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

The Decorators upstairs after Charlie G. redid the kitchen units. Met Michelle in hall, & she thanked me for the beautiful chocolates, & we had quite a little chat. She didn’t know we were actors! I most interested to find her eldest is doing a course on performing arts, & will go to university, & is 17, & was 3lbs at birth. 17, good heavens. I have thought all this time he was possibly 14…. But really he’s going to be a singer. Help. Can’t wait to tell K.

Flash of Emmerdale. Vicar contemplating resigning his vocation naturally seeks advice from schizophrenic lesbian with a child conceived thro’ rape, while in an episode, & therefore an unknown father. An episode in both cases of course.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Very cold. For the first time this winter I didn’t turn the heat off in the p.m. or at night.

Two staggering letters from Home Ownership depat’ at Council. One offering help over the scaffolding, perhaps a little on the late side. The other, a letter headed with my name, but addressed to Mr. J. Vwahhala or some such name, who also owns a council property, presumably I got it because his property is in Mackay House.

Must tackle the third part of the second vol. of Orson – my heart sinks. I wonder if I shall ever tell S that I’m no admirer of O.W., & know little & care less about him. Well, I have told him I can’t check references in the Yank theatre.

Silence from K.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

The Canterbury arrived, & looks a bit phoney up close, where no one will see it, but it may polish up a little better, & at least I know it’s handmade & solid mahogany.

Well, there you are, Charles Laughton & Orson W, & Brecht had Jesuit education. No wonder.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Woke at 1:30 a.m.

Tesco. Tired.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

K. 44. Heavenly day, left at 11:50. Tomorrow.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

They arrived about 3.30 having called at J’s on the way, & collected a carrier bag for me from J’s dustbin! The ‘phone, the C. Gdn Programme, & a delightful surprise, she’d been to the Algerian coffee thing – I’d asked her if was still there – sent me not only the complete pricelist, but also a half pound of the coffee we always had, Gourmet Noir, black & greasy. Lovely.

There was nothing to be done in the garden except a walk round. To the fence, which he found unsatisfactory. Oh dear, I was hoping for Clifton to do it all. After that, as it was his b’day, he decided to clear out the cellar. A purging job, which resulted in the air conditioner put away, & space on the shelf, the only bit of the space I can really reach.

Put the pheasant on at 6.0. A in lively mood, & K, in demanding b’day mood, banging on the table & ‘bring me another bottle of wine’. So he went & got the bottle he’d opened & put in the fridge. Another screams & shrieks moment with us helpless. At another moment, during g & t, they were looking at the atlas & teased me because it was ‘from Simon’. I couldn’t understand what they meant until I saw it was just my writing when I bought it off his card. So interesting that they thought S had given it to me, – & I could sense there implication – because I don’t travel. Fascinating. As I said before, & will no doubt say again in my dotage, if only I could see that K. or J.N. or S. were a whit better or more interesting people because of where they have momentarily – comparatively– been.

An evening that, and as so often, warmed me right thro’. Just as well, they stayed till about midnight, & some little time was spent by A & I listening kindly to K’s blow-by-very-slow- blow of his skiing experiences. He has such relish for humour, but can’t get much of it into his telling. But we were both good. Off they drove. I went back out of the quite intense cold – & found his wallet on the arm of the sofa where he’d been sitting. Again. Freud would say… but F. is a fool. Rang his mobile – they got quite a way in a sec, & came back, for another frozen wave.

Today rested… review in S Telgr. Books of Tom Maschler’s Publisher torn to shreds by Claudia Fitzherbert. ‘Pooter’ was mentioned, told H. when she rang. She liked it. Barbara Pym, tho’ shouldst….

Kitchen ‘phone has not recovered. Bedroom ‘phone is blaring again. I sometimes wonder if I have some physical effect on mechanical objects.

Very cold. Survived last night’s lateness better than I expected.

Monday, February 28, 2005

The Coldest so far. But not in here, thank goodness. How lucky I am to have come into central heating for the first time when I most need it. The puddle on the front path froze despite the patent whatever it is covering, – bitumen?

S. sent a selection of amusing things from papers etc in big envelope. Definitions of cohort, Ha! Insomniac reading the Sue Grafton novels, at about I & J now. She is 65 – 6, & has got to R., which sounds a pretty comfortable way down the alphabet, until you realize there are eight more to come. Does her heart sink? Mine would at the compulsion, however gifted. Better night.

Tuesday, March 1, 2005

K. rang, having spoken to S. Hornby at Clifton. Seems he only did the two panels because that’s what I told him – a failure of communication. I told him, ‘repair my fence’. I suppose now you have to tell wretched workman their job, & I have no idea. Dear K. seems to cope, & doesn’t seem either to have alienated him, & even mentioned the pond to him. Oh dear, none of them, J., John N., S., even darling K. seem to see I want things done now, plants & ponds, in case I’m not here!

Adriana that chiropodist came again. Decidedly magisterial & dominating, tho’ not unpleasantly so. All the same I expect she thrills a certain sort of man. Oddly claimed I stopped her getting all the dead skin off my heels last time. Not so. A rationalisation of hers, – it would probably have taken too long, that’s all. This time she ‘sanded’ so much dry skin off that she asked for a dustpan & brush. I thought idly that, if this was the drawing room of someone I’d murdered, the forensic scientists would have a very easy time. Sleet & rain all day.

Wednesday, March 2, 2005

Better night again. Why? Can’t find any reason. Ordered shampoo from Floris. Proud that I used that hideous Head & Shoulders to the end, despite the terrible cheap scent smell, & found that Floris no longer do bath oil. They attributed it to its popularity waning. Hm. Tried Penhaligon & ordered two bottles of English Fern. Adriana had agreed to bath oil for my parched feet. Satisfactory extravagance.

Rang Mary L., reading O. Manning with certain enjoyment. Asked if she’d known Julia Jones death at 91 in ‘Stage’. ‘They put a candle on the landing, name on a card. They don’t say’.

Thursday, March 3, 2005

Good night, 10.30 – 5.0 a.m. The bath oil & shampoo arrived, Bath oil in a real glass bottle with stopper. Tried tapping, & putting it in fridge as suggested by Penhaligon’s. Left it till evening, tried tapping it again, & out it came. Mainly lavender, good.

Very cold. Puddle frozen again.

Touched at death in Independent of Olga – Olga of the Fish & Chip shop in Upper St. We went there a lot in the ‘80s, & early ‘90s, – rang K., & we had an ‘aah’ session. He said ’twenty years ago’, always a shock… she had a real gift, could join yr table & not ever stay too long, had a complete memory of our lives never mind our names, & the perfect fish & chips & her bottomless geniality – tho’ she had a huge bottom – deserved all the success. K. was alone, A. at a girls night. He was cooking steak & kidney pie for himself. Heavens.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 189

March 4 – June 11 2005.

Friday, March 4, 2005

To Tesco with that Cork Irishman who is amiable but largely incomprehensible.

Income tax return, no charge & no concern over the ‘Only Fools & Horses’ £2000, & ‘no concern’ over the next year either.

Have opened a file for ‘totally.

Saturday, March 5, 2005

Repositioned squirrel trap. Found third mouse in indoorr trap. Found that K. & A. had used two thirds or more of the bag of nuts etc., that was left after I caught the squirrel with a handful. I had to stop A. from scattering a generous handful from outside the trap to the back. Heavens why would any self-respecting squirrel bother to go into the trap? Not that I think self-respect as a concept looms large with that acquisitive little rodent.

Sunday, March 6, 2005

Now David Sheppard has died, 75. Rang K. More aahs. I suppose I recorded that K’s first girlfriend was the daughter of the Bishop of Liverpool. From Woolton to Palace at seventeen, K. rang later about the halibut. ‘How long?’ &screamed at A. to pick up the other ‘phone & hear the ‘recipe’, which consisted of, put them in a preheated 180° oven, with a good knob of butter on each & cook for 20 – 25 mins. But goodness knows if it’ll suit their oven. Opening line, ‘are you dead yet? As D.S. is three years younger than me….

Monday, March 7, 2005

Not so cold. Ling-ling rang to postpone till Thurs. ‘A fiver’. Perhaps diplomatic for some reason of her own.

D. Sheppard’s obit’s extensive, more or less a whole page in Inde. & Telegraph. One mentioned ‘Little humour’. So perhaps no palace, a semi in a slum. And my brief but vivid meeting with his daughter, very early on in K’s time at St. D’s certainly suggests, in hindsight a certain genetic inheritance. I bet she is a formidable matron of 44, in the modern equivalent of a twinset & pearls.

D. S. was the sort of Socialist I find as repellent as a die-hard Tory. Sent the obits to K. & a card to S. by the newsboy, as no Ling-ling. The newsboy was kindly sent me by the newsagent, because I hadn’t signed the cheque for his account, perhaps put off by me saying I couldn’t get it to them till Thursday. The boy arrived a few minutes later, tall, all in white, with that jet black I’ve come to see is the bloom on a v. young skin, like peaches & cream, in a white. Pushed five 20p in his hand, no pound coins, with K’s envelope & S’s card. Would he read the card? Any of that curiosity? If so, would it be Double Dutch, as it was about Orson & the meaning of cohort? Amused at myself for as usual, seeing him come back world-famous, ‘that card opened a new world to me’. I am my Mothers son for that rush.

Tuesday, March 8, 2005

Less cold. Wrote to Neil at last. Sitting here trying to make myself pick up the last part of Orson again, I realized I had at last found something I wanted to do less than write to Neil.

Wednesday, March 9, 2005

Goodness a name from the past. Forbes Adam. Dear Nigel, one of the sweetest natured people I’ve ever met married Toby Robertson’s sister, sometime after I lost touch. She became an actress for a bit. I never saw her, but she had a good deal of fresh-faced charm, & coming of an acting family, tho’ a v. minor one, I could see her carrying off the sort of juvenile every ‘50’s play exhibited. Her stage name to Teresa Moore. We last saw her when she & Nigel (& Toby?) came round at Brighton, where D. was in one of the plays there. Perhaps 40 years on. That must be forty years on too. I did hear that she’d had some nervous trouble, I vaguely remember her going on about age, when she can’t have been much more than thirty-five. Did I hear that it was more serious later? So vague and I can’t grasp it. The date in the Telegr. made no mention of family or Nigel, tho’ it was under Forbes Adam, & she died at home near Petworth. Funeral nearby. I wonder what the story is. Donations to Cancer Research, but perhaps long-term mental as well. Presumably divorced, as no mention of Nigel, for even if N. is dead, as he well may be, they’d be ‘dear wife of the late’, if all had been well. And didn’t they have children? I’m pretty sure they did. And has the family kept Skip with? Is ‘nr. Petworth’ where Tim othy’s church is? Intriguing. And Toby ?

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Ling-ling arrived as promised. Took Neil’s letter & unwanted grey pyjamas sent back to ‘Chums’ Ugh. Gets the change out of the note. Tired.

Long talk to J about her move to work in her flat, which I was v. glad to have.

Friday, March 11, 2005

J. had said she was going to see Sheila Gish in her hospice at Belsize Park. I didn’t know it had got as desperate as that. Poor girl. And even poorer today. I opened the Indepen. to find a full-page obituary. She’d died the day before we spoke. And only two years ago she was playing Arkadina in an eye patch at Chichester with success. I guess it was probably fatal after she had the eye removed. If it recurs, as even now, cancer so often seems to do, where else can it go? Didn’t S. say poor Denis had said Phantom of the Opera?

Caught a clip of a sale where some dim people put up some of ‘Olive Dodds’ things. I suppose they bought them at some knockdown somewhere for next to nothing, I can quite imagine she had nobody in her life to cherish them. An obscure nephew? A retirement home sale? Goodness knows. The items were a scrapbook of letters & memorabilia, & a huge autograph album, both handsome leather bound affairs with Olive Dodds embossed on the cover. There were two separate items, some correspondence with Dirk Bogarde & four or five of his biographical volumes affectionately inscribed.

All went well under estimate, despite the autogr. album, fifty or sixty pages of close written stuff, being recommended by the well-nigh irresistible temptation that it contained. Diana Dors autograph.

Olive Dodds herself was a casting director for Rank films, indeed, I think, one of the casting directors. Unlike so many she was quiet, my old, quite elegant, &listened. She was impressed by my connections & the imaginary jobs ahead. She was kind in that first ghastly eighteen months of my failure. She had an artificial hand.

Rang J. to say how sad that at the very moment we were talking about Sheila G., she was already dead. Left message with K. re Clifton – what’s happening, if anything? – radiator, can he help or – & S. Gish.

Tesco a.m. Tired.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Two choice items in news. A six-ton satellite has been fired into the poor old atmosphere, to spin round above the Indian Ocean, beaming back mobile ‘phone conversations to eighty-five per cent of the world, & not a single interesting word to be heard on it. Then there’s art. A large pile of bananas in Trafalgar Square – on the new pedestrianised part, I notice – charmingly childish but not put there by a child, & not unfortunately, art.

K. rang to answer messages. We’ll see about Clifton & thinks it’s worth him looking at radiator before.., he found Sheila G. rather unsympathetic. I’m not surprised. She had vitality & a certain bravura, but a coarseness of body, that I would think also marred her acting. I can’t judge because as far as I remember, I never saw her. Or if I did, it’s gone. And I think she was probably striking enough one-way & another, that I would remember. Poor girl.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

The second volume of H. Spurling’s excellent Matisse biog. out to splendid reviews. Magnificent being banded about. All that new material, – what do the French think? Is there a comparable French biog? And if so, why wasn’t it translated? I’m not sure biog. is there thing. How ignorant I am.

H. rang to say she couldn’t ring, a 10 minute chat…. Caught fourth mouse – shoulder torn.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Woke up twice but slept 10.30 – 3.0 & 4 – 8.30.

Man’s head hacked off at 9:40 a.m. in Eton Avenue in Belsize Park, Hampstead, by man who said it’d been coming for some time. Awful but comic as the TV news kept saying what a select part of London it was. Last time I thought about it was hearing when we were in Manchurian Rd., in a nice sunny day, that there’d been such a storm that a man had drowned in a basement in Eton Avenue…. And who did we know who lived there?

Started on part iii of the Orson 2nd vol with gritted teeth. No squirrel in realigned freshly baited trap. I was obviously lucky first-time.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Never really got off, only rested, but never slept. By about 3.0 inhibition comes into play, & I start worrying that if I do sleep, I won’t wake to let L.L. in. Gave her a CD given away with the Indep. & a DVD giveaway with the Telegr. ‘Have you got a DVD player?’ ‘Yes’. More than I have, I thought.

On the news a poor man from Acet was reunited with his sister he’d thought dead, three months later. They cried. I cried. But if Donald….

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Don’t think I said I got a free gift with the two cases of St Wine club wine on Monday, four plain white coffee cups & saucers. Rang K., did he wants them? ‘Yes I do, & thank you, yes.’ I must bribe him more often. Positively sycophantic. (I wonder if there is any other adjective less descriptive of K.)

Today rang to say have you got the David Sheppard obits. ‘I see you picked up on his lack of humour’. ‘So did you like my short but vivid acquaintance’ with Jenny?’ He did. Goodness he would get a jump if he saw her now.

He rang later to say had I heard from Clifton. No. Wait till the end of week. Pretty bad night.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Quite sleepless night. Why? I can see no reason all cause. Except age, I suppose.

Para in Indep. about next of kin cards. Must get K. to arrange it. You can nominate a friend as next of kin.

This is most important. Imagine if I had a stroke couldn’t speak, & no one knew me, what might happen? Donald might totter up, or more frightful Christine, or – help – unknown Hannah. If K. were abroad, for instance – and they ferreted about.

Friday, March 18, 2005

No sleep at all.

Jimmy Beament dead. Hm. Rather piquant obit. A full page in the Indep., surely rather excessive, dreary little man. He & his wife were leading lights of ex-University amateur dramatics at Cambridge. Camilla Prior, The Mummers, that sort of thing. His wife’s light quite eclipsed his. Good looking rather sculptured features, Best in Victorian-Greek type coiffures, tho’ hair in question was a little dry & perhaps insufficiently washed. A thick mask of pancake make-up, more of a dashing variety than later, also insufficiently washed. I don’t quite know who she modeled herself on, perhaps she aimed at Hollywood, but achieved Lockwood. Her determined sexiness made her quite successful in certain parts, in a little world where there were very few mature women, & no actresses. She was certainly able to act & vamp away regardless in ‘40’s & early ‘50’s Cambridge – no mixed colleges. You certainly sensed her feeling of her own power in the middle of hundreds of innocent young men.

Now, too fascinating, no mention of Monica – & in a full-page. Three wives are mentioned, – ‘he was married briefly in London, before Cambridge is clear. Then, to my equal interest, he married Joyce Quinney, a jolly, plain late thirties woman, also on the fringes of the town and letter dram. Joyce was a dear, who must have been amazed to find herself, as I suppose she must have been, Monica’s successor. (She was, in type, like Brenda Bruce, & do I think that because she played the maid in C. Fry’s Phoenix? As did Brenda? Did either of them? Anyway that’s the type J. Q was, & I remember thinking of her as the better sort of amateur – oh dear, & I am amateur at the time.) Later in the obit. ‘his second wife died in 1960’ – I suppose Joyce, older than he, I would have thought, & poor dear perhaps succumbed to late ‘40’s illnesses. Later he married A.N. other, oh yes she was a violinmaker, – & had two sons or daughters or something.

No mention of Monica. Because at some point, years after I went down, I worked with the director called James Firman, – a strikingly unhappy affair, everyone hated him – in the gents at some point I remember telling Ian Carmichael, the star, about Monica, because I found out J. Firman was married to her. It turned out J. F. was in one of the booths & heard. The production became even more fraught. J. F. later became the secretary of the British Board of Film Censors. No doubt our contemporaries felt that his wife would be a valuable ally.

Review of the Tom Maschler. Oh, what an idiot I am. He was the child of middle European Jewish refugees, who fled here before the war. No wonder the subtle delicate stuff of Barbara P’s work sank through the coarsened net of his perceptions. Or think – is ruined padate. Do they not wonder about that?

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Better night. J. didn’t come round, H. rang to say not ringing, & I missed her. Sunny but did nothing except bath & wash what’s left of my hair.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Didn’t feel like lunch after an awful night. Slept all p.m. & ate my dinner with appetite.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Intrigued that Ann’s b’day is still in the B’day list in The Telegraph. Intrigued that it was in in the first place despite her effulgent beginning. Surely she hasn’t sung anywhere for years where, for instance she got notices. Poor girl, I’d have thought it would be ‘former soprano’ at best. I wouldn’t mind having her in my life, but I expect she would. I can’t think she likes me for myself alone, & Donald is one too many, I’d think. I wish we’d been able to help her more.

To Ken High St. & a disappointing Waterstone’s. No Matisse not published until the 31st, & the other three I couldn’t be bothered to order. Bought a journalist’s life of Snowdon – not quite trash as he did talk to S. – & I did know S. a bit at Cambridge. And Candida L. G’s latest. I hope it’s better than the last. The benefit of J.B. & doubt for the last time.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Still rather under the weather, – literally, as it is hotter than normal, sixty-six. Still struggling to get on with Orson.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Felt as usual till about 10:30 a.m. Then began to feel a sort of choky sicky feeling no doubt partly due to my large uvula, & felt more then once two or three years ago. Had no lunch. Back to bed at 12.45 & slept till 3.30. G & t’s & dinner as usual. Odd. Read forty pages of Orson, if only I liked or admired him.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Woke at 2. a.m. Read but slept 4 – 6.30. Papers. Dozed from 9 -10.30. So another sleepless night, another stupefyingly dull entry.

How odd that there’s been no more strikes by terrorists here or in the U.S. I’d strike quiet suburbs.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Playing the fortune-teller in some unseen film, Vineta Apse. I can just see some idiot little Yank actress grasping at that name, ‘class’. ‘Vineta is someone from that canal place in Italy, & Apse is a sort of snake’.

Lovely chat with a K. off to Aldeburgh to stay with Pete Sinfield. Gave me P.S’s mobile no. ‘just in case you need me’. But he’s going to Nashville & L.A. all the same!

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Meant to mow, meant to mow a ….! but didn’t. J’s b’day, 58. Rang her. Shrieked. Family is coming round. Odd, but usual for most people. How awful.

Callaghan died ten days after his wife, who’d been suffering from Alzheimer’s for years. 93. Rather wonderful. Obviously honest & straightforward, unlike Wilson, but unfortunately seems to have been wrong about almost everything.

Watched the revived Dr. Who, & found I was held, to my surprise. Quite inventive, – Christopher E. rather self-conscious & a certain sense of condescension. There is an actress to be chiseled out of Billie Piper’s refreshingly chunky frame.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Rang Tesco on Thur. four times, ‘let me confirm’ & turned away & back to say ‘Sunday, eight, no, ten till six’. Cab, dear Ibrahim, so thoughtful & efficient, silent & closed as the grave. I suggested Warwick Avenue, underground car park of some complexity, a desert. Limped back home, bought a bottle of Gordon’s, long forgotten, from the Co-op, a distant vision. Only charged me £10.

H. rang as usual. They’ve bought Natalie a pony £10,000. Oh dear. What a fantasy they’re all pursuing. Poor little girl I hope there’s real money.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Woke at 3.0, read, snoozed a bit, woke at 6.23. Hope K & A back safely.

At last MOWED. Tho’ actually it’s a nice early mow. I did it in two halves, half an hour a.m., and twenty minutes p.m., & felt all right. Pleased with myself, especially as it’s going to rain the next two days, just what I want.

By the way, I don’t know what the weather men mean by saying it’s been the driest winter since….. the lawn has been as soggy as I remember.

Further to H’s Natalie, her pony & a country life. Yes, there are careful intimations of gentility. But there is also a genuine fear of unhealthy precocity. ‘One child of ten at her school is on her third boyfriend’.

Another e-quake in Indonesia. Only 2000 dead eh? Oh well, give them a bit of that money.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Ling-Ling looking rather smart. Oh dear. Restful day.

K. rang, rather less restful. Going on a round of work, Ibiza, New York, Nashville, L.A. Coming to dinner tomorrow, Will bring ‘real lamb joint, bought in Aldeburgh’. Dear thing, but weeks without him. Still, his work.

Rang J. at office. No, changed to Warbeck Rd. Rang W. Rd. J. outraged, ‘they’ve changed it a month early’.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

K rang, ‘over your way today, things are hotting up, I thought I’d come to dinner, in case – ’ I said, I was going shopping tomorrow, so he said he’d bring a nice piece of lamb we bought in Aldeburgh. Murmured something about Arlete not being keen on a joint. Lovely. More murmurs about our shopping trip, so perhaps I could make it work tonight – & then we –. So I was a bit surprised that the next I heard was him on his mobile from the flyover. Dear thing, he thinks he’s said. Went to shops & got cream, frozen peas & gin. Said the co-op was ‘v. pleasant’. Fancy.

Heavenly evening. Reduced me to hysterics by telling me of his complicated schedule, asking me the dates – ‘is the 23rd a Thursday?’ & getting in such a muddle that he got up & grabbed my diary – the engagement one, not this, – & said ‘the diary’s all wrong’. In the end, the dates became clear, I hope.

K. to Ibiza to write a song with Pete Sinfield, who has a house there. Thursday the 7th. Back on 11th May do shopping on 12th.

K. to New York to something to do with the Mel B. album which comes out this summer, on the 15th. Oh the 20th he goes to Nashville, & stays till May 8th, possibly the 15th: or the 22nd. Struck all over again, by his recall. Our minds are so full of words, his of music, so, some words remain with him more vividly. He suddenly produced a remark of mine I’d forgotten from fifteen or so? years ago – it must be – Kevin, I like you simple but not cretinous. At the time he screamed with laughter, & then said, what does cretinous mean? I walked to his car up the road today, in my pyjamas, a warm night, he gave me a hug, & off he went. I wish I could get over partings better.

Thursday, March 31, 2005

Caught my fifth mouse in a month, it was lying an inch or two from the trap which must have just caught his nose, poor little creature. Still no squirrel. Odd after catching the first almost the first day. K. message on machine, – left mobile! Again. Looked everywhere for it, in the end bringing the no. on my portable. I wonder what the neighbours thought, me walking round the garden holding the ‘phone away from my good ear? Has it a Freudian significance, an excuse to come back? A fine idea, as if he’d ever need one. Pope dying.

Friday, April 1, 2005

Two April fool news items both rather flawed. The first was announcement that Jamie Oliver, fresh crowned with the laurels of the school meals affair – a wreath of bay, more accurately – has been adopted as conservative candidate for Arundel. Mildly surprised, but thought oh well, everyone like that is only interested in money, & you never expect anyone to be consistent these days. The other, a properly staged item, cow-shed, fruit bowls, school- children tasters all complete, about a farmer who found that milk can be made to taste of banana, strawberry & so on, by feeding cows with the right quantity at the right time. I hardly thought it would be worth it, but I suppose the big public have no idea that, for instance, linseed cake will make milk smell, & taste, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Still sleeping badly, went to rest, slept from 3’ish & woke at 8.45! Thought it was the middle of the night, even after saying to myself it was silly. Heard footsteps, went to investigate,….. really, if I hadn’t realised I’d still got my socks on, I might have panicked. Had one gin & some of the halibut baked. Slept badly….

Saturday, April 2, 2005

Slept 10.30 – 1, & 4 – 6. Then p.m. 2.45 to 5.45. Bother. What to do.

Pope died. BBC produced a steamroller of tepid rubbish. I quite see he was a sort of great man in his wide sympathies, his intelligence, his genial presence. But the Catholic rigidity was at its worst in him in some really harmful ways. How he couldn’t see that a principle can be admirable in itself, but ridiculous in its application if regardless of common sense & reality, I can’t understand. No birth control? No condoms to stop the frightful spread of AIDS in Africa? Etc. Etc. it unfortunately underlines the suspicion that we all still feel, that the C. Church likes a great deal of simple peasantry, with equally simple, not to say primitive, faith. J rang on Thur. night to say I would get a present in the post. It was a nailbrush, of the only kind that works on my nails. I was so touched. How could I have forgotten? Ungrateful of me, but I did thank her yesterday….

Sunday, April 3, 2005

On the Antiques Roadshow, which I can just watch, as it’s obsession with money just bearable, a round table, cloisonné top, which lifts out, & brass frame & legs, identified as Chinese top, Parisian frame. Identified by John Bly as by Barbedienne, the best of the metalworkers of the second half of the 19th-century. Isn’t my Venus to Milo by Barbedienne?

Monday, April 4, 2005

Made up my mind to mow, pulled up the blind, pouring& already too late. Ordered the Larkin Juvenilia. Telegraph operator needed Larkin spelt. Finished Welles & wrote to S.

Tuesday April 5, 2005

Violent crime is 36% down since ’95, it seems. Why haven’t we heard this till an election is near? Personal testimony – I have no personal experience of violent crime, nor have I known anyone who has, & I’m 78.

Dear K. rang. He’s rung Clifton, left messages, no answer. As for the next of kin card, he can’t find any sign of the website. So thoughtful, saying I can always get him on his mobile, or ask Arlete – & then hurriedly said, in case I felt excluded, that they spoke on the website whatever it’s called.

Mowed! Found it was still on longer cut. Moved it down, & managed it in over an hour, with a sit down of quarter of an hour. I must try & keep going, if only not to have to empty box every ‘lane’.

Wednesday, April 6, 2005

Pouring a lot of the day. Good, just what I hoped. Later on: popped that variegated ivy in the little front bed. The bergenia is showing a tiny leaf. I thought it was dead.

No snooze in p.m. – a sign. Chat to J., who has tracked down a corkscrew of the dear old kind, such as I’ve had all our lives. Her friend, Willy has one, & says it’s German.

Thursday, April 7, 2005

D. anniversary 28 years ago. And I’ve lived here five years.

And K. is flying to Ibiza today. I said, ‘be safe’. One loss – and.

Heavy rain this p.m. from three-ish & still going on. Heavy thunder about six, sounding like three cars falling over down the street – how different the sounds are. There is often a violently tearing sound, as well as boulders on the roof. Pelting down at seven-ish.

Reading, finishing & binning Candida Lycett Green’s latest. Determinedly demotic – calling John B. & Penelope C. ‘my mum & dad’ throughout, carefully never speaking to or spending time with, anyone who hasn’t copper buttoned working-class credentials. She took me in for a while, until I really read the flyleaf blurb, that told me it was ‘part fiction’… Certainly she has made certain that nothing ‘county’ or ‘upper-middle-class’ or etc etc entranced or deceived her. Well, poor John B & P.C. were poor parents in many ways. They did there best, but judged by their children – Paul B. adrift somewhere – they should never have been parents. The children produced, just as we worried, their worst characteristics.

Friday, April 8, 2005

Pope’s funeral. Whole thing on TV for four hours. Goodness. What a fuss there’d have been thirty or forty years ago. Is there any of that anti-Catholic society left? What were they called? After all, there are only five million Catholics in the UK, & many of those are in name only. Amused to see on the news that there was very thin congregation in Westminster Cathedral, & in front of a big TV screen in Trafalgar Square, just a handful. It was raining a bit, but still.

Shopping in W’stones, Ken High-St. I might have embarked on a career as a seer; all four titles I’d gone for, were all on the table just inside the main doors, & not only there, but side- by-side, touching.

The second volume of H. Spurling’s Matisse, Lytton Strachey’s Letters & the new Donna Leon. Also that book about Dr Johnson’s dictionary by Henry Hitchings. Earplugs at the chemist, all Arab? staff. Girl found ‘nailbrush; meaningless. Large 4711, £27.50, good heavens. Must buy it elsewhere.

Hitchings is a name from the past. Guy Hitchings was a dear friend at Cambridge for some terms. A college, where I think I knew no one else – Jesus? Clare? – can’t remember. Handsome, cheekbones, aquiline nose, straight black hair, athletic. He had a sister who I took to a May Ball – when? – very good looking female version, lovely clothes, funny. Said to me, ‘trouble about my name, it’s an event. ‘We’re going to Somerset for the April Hitchings’. Is this Guy’s son? B 1974. Well, G. might easily have married late.

Saturday, April 9, 2005

Started weeding!! Oh my knees & back, not to mention t’other side. Did well considering. Garrya scorched & I’d say dying. The gale that blew the tree & fence down? Worth leaving.

Royal wedding went off without a hitch. Fascinating dilemma of BBC especially, sensing that the mass of people want to hear good things of the Royal Family.

Watched Dr. Who with S. being Chas Dickens. He was excellent, would not a touch of the self-conscious gusto & fruitiness that so often mars his work. Was able to write honestly. Amused to see no expense had been spared on the staff. Sound recordist, Ian Richardson. So wonderful that he’s been able to take up a new skill in his seventies. I wonder what happened to that son of his I was on a jury with in ‘81?

Saturday, April 10, 2005

H. & I had royal wedding fest. She’s the only one left for that.

J. rang me on Friday & told me she’d found a corkscrew of my sort.

Rang John N. for his b’day. told me of wonderful letter from Prince Charles on his leaving the R.A. And P.C. repeated it all with extra warmth when he came for his private view of the Turkish exhibition. Said to John I must get him a B’day present from now on. Suggested Strachey’s Letters, which I began today.

Forgot to say read bits of Queens wedding speech to H. Piquant that they don’t get their papers for days.

Quoted to both the remark of Vivian Leigh’s that recurred to me from 1953 & The Sleeping Prince & The Wings of the Phoenix. ‘Zsa Zsa came to the play last night. I don’t know what she’s done to her nose – she’s whittled it away to a couple of nostrils’.

On Monday, April 11, 2005

Weeded again! Three quarters of an hour. Really made a difference. If only I can keep it up. The weather has to keep it up, too. Ling-ling rang, coming p.m. 1.30 tomorrow. Bother.

Wrote to S. about Dr. Who.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

From Telegraph deaths. ‘Died after a long illness, phlegmatically borne’. Killing irony or an inadequate grasp of meaning?

Ordered the British Museum books at last. A. Powell bibliography, Lord Chancellor Regrets, Feuillade & Austen, the Shaw papers, & a new squirrel trap. Ling-ling had been to Home Office for work permit. Good.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Sent the Strachey to John Nick as promised. I never quite feel he reads beyond a point. It’s those ornaments & so on, on the bookshelves, the books pushed back. Impossible for a reader.

Chiropodist p.m. Adriana – Rome – in my diary for May 25 – it’s her on a Pope trip. She is an intriguing character. Trimmed big toe cuticle, & told me I bled unusually freely. Fancy. A little bit of a careless cut, but doesn’t she think I might have discovered I was bleeder by 78? I think she likes to be right, so a slightly careless cut of a cuticle is turned into a blood condition. She’s off to Rome in May, as a faithful Catholic.

Oh how I love a flash of a television show that I don’t have to watch. Some ‘phone-in, about the importance of being able to swim. On the ‘phone, ‘I’m 67, and never learned to swim, never wanted to’. ‘What did you do for a living.’ ‘I was sixteen years in the merchant Navy’.

Somewhere in there, it became Thursday the 14th.

Mowed again. At last only had to empty the box four times. Satisfactory.

Chat to Janet, more Paul things absurdities. She must learn to jettison impossible people.

Rang K. to say goodbye. Off on Saturday now. But I was struck by a little noise he made as he realised it was me, a little groany, wimper almost, as if my voice was comfort. And no wonder. He did no work in Ibiza. ‘I’ve been under the weather’. He came over all coldy & fluey on the plane, & it got worse & worse, until he went to the doctor. (A contrast. Took Arlete to The Withington a few weeks ago, ‘fifty dying people in the A & E before us’.) Doctor charged £30. He’d forgotten to sign that little form for free treatment in the E.U. Empty waiting room, three doctors at liberty. Examined. Explained his feeling of choking & breathing difficulty. Dr. examined him & saw something white up a nostril. ‘My nose had been running like a tap. Had I left a bit of tissue up there?’ Dr. took some tweezers, & pulled, & pulled,…&….pulled. Stopped & said ‘I wonder whether I should be doing this?’ At last out came an eight-inch bogey? I suppose, of solid white jelly. Heavens. I talked of sinuses. Better out then in, & so on. At any rate, it avoids a sinus operation. Tho’ after all, what’s in the other nostril? Seems all right, but I’ll have to see him. What a wait. Put myself out to make him laugh, as I could tell he’d been brooding. Told him of my work in the garden, which I knew would please him, saying, ‘I expect to be found dead on the lawn, with one gallant hand still clinging to the mower’. Well, there are plenty of doctors in N. York. He’ll be all right.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Shopping. Turnham Gn. Lemon Sole, John Dory, Halibut. First two complete on the bone. Greengrocer; globe artichokes, large & small, peas, early. Mort & Benn, large lump of Caerphilly, Taleggio, & something new to me, Tobermory, ewes milk, greyish, solid, quite hard, & a hint of booze. Scotch?

On the way, picked up J’s corkscrew. Looks good. But the cork broke. Screws fault? Benefit of doubt?

Rang Mary L. about the money she needs. She asked me to guess who’d just come to the home, & in a wheelchair. Guessed perfunctorily & finally – ‘Pauline Jameson’. A name of some rather ridiculous omen. An actress of a sort of standing, won the Clarence Derwent Award for Mrs. Thing in the Aspern Papers’, for, as wrote at the time, ‘flourishing a parasol more often & more self-consciously than anyone I’ve ever yet seen’. And that is the mark, – self-consciousness, a fatal fault. George III saying of the King, was it, in Garrick’s Hamlet, that he preferred him to Garrick, ‘anyone can see he’s an actor’. And there is a large part of the audience that likes to be reminded. I think I first heard tell of her from D. They shared D’s room at Bristol, & described P. J arriving a little after the half, opening the door so that it banged against the wall, & later put one foot up on a chair by the basin, the better to wash her cunt, glancing at D. frankly a while to establish her credentials as an ‘actress’ with no hang- ups. This attitude obtained throughout, which I experienced with others later, of actors who scattered pro-ey terms through their speech to the extent that made D. sum it up by saying, ‘she’s so professional she makes me want to be off’.

But, poor woman, she was married to an ex RAF pilot – drunk. We went to dinner, & it was uneasy. How I remember Donald Aubrey’s celebratory dinner for the end of The Constant Wife. I sat on Ingrid’s other side, because she couldn’t stand John McCallum & what-is-name for boredom, & P. J.’s husband for – unreliability. By that time she – Pauline, not Ingrid – was well below the title.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

A v. long? seemed a theatre anxiety dream. As so often, during the morning doze, 7.30 – 9.15. B’ham Rep. Main element as always, frustration. Hours to get to wardrobe, and then more slow-motion to get to dressing room. Odd. How long since last? Months – menacing? All people unpleasant.

John Bennett dead. Never forgot his dead set at Kate Nelligan, in a TV play one of a series of separate stories, this one about Lady Warwick, directed by Jimmy C. J. K. N. was still at drama school, & had no lines, just had to appear at ball – as Lily Langtry? – & stun everyone, as she had clearly stunned Jc-J & every man in the room. John Bennett sliced her out of the competition, & when we went up to the canteen on the seventh floor for lunch, the slowly turning wheels of seduction were creaking into motion, as with his arm round her shoulder, his head against hers, he pointed out the sights of London.

She had a good run to stardom’, but is now exiled in Canada & must be fifty? Did I work with her again or did I just hear she was difficult? My guess would be that she was humourless & insensitive enough to talk herself out of work.

Weeded again. Halibut.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

H. as usual. I’m sorry for her. What a life she has, all in-growing. The way she says ‘oh, the soaps, the soaps’, every time. I try to be amusing about them, & conceal how quickly I run them past at double time. She has said more than once that our calls are the highlight of the week. A joke no doubt, but a bit of horrible truth in it as well, perhaps.

Strachey’s Letters are as expected. I am still surprised that more people aren’t repelled by his feline & in so many ways, narrow-minded character. The only excuse is that he was something of a real invalid all his life, as well as the hypochondriac he was so proud of being. Is there anything more selfish than answering how are you? with anything but ‘really quite well, thank you’.

Re-read a Celia Dale. Good. Remarkable convincing detail. Rain.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Rang J. to ask about sending cash, now registered envelopes are a thing of the distant past. She said she puts a £50 note in an envelope carefully between fairly opaque sheets for Maggie Smith’s servants & has had no trouble. So I started to tell Mary L. this, & she puts a £50 note in an –’ for heaven’s sake, don’t send me a £50 note, I’d never get it ‘changed’. Why has noone murdered her? Sent her three envelopes, £20, £20 & £10, & a joke in each, B’ham Rep dream, Merchant Navy, ‘phlegmaticality’.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Rain a.m. Good. Ling-ling seems alright. Lady Tree’s maiden name, Helen Holt. Called herself Maud.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Meant to weed. British Museum books arrived, not all English, gad! sir!

J. sent me her change of address slip, having shrieked over the ‘phone that she made a mistake with the post-code, so had to correct twenty or thirty copies. Isn’t she running a distinguished West End secretarial agency? I am putting a statement in The Guardian…..

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Another theatre anxiety dream. Long? Dream a.m. after waking up. Out of play I was in, in audience, wandering up & down big road looking for manager to get something? for party to go on somewhere, Church. Bull in field held down by two girls, one sitting on it. Big black dog tried to eat my glove. It got run over. Got my glove back. Woke at 7.0. Oddbins order. Weeded 4.45 to 5.30. Must try & garden in morning when I think they’re all out. Not that they aren’t the soul of discretion, but any window…

J. rang, a long ‘phone chat about her morning troubles & wretched Paul, silly little thing. Moving here we’ll probably freeze off him, & Sara Havelock, Allan & others I can’t understand why she doesn’t drop. But she is a touching mixture of confidence & naivete.

Friday, April 22, 2005

No sleep at all. Why suddenly? And it wasn’t the usual dozing & so on. At two I couldn’t lie there any longer, & risk dozing off at the wrong moment & missing the cab, if I sat up & read. Oh the misery. Watched TV with headphones, so I knew I would keep waking, if I dozed. Felt so exhausted by six, cancelled cab & shopping. After papers dozed 8.30 – 11.0’ish. Didn’t sleep much this p.m. why? What boredom & dullness.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

To Tesco, too tired for farmers market. Slept 1.30 – 5.0. Finished Strachey: a disappointment, too many feline & schoolboy shallow-nesses, an unattractive combination.

John N. rang, lovely long chat, leaving RA on Tues. Dinner, May 4.

Rang Arlete, & another lovely chat. He’s all right, they’ve more or less forgotten about his nose. Buried in Nashville, going out to a meal for the first time. What a dream the musical world is, to get lost in. But I get such a strong impression he’s looking back to his own contemps. After all, that girl he did the album with, was thirty-eight something, & the Spice Girl feel could hardly be more passé.

Glad that A. told me about her news. She’s leaving The Bank of New York, & I gathered, been a bit headhunted by the Royal Bank of Canada & some Swiss bank I’d naturally never heard. Said she’d decide over the w/e, talked to K. & has – the Swiss bank. tube station, Moorgate. So where’s the move to France, etc. She’ll have to stay some years. I don’t think he’s got her measure quite.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Not bad night. John Mills dead. The poor wife is still alive, both late nineties. A goodish actor in a limited range of film parts, marred by self-consciousness & sentimentality that decisively kept him from anything like the front rank. But he was ‘knighted’. yes, when standards had fallen far enough. The obituary in the Independent brought me up short. At the end of the first two shortage paras of a page & a column obit, I read ‘– his resolute middle classness’. And, then, ‘audiences took Mills to their hearts because they sensed an actor who has not been classically trained & whose work was intended to entertain them, not educate them or intimidate them in the way that Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud or Ralph Richardson might have done’. I read no more. By somebody called Adrian Turner.

Mowed 11.10 – 11.40, before expecting rain, which never came. H rang. Knee’s bad. Good day. No guilt.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Message from John N. No book. Dinner May 4 hooray. Booked Brack. Rang W’stone’s, Nice French girl with Yank accent. Said book was at courier HQ in M’chester. Modern life. ‘Keep it & I’ll pick it up, when get it back’. Rain! No garden, but I love it again.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Finished the Le Faye on Feuillide. Better cast as an essay. The first hundred pages of E. Feuillide’s letters are pretty flat, more like extracts from ‘A Young Ladies Manual of Elegant Letters’. Minimal mentions of Jane A. No new light cast, & not much respect for Le Faye’s judgement, in a number of ways. No mention of Chapman, even in the index.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Rain. Tired. Ordered Halcyon for C. Garden. Paul’s wife a little distraught, said ‘can I ring you back in quarter of an hour? I’m in the bank’. Did so, saying, that I could see a headline, ‘Bank robber takes call during raid’. She giggled & said it was funnier than that, because there’d been an accident & there were ten or twelve police right outside the bank.

Sonia Keppel’s autobiog. Arrived from H. Nice battered Boots copy. Just my style.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Rain. No weeding again. Menu brochure arrived from C. Gdn. Of course we’re first week. Nice summer things, vichyssoise, fruit, of course – nice. I wonder – fillet of salmon with grilled asparag, & pesto sauce & so on. How many intervals in Swan Lake now? There was a prologue sometimes.

After poor night, dozed 9.15 – 11.30 a.m. & from 2 – 4p.m. Good, but what of the night. Rang Mary L & for once was up in arms for her. To some big hospital for M.O.T. ‘the sister, whose a bitch, said why did I want someone to go with me’. Well she is 85 & takes tiny little steps, & there’s nothing of her. So a ‘carer’ – oh, dear, – was sent with her. Endless waiting, here & there. To various people, sorties outside – ‘in a gale’ – & of course, in a wheelchair. On any level, an exhausting & tiring day, over four hours. No one should go through this at 85 alone. So I’m glad she wasn’t. All the same I have to register that she is a lifetime hypochondriac, gifted by nature to put people off at a word. Will they find a real disease? Not too tired to tell for 20 mins.

Friday, April 29, 2005

H. rang briefly yesterday to say she was sending me some clotted cream. How kind, & why suddenly? Very welcome as I didn’t shop, & cream runs out first. It arrived this morning. The postman stepped back a place when I cried, it’s the cream!!! Rang H. to thank.

Rang J. after the message picked up halfway through. Exhausted, dirty, but in flat with everything, & goodbye to Whitcombe St. I hope the talk was a help – to pour it all out. No weeding. Slept a lot, but kness hot.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Weeded, & well. I see the end of the corner bed. Last of the nettles, ha! ha! Roots under the back wall. Cyclamen…good & perhaps spreading. Solomons Seal just showing but must get more elsewhere. It can be a lot bigger – & Lily of Valley. Souvenir de la Malmaison up & across the apple tree, 20? ft. Perhaps that’s what it likes.

Rang A. He’s all right and entranced with a ‘tree-house’ he’s stayed in. Not actually a tree house, I think, but a house up the side of a hilly forest. Dear thing. Told her of two plugs for album. Sky News camp pop reporter, made a few snide comments about Mel C., who’s album the other year, was a frost, & the new one is ‘not very successful’. On CD UK, caught the end of Mel B., presumably singing one of his. A. was pleased to hear of both. How odd that she wasn’t watching too. Her new bank is U.S.B. is it? Such ‘names’ go out of my head the moment I hear them.

Cleared Coronilla in left-hand bed. Surviving.

Sunday, May 1, 2005

Usual chat to H. her knees are bad, but she suddenly revealed that she’ll never come to London again because of her nosebleeds. So odd to those of us whose nose bleeds & stops, but it can be very serious. And especially so in London where distances are so much bigger. So J’s move is over, but she is not surprisingly, a bit beside herself. Couldn’t listen when I tried to ask about the C. Gdn menu.

Planted a pot with the remaining artichoke seeds. Still no new squirrel trap, so I’ll keep the pot in till plants are bigger.

Monday, May 2, 2005

Must record that I have never had a call from a parliamentary candidate in any of our houses, though I hope nobody thinks I’m complaining.

Tuesday, May 3, 2005

Tired beyond the backbone. Cab at ten & that ghastly one I had for the West End before. Why? Still, he tried, & no disaster. Told him William the Fourth Street. At a bit of a traffic jam, he produced an atlas, & said William St. turned out he missed the IV, & didn’t know it meant four when I pointed it out. ‘I learn something every day’…. Pleasant session at Hopkins & Jones. Took clock & paperweight clock, single flower vases, silver top replaced, little seal repaired, one of the rat-tail teaspoons as a pattern for replacement silver, & the brown sugar spoon & that strange piece the decorators found. These two last he identified as, the spoon is silver, tho’ only mark is AG, & probably German or Scandinavian. The peice was probably the neck of some sort of decanter, hallmark 1920. He will try to find me six deserts spoons & six forks, & six forks in rat tail. Investment & pleasure. On way back through the beautiful fresh delicate green of The Mall & park, to W’stone’s Ken. High St. Got J. Gathorne-Hardy’s Half Arch, C. James essays, a vol. I missed. On an impulse, C. Tomalins Jane Austin, which I was too poor to buy a 1997, as well as being suspicious of anything about Austin, so often wrong, from the aridity of Yank academics to the insularity of upper class English criticism, under the illusion that only they can understand her.

Started the Gathorne-Hardy after the last shove, a trip to Tesco. Oh dear. Asparagus & poached eggs for lunch. Started the Gathorne-Hard. Oh, three detectives. A John Harvey, Knocked out.

Wednesday, May 4, 2005

Little preparation for dear John. A bowl of olives & another of peanuts, plump up the cushions, & make a dotty call to John about the taxis.

When I think of the effort & cleaning of a few years ago how lucky I am that I had the money in my old age now I need it so much. To Brack. Phillipe there so – oh the difference because he knows how to be a maître. Food as good if not better than ever. John, who goes anywhere & everywhere, is complimentary & impressed all over again. He had truffle risotto & guinea fowl breast with caper sauce. I had a timbale of new potato & fresh anchovy, & a little frame of caviars, & the guineafowl. I had the lemon crème brûlée, & John wanted something apricot, but didn’t want the something. So dear Philippe gave him just the apricots after a little delay. Excellent. Dear John, it turns out that he may have diabetes, after ‘his last checkup’.

How odd people are now, more & more like Davey in Mitford. In excellent & rather exuberant form, because between jobs & no office tomorrow. Starts at Tate May 16. Talked of dear Sally & Joyce. Joyce sent love. And Sally will lunch. But both I’ll leave to John. He has made some sort of rapprochement with Joyce & what’s his name, who kissed him at last meeting. Help. So I’ll leave it to him, as they might have gone off him again, if I asked her.

Home by tennish. No coffee of course! Started C Tomalin’s Austin. Finished the Gathorne- Hardy. Many delights of one sort & another. Smooth texture. The usual irritation, with such families that a frightful financial situation is constantly resolved by the loan, rent free, of a house in, always, a refulgent area of the West End, a mews in Mayfair, a trust fund of £20,000 – in 1960. Last 30 years or so pages full of a windy mysticism. Too much Proust on a weak stomach. Goodness, how decisively the poor chap lost his boyish looks, & seems to have less idea then he showed, how much they shaped his life.

Thursday, May 5, 2005

After a drying night & no rain forecast, I hoped to mow, but awful night. Woke at 1:10, never got back to even the curious conscious dozing I’ve been doing. Rest at 2.0 p.m. & woke at 6.0. How can I break this cycle? Finished Harvey. Started one of the detecs, by someone Mina. Diary format. Flat. I’ll try again by daylight. Imagine, too tired to mow after one bad night.

Saturday, May 7, 2005

Mowed 5.30 – 6.0. Good as rain tomorrow. Still haven’t had a really flat mow, still dampish. Bell rang twice about seven. Charlie from upstairs – the boys football broke my bedroom window, well, one of the six panes. He came in with me & said that of course he’d pay for it to be repaired, & do it himself. Think he expected me to be cross. Wrote him a note to say not before ten, or between two and four. Dear chap, he is considerate & will put all right. Might be K.

Sunday, May 8, 2005

Put the bedroom to rights. Pee-bottle to book room, moved glasses & water jug in case knocked over, brought in book room steps etc. etc. & waited, & waited. On qui vive with my poor old ear – nothing.

Couldn’t settle, but had my rest, tho’ didn’t sleep. Up at four to find a note blu-tacked – not drawing pinned – to my door saying the glazier wasn’t open, so tomorrow, & he won’t need to come in. So my note about the fragile sofa being moved etc. etc., was wasted effort. I couldn’t want a more considerate neighbour, but he’s young, & even K sometimes fails in not imagining what effort such preparations cost someone my age in just the extra walking backwards & forwards & the time on the qui vive as exhausting as anything. Of course they can’t be blamed. So put everything back & wrote on the back of his note, ‘any time, except between 2 – 4’.

Monday, May 9, 2005

Planted a couple of the Lily of Valley I bought in the supermarket, & the fifteen or so freesia bulbs in one of the big pots. In a.m. started clearing & sorting the garden cupboard. When it’s finished must convince K & A not to move anything as I can’t then reach it. Found the tin of birdseed after two years, & the secateurs after I had bought a new pair. Bits of clearing. Lemon full of new growth.

10.30 K. rang. Asked me to ring back. Huge no. in a house in trees up a mountain. I gave great ouf of relief & pleasure when I heard him in such good heart, & he did his little aahh – good. He’s had inspiration & sympathetic musicians. I hope it’ll last him, I worry about him turning into the past. If only the album does something – he is my real life now, the only person I let everything go down before. I must not let him down.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Forgot to record that A rang the day before, & we had a good & funny chat. Made her scream at the Eddie Gathorne-Hardy ‘inadvertencies’. Told me she bought a Vivian Westwood suit, nearly black with a faint red pinstripe –, £475.

Crocus plants arrived. Two huge boxes, plants in full leaf, upright, excellent. Took them out of boxes, & into their (shady) places in the garden, so I could put the boxes away for the dustman. Always as well with proper plants to use their good growth, to see how they look before planting. Three Meconopsis, Betonicifolia, three very deep purple Hellebore, & three similar to Gerranium.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Oddbins didn’t deliver the gin. Happily I’d Tesco’d this morning. Started Matisse.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Woody Allen on making a film in England. ‘I like the grey skies, it’s good for photography, it’s cooler then stifling Manhattan, & I speak the language…… barely,…. but I speak it’. Ling-ling has an apt at the embassy on Thur a.m. ‘Can I come on Wed. & have two weeks in advance?’ –

H. rang, in Alice in Wonderland mode, to say she can’t ring’.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Some American has made a takeover for Manchester United soccer club, it seems the most valuable English club, price £700 million odd. (How odd finance is – he’s borrowing quite a proportion, to the point that the interest will be £126,000 odd every day.) The fans object, ‘simple working people’. How wryly comic. Triviality swallowed by greed. Just as I thought, the whole silly affair is collapsing underneath them, starting at the top with this & Chelsea. Are there any English players left in the English team? I don’t know why they don’t settle now to save trouble & play football out on one TV game between two billionaires. How many ‘simple working-class boys’ has the ‘game’ ruined one way & another?

A third of corner bed is now cleared & dug over. Planted three mecoup-beton under the wall – 5 feet tall? – next to fern bed, & three Solomon’s seal – do they grow three feet tall in London, we’ll see, – on the site previously occupied at the best vantage point view from the French doors, by K’s bags of sand.

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Lunch with J. once more in Ken. High St. at what is once more Ken. High-St’s Café Pasta. We both agreed we have never known a restaurant changed its name – as it did to Monsanto a year or two ago – & then change it back again to Café Pasta. An image change by a chain? Two warring chains? Goodness knows. The place itself is little changed to look at, perhaps a touch dowdier & more tables & a banquet or two. The food slightly better, – J’s chicken dish quite lavish. (I see one reason why she’s overweight – she has to finish a dish.) Price up a trifle, £35 rather than £27 ish. maybe because no half bots, but too large glasses of wine, which they can charge more for, as one offs. My risotto good, but one of the two most ‘expensive’ dishes, £8.50. Fairly shallow bowl of rice, shaved Parmesan, & a field mushroom not much else but stock. Good but odd.

Much laughter as usual. Discussed what she should wear for Maggie S’s son’s wedding. ‘I don’t think I can wear black for a wedding can I?’ A gleam of wit. A pink jacket she’d seen, dusty not blue. Black trousers. Good. This is Chris, M.S’s unsuccessful son, but I think J. likes him more than Toby. The girl sounds nice. J. still a bit traumatised by move. Told me her d’stairs has had garden professionally made over. Amazing that she isn’t worried Deb maybe selling….

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Yesterday went to Waterstones before lunch & found nothing except Jennie Uglow’s garden book – a good notice from Roy S. was a help. And Maggie S. has a marquee in garden for son’s wedding. I shall never be sympathetic to ‘big’ weddings.

Rang K & got day wrong, came back this a.m. & was in bath at five – p.m. – of course, & put it right in diary, but still think Sat is end of week, as in other diaries. Intends to come round, tho’ I said he needn’t with only three days before hol. on Thur, will ring tomorrow & arrange. Said again he needn’t, but perhaps he’s over to one of those studios. So good to hear him safe.

Boys sitting in front yard. Hm. No books in Sundays. Billy Elliot a triumph. Started Matisse vol.2.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Electric meter reader. Late forties foreign but difficult to pin down accent – asylum seeker? East European? couldn’t tell, but mild. Poor creature and new enough to say, ‘have a nice day’, supposing it to be ‘English. I replied firmly, ‘it’s going to rain’, knowing it to be. The rain arrived, light but for some hours.

Ordered the Wynne Tyson book from a sizeable notice in the S. Telegraph, with a good photo of Noel at 20 with Esme Wynne, which I remember as if was yesterday from Pres. Indict. Now that’s fame. Also ordered good offer ‘column fan’ for bedroom with remote control, & another fan shown in what they call ‘free’.

K rang. Plans still uncertain, & now car has failed MOT, brakes gone, so not tomorrow. Jolly chat. WED.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Sorted garden cupboard finally. Threw away a couple of packed carrier bags. Must try to get K & A to put things back. A new pair of secateurs because the current ones were under some bubble wrap at the back of the bottom shelf which is a real ordeal for me to get to the back of. Artichoke seedlings & freesia in pots tumbled out by squirrels. Forward the traps. No word from K.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Rang K. 11.0. Various questions needed answering. Lunch? Arlete as well? Even if the car’s mended, or you aren’t coming at all. So, ‘are you coming?’ ‘Yes’. ‘To lunch?’ ‘Yes’. Is Arlete coming?’ ‘No’. ‘Can I bring anything’. ‘Mush’. ‘Bye’.

Arrived. Went round the garden in such a pleasure. Looked to see what needed doing in out. Good talk. Julian Clary laugh. Bacon & mush’ omelette.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

He takes care of me. When he asks how I am, he wants an answer. Will they be in Portugal now? Rather them than me.

Sleeping better, when did I last comment? wake, but off again, & get five, six hours. The Matisse very good. Rain.

Friday, May 20, 2005

Tesco. Dear Aziz, one of the two nicest drivers. The rain held off. Spent over £100, but it’ll last me beyond Wed.

K rang at 7.0 because of my message on his mob. about Mel B. And chat on Geri Halliwell etc. when I say he rang, he rang off after giving me Arlet’s Ma’s number. ‘If you want me’ –. Oh that’s so comforting. Says it’s hot & he’s just picked a lemon for his g & t. Dear thing, and how little it appeals.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

Oh, & I said would he like to call for the tape on their way from Heathrow? But he said they’d be on the tube so probably not. Well, I’ll be ready, in case, even if it means no rest.

Dr. Who started badly, set in the blitz, getting it pretty wrong, one way & another. Difficult of course, as they had to set up whole age to an audience who knew next to nothing of it. They tried, & the clothes weren’t too bad. A working-class couple hurried into an Anderson shelter, he in shirt & trousers & braces & pullover, she in a wraparound overall, & tight hair. She pushed the door to, when, far from closing safely it buckled flimsily sideways, & she left it like that, letting in cats & cold & rain, not to mention bombs. Delicious duck for dinner.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Dug the small triangular patch in front of the new plants, & put in the three Charlotte seed pots. I hope this space next year will be filled with the new plants, & the re-grown briar & Albertine. I see the ones (pots) I planted on the other side of the garden are eighteen inches high already.

H. rang at two as she had asked to do, thus stopping my rest. Imagine if it had been the other way round with her & Geoffrey’s absurd hypochondria – mine is the shape of my day. Five o’clock seems an important time for her, & two o’clock just after lunch, the perfectly natural time to ring for a long talk on a Sunday. Oh dear, that & soap operas too. I hope I never say.

Caught a flash of the Eurovision song contest. Now all those Eastern European states are in it, most interested for about two minutes, to see that it is being staged in Kiev. Wonderful to see that they have a huge auditorium, elaborate she decorated & lit, with local comperes, and everything complete in the most execrable & authentic taste one could wish. So satisfying to know that Yank taste is still bringing enlightenment to more & more deprived countries. Another delightful example of the spread of Yank civilization at its best.

A family in London & a family in N. Wales exchange houses for, I forget how long, as I only read a notice of it (by John Preston.) No one in the N.W family had ever been out of Wales, except that the father had been to London for a moment or two when young. The younger daughter of the N.W. family soon felt at home. She’d hardly been there more than half an hour before She was wearing a baseball cap backwards. How proud Americans must be at passing on the intricate & delicate symbols of their civilization.

Monday, May 23, 2005

K rang at 7.0. On way home, mentioned Boston Manor. Why? Not picking up tapes. So good to tell me.

Relieved really! Don’t want to shave until Wed. Cuts. J. rang, finalising arrangements for Wed. Oh dear, to think that a lovely night out to see Swan Lake & a good dinner should seem a cliff to climb.

Another squirrel. Caught & drowned. Good.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Resting for tomorrow. Started the Hitchings, Dr Johnson, with great delight. An ingenious structure & he has the gifts to make the most of it. I have to feel strong to pick up the Matisse, – literally – its heavy.

Gypsy travellers to be moved from a site in Hackney, all decided. Gypsy: ‘we don’t know whether we’re coming or going’.

In some sitcom, two women devastated over death of dog. At least one was a villainess & the other a desiccated spinster in a funny hat.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005 Thursday, May 26, 2005

All day doing nothing but get ready for last night. Car on the dot, of course – oh, Freud – on the dot. I said could we go through the park. He revealed to me that even his limousine was classified as a trade vehicle & forbidden in the park. So we had to go the hideous Westway – I must try to get round that. Picked up J. at her flat. No objection this time.

Straight to dinner. Must ask for table near the exit. The glass floors are smart, but worrying. J heard what they foolishly call ‘Tian’ that noone knows how to pronounce, a neat circular mound of smoked trout, & a tasty little drizzle of something round it, & a frizzle of endive on top. Delicious, no doubt. Mine, vichysoise – there’s another ‘s’ somewhere there. Good creamy fragrant stuff, little stems of chives, but not too many, only disadvantage is that nowadays you almost never get a proper soup spoon, no matter how expensive a meal, but something between a large dessert spoon or a very small tablespoon. So I dribbled on my napkin. Then salmon fillet with grilled asparagus & pesto sauce – not much pesto about it. J. had a quite large plate of chunks of beef, which she said was excellent. No music like Swan Lake for ‘poignant’ to rise to your lips. Production reasonable, sets questionable, too like the Queen Mother gates in Hyde Park. Perform. continuing recovery. Perfectly good, tho’ not exceptional. J. says Siegf. & Odette are together in real life. He so slight in dark blue & boots at first, seemed to have sticks, better later. A good jump, lightness, clean & a good standard. Roberta Marquez, much the same, quite on top of the role as far as the steps were concerned, no special personality, milked fading applause, in the second act. Not thrilling, but good. In the first Trio, picked out tall youngster who turned out to be understudy, Brian Maloney,...who, I think, was the only quasi British name in the cast list.

In interval J. had rasp. & straws, these last looked eatable, not with those fearsome white rings round the stem in the supermarkets. I had the Neal’s Yard cheese. Not very impressed, – a large triangle of perfectly acceptable cheddar, some green cheese, not Stilton, or not good Stilton, & what or what not memorable. Rather tepid coffee, & two chocolates I didn’t taste. A bottle of Pinot Grigio, £34. Whole bill, £134.

Our so far regular seats, are D13 – 14 in the back row of the central section of the Grand Tier, end of row on the left hand aisle, & therefore just by an exit door. Just across the aisle four or five seats are kept for the director ballet & masters & so on. It seemed a bit unprofessional to me, as it makes for a certain fidgetiness, but this was intolerable. In the third act, someone came, & sat on the ushers stool by the exit, well within my left eyeline, below me, & flourishing three or four sheets of A4 paper, catching the light & scribbling away regardless. Good gracious, hasn’t some proper arrangement been long since decided upon?

Otherwise a very pleasant evening, & I decided you good perf, nothing exceptional, but good. Today, Thur.

I see that old twister Ismail Merchant, is dead. Only 68, tho’ I’m not surprised, – died of concentrated bile, & suppurating calculation. I spent one evening at S’s with him, & as he saw at a glance that I was quite negligible, he never spoke or looked at me, & I didn’t remotely care. I was able to observe & draw conclusions. A Little reminded me of Binkie, in that you revealed anything of yourself at yr peril, because, if any occasion demanded it, it would be used against you, to get his own way. Amused at an echo impossible to tell that it wasn’t just a coincidence – in the Independent obituary of I.M. In one para. ‘I. M. Recently had an operation. Ulcers….’ &, in the next, ‘Lord Putnam said, ‘James Ivory may not have the stomach to carry on’.

Fancied two quotes from Spectator book reviews, & I think unique in my life, found them on either side of the same cutting. The first by Sam Leith, who has a regular column about his relationship with his dog, – is that in The Spec. I forget? – unreadable anyway – was of the James Shapiro ‘1599’ Faber, which may be good’. Leith tells us that J.S. argues that “the mishmash standard texts we now use….. force the different Hamlets of two essentially different plays into coexistence. That provides for this reader, & I’m sure a few others, at least a good excuse for why of all the plays, it is ‘Hamlet’ we never quite get”. Well, I never, & I thought that for four hundred years it was Hamlet that was able, with a few other piffling artefacts like the St James Bible, & Chaucer & Milton & Keats & Hardy, not to mention the rest of Shakespeare, to give English literature a bit of reputation in the world. At least he feels he needs ‘an excuse’. I think he should devote his articles in future to a humble examination as to why he missed such an important point.

The other is an anecdote of Queen Elizabeth I, forever young. Very late in life ‘we’re betide the bishop who was foolish enough to make pointed reference to old age & death. ‘He should have kept his arithmetic to himself’, she hissed.

Survived yesterday pretty well.

No air crashes reported, so they must be safe. Yes, Kevin, I know I’m an old fool.

Friday, May 27, 2005

To Tesco – oh, the boredom. Not to full, the horrors are mostly in the Costa Del Sol…. Suddenly hideously hot, 31° or 32°. Apparently hottest May day since 1953. Rubbish. May was the Coronation, it poured on my Burberry all month. Went into the garden before lunch & stepped backwards from the heat, yes, like an oven. Due south, you see. Not too bad indoors, with curtains drawn, & bed & book-room facing North, it takes more than a day for it to get in. Seems it’s the day off.

J. asked herself for Monday lunch.

Saturday, May 28, 2005

Not so hot but tired.

Liverpool has won some football trophy or other in Istanbul of all places. Their first since 1984, & the success & the celebrations had been all over the papers, & 12 minutes at the start of the TV news. Pathetic.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Mowed lawn 5 – 5.30. Meant to bath, too much effort, washed down. Boiled the bacon joint for J’s lunch.

Monday, May 30, 2005

J. to lunch. She likes her food – well, plump people usually do, despite what they say. Boiled bacon, so good, tho’ unsmoked, as I know smoked is wicked to people like J. The good thick asparagus heads, five or six each, & Jersey Royals of which she ate plenty. Then rasp. which she knows she must eschew sugar & cream. Fascinating. Refused the salad in between. Rather endearing this, as she’d asked for it & there it was to be tossed in a light lemon & oil dressing, just lettuce & chicory. At least she is too intelligent to think salad is something you have to slim, in the middle of a full meal. She is so good, she brought two of the new corkscrews, all the ‘bumf’ from Chelsea, & the new Chase book she ‘phoned me about. And best of all, the details of the Covent Gdn Friends that we’ve gone shares on, with the unspoken arrangement that she will make the arrangements. One of the corkscrews will go to K. Must study both other ‘files’. She is such a good friend, & when I think of her clients, I am flattered. But I must try & wean her from too much negative criticism.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Woke a bit early, read weather on TV, papers back in bed till 9.15. Dozed & woke at 12.0. Bother. Lunch. Back to bed, but only read, or re-read, ‘Ralph The Heir’ in two vols. Good stuff, but recall misgivings. Rain.

Oh, the fans I ordered turned up on the d’step. £60 odd for a stand up – 4’ – fan, with remote control – & thrown in – free ha ha, one of the usual. Also the Wynne–Tyson book.

Wednesday, June 1, 2005

Agapanthus arrived. Will go where rose died. Why, in this warm garden? Nursery? Must look up.

Finished H. Hitchings book. A little gem. Hesitate to write in case he is related to Guy & April. Read Cat book. Hm. Failing powers? Some pudding from her short excerpt book. Finished Ralph the Heir. Not one of his best. Tho’ wonderful bits. Abandons R. halfway thro’ & makes him venial.

Thursday, June 2, 2005

Poor night – again, after reasonable ones. Why? No reason that I can catch on to. Ling-ling in a long long skirt. Is that what she wanted the advance for?

She took two Jiffy bags of six paperbacks to post to M.L. – who I warned that I couldn’t read two of them, tho’ there were two Simon Brett’s who she likes & the newsagents bill. I like my servant taking the rich envelope ‘by hand’ to the Indian newsagent. How contemptible. Potted some rather old fritillary bulbs out of the fridge.

Just before serving up dinner, terrific crash downstairs, rushed to hall, a hangdog Charlie had dropped some heavy artifact downstairs. Looked like K. caught out 20 years ago.

Proper bath at last. Left big toe nail helped, but why does it hurt?

Friday, June 3, 2005

Of course I know why a big toenail hurts its ingrowing. But mine has only started hurting now two or three months after Adriana started treating me for an ingrowing toenail.

Felt a bit below par, had a glass of wine, & then fell into bed for a rest instead of lunch. Shop tomorrow I hope. Rain.

Saturday, June 4, 2005

Toenail not too bad in proper shoes to Tesco. Couldn’t risk K & A coming to dinner quite quickly, so got a few bits & pieces, not amounting to much more than a bunch of organic carrots with the green still on.

Noticed a bit of coarse dust on the b-room sofa. Looked a little further, & found under the books & newspapers, a great mass of what? lavishly mixed with mouse droppings, it turned out to be from that ridiculous loose pillow thing that H. gave me for stiff joints. How typical of such amateur medicine and nobody mentions that the loose tartan pillow is full of something attractive to mice. Bath at last.

Sunday, June 5, 2005

A little on tenterhooks all today as K & A come back from Sardinia? Toenail still painful. Took down ‘Mr. Scarborough’s Family’ & read with a keen pleasure. Good rest.

Monday, June 6, 2005

They seem to be making a fuss over D-Day for some reason. What happened last year on the actual 60th anniversary? I never noticed anything then. How I remember running across a huge field – fields, – to the dining hall at Uppingham, instead of using the hum drum road, pushing thro the more than knee-high everything, after opening The Times on the big table in Redgate’s Hall. The war was more or less over. At eighteen I wouldn’t have to fight.

Two, no, three, tiny TV flashes. On a house auction program, a sudden shot of ‘West Kensington’, – Barons Court station. A tear in my eye from the strong violent ‘nostalgia’ & memories. Later on BBC2 a poetry prog. – reading & a little analysis – ‘Adlestrop’ & a respectable bit of film, & piercing through, ‘The Naming of Parts’, again pretty well brought forth. Moved. And also thought wryly of H. Reed’s poor little mess of a self, Allied to a keen brain, & a small but intense gift.

K. rang. Back safe. Long talk, picking up on everything, him picking up his responsibility for me. The hedge, ‘I must come & cut the bush’, Mark Baker etc. Etc. Shrieks about Simon, whose surprise is for my 80th, he thought this year.

Tuesday, June 7, 2005

Rang J. & inter alin. Told her about the mouse’s rampages. Had to grit my teeth as the ridiculous pillow was a wheat filled something, which was wonderful at something or other etc. Etc. Oh dear, How brainwashed they all are. Both of them said how wonderful the pillows were after however long it was in the microwave. Amusing that neither of them said, ‘oh, but you haven’t got a microwave have you?’

Ordered cab for tomorrow & told Pat I’d only need it to Traf. Square, no ‘wait & return’, as it was £60 again the second time. Pat took it on with admirable responsibility, worked out what fare should be, & said he would deal with driver. Good.

Wednesday, June 8, 2005

Not so good. Pat rang, ‘can cab be ten mins late’. I said yes. Half an hour later, rang & said – ‘it’ll be three minutes’. It was ten. But worst of all I said I didn’t want that driver, P. had said he’d send ‘a nice driver’. Now he said it’d be the same one, and it was. We drove off & he began those words of apology. ‘I don’t think we’ll talk about it’, & we remained in the icy silence, by my choice, mind you for the whole journey. Got out on Duncannon St. – Pat had said no charge. When P. accused him, he’d said he’d charged me £55. Pathetic confusion of guilt. One way & another wondered afterwards whether driver was Pat’s new boyfriend. Has a sort of physical likeness to Billy. Help.

Had a good session at the jewelers. He produced the single flower cut glass vase with the silver band secure, straightened – gleaming. The seal repaired & he tells me the handle is an agate. Ordered a new case for K’s two pictures. And there is the dear clock, working & polished. Most satisfying. Talk of paperweight clock, tho’ irreparable. Got a taxi almost outside. Dear chap who chatted away & laughed at my jokes. £20 odd. So you see a black cab of course.

I’ll try to walk to U. Rd.

Oddbins order & all ready with double tip from last time. A different driver! Read Sir Harry Hotspur. Short, tragic, I’d forgotten how sad. Good.

Thursday, June 9, 2005

Ling-ling seems all right. Slept 2 -5 this aft.n. Bother. No garden. Started. He knew he was right. Note in back, ‘read again at a time of great unhappiness.’ Now 83. The nine weeks K. didn’t speak to me – goodness knows. Still nothing from Mark B. Sad.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Off & on all night. No garden & no K!

Phone message from Bradshaw about K’s photo wallet. Good.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Tesco. Still no English aspara. Disgraceful. Only Peruvian. Slept p.m. 2 – 5. Bother.

Rang John N. To tell Eliza joke. Just back from Venice Bienalle. Had dinner with Gilbert and George & Bjork! Rang K. & he’s had the flu. He said, ‘so there’. Blames the passengers on cheap flights. Germs went into the empty nostril. Dear love.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 190

June 12, 2005 – October 2, 2005

Sunday, June 12, 2005

The restaurant Maggie Jones is still going & has a notice. Named after Princess Margaret I see, from the ‘60s. Well, I thought it couldn’t be Maggie Jones, now in Coronation St. for years, having abandoned acting for the bottomless clichés of North Country tatty weekly rep of years ago.

Rang Mary L. character actress. I just registered, Daphne Goddard. She understudy in one of the shows? About in rep years ago, big rather plain face. Never knowingly saw her. What an epitaph, Poor woman!

Some anniversary of the Cardiff Singer of the World contest. Pleased to find that the Hvorostovsky-Terfel year, when I rushed round to play the tape to S. & found him & C. Woods in the bath, was one of the two or three peaks in the history of the contest.

What a genius I have. Shocked to see hours of football on BBC2. I can’t imagine how that would have been greeted in its first years.

Is quite chilly indoors. Felt I shouldn’t turn on the c. heating in the middle of June. Very dull day of both sorts. Meant to mow. Finished ‘He Knew He Was Right. Satisfying.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Mowed lawn 9.15 – 9.45 a.m. Good.

Got my fort tangled in the mower flex & fell over, rather in slow motion. By luck I fell on my behind & onto a bit of the long grass. Only afterwards did I think how lucky I was not to fall on something hard.

Political prisoners being tortured for information is not funny – all the same…. it seems that, in Guantánamo Bay, the Americans have found endless playing of pop music does the trick, especially to Middle Eastern suspects who have religious objections to western female singers. One of Christina Aguilera’s tracks was proving very effective, but not finally clinching. Then they tried the B-side…..

Those small tight swimming trunks, Speedos, are nicknamed in Australia ‘budgie smugglers’.

Started ‘Small Farm at Allington’.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Did a good hour 9.15 – 10.15 a.m. tackling the hellebore bed. Those Brunnera horrors are so large I thought there were more of them, but there were only two, with the huge leaves spreading two or three feet around each, almost prostrate, stifling anything else. Going behind, found the old purple Lilac obviously dying, had split down the middle into two large logs. Good. Satisfying.

I’ve never quite liked Lily Dale despite her popularity. It’s a retrograde popularity. Shades of H.

A bit of toothache in the loose tooth? Took two paracetamol at twelve, & another two at bedtime. Possibly only a bit of jarring but…. dentist’s scenarios flickered in & out, if only I could be sure I wouldn’t be subjected to some ‘hygienist’.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Slept in p.m. 2 – 6. Bother, after poor night. So much for fresh air. Heavy rain most of the day. No garden.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

From a property programme: ‘Don’t forget it’s always the kitchen & bathroom that sells a property’. What a striking illustration of the complete poverty the majority’s taste & imagination. Why didn’t she include the lavatory?

Rain on and off all day.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Too hot. There’s a little feature in one of the papers, ‘Book of a Lifetime’. Some idiot put forward War & Peace. It’s such idiots that obliged to the makers of Desert Island Discs to ban the Bible & Shakespeare.

I keep meaning to note how odd it is that, after so long, there has still been no Al-Qaeda attack on either the US or UK. I find it difficult to believe that they couldn’t have managed something. I wonder if the rumours that ‘9/11’ – ugh, I hate their abbreviations – was an American ploy to justify the invasion of Iraq & to safeguard Middle East oil. The three thousand casualties? Piffle before the wind to someone like Bush or more realistically the billionaires of the world.

Somebody said today that there are a million deaf people in London. Rubbish & most dangerous use of statistics, as one see’s everywhere now. I am pretty deaf in one ear, but that is not deaf.

Worked on hellebore bed, from 9.15 – 10.15. Carefully pruned the two small trees above, to reveal the plants more fruitfully beneath them. Just a shoot here & there to improve the light & the appearance of a little woodland.

Later K. rang – they’re coming tomorrow – but not till four-ish, so I can shop & sleep. Oh lovely.

Saturday, June 18, 2005 Sunday, June 19, 2005

Lay in bed all day today, Sunday with such aching legs but such a heart warmed right thro’.

They arrived about half four. I’d asked him to bring stakes for the rose (Félicité) but they got going on the hedge first. After the cutting, he left A to sweep up & bag the leaves, & tied up the Rose, reconnected the sprinkler, & the air conditioner. Later put together the new standard fan – with a few tactful suggestions from A. Only got a bit stroppy after-dinner – fancy – over a discussion about illustrative quotations in serious dictionaries. ‘So is ‘I love you’ there? ‘Well, yes & no’. A. helped. Dinner was a success, I think. Poached salmon, salad with it all in, jerseys, chicory lettuce, quails eggs. Raspberries. Cheese. A. thanked me three times.

Loveliest moment on the platform. K. had put up the huge garden umbrella, & we brought out the garden chairs. He hadn’t seen them before, & was really impressed with the fold-up table for our g & t’s. We were sitting there for the first time ever, sitting& facing the transformed garden, the roses had trained up the wall, & A. clearing up & dragging some of brambles, creeper & so on. He looked at me & raised his glass, & said, ‘five years later, here we are’. Oh, I am so lucky. Today is hideous if they’d come on Sunday, I wouldn’t have lasted. Writing this is the only thing I’ve managed today. 33° Sunday.

Monday, June 20, 2005

In siege from the heat. All curtains drawn, windows shut. New five foot fan in bedroom a great success. Old fan in book-room. Air-conditioner in kitchen, back to French doors. Shut bedroom door for life in book-room, & vice versa. Collapse. Read Trollop & ate asparagus.

Wimbledon. There is someone called Smash-Nova. Is that at W’don?

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Longest day.

Hideously hot again. 29°. Did nothing. Watered. Started on Trollope, dear T. again. Have I since being here? Just right for prison reading.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

30°. Watering. How I hate the long light evenings. On reading the deaths in The Telegraph, a name caught my eye – Chatworthy – & a faint echo made me say how Noel would like the name. No wonder read on & found it was Gertrude Lawrence’s daughter who had died aged 87. Daughter of G.L. & Frank Howley. Imagine his name being clawed back from the mists of time. Never married, a quick fuck in one of the Vaudeville dressings, I imagine, such as I knew intimately fifty years ago during one of those reviews – ‘Cheep – cheep’ was one of the titles wasn’t it? That sort of thing.

I should think F.H. will get a little lift to a slightly higher ring of hell with that line in The Telegraph. She had three children & grandchildren, & died in Halesowen in Suffolk. Obviously a v. different life. But what a link to the remotest 1917 past. Rang H. & Mary L as only people who would be interested. Sunday was 33.1°. In ‘76, poor darling suffered 34.5. But record was ‘57. 35.0. Where was I?

Thursday, June 23, 2005

New secateurs & trowel vanish. Ring K. & ask. Find the trowel in earth by primroses where I left it. A. says she put secateurs in garden cupboard, but they may have slipped down side of shelf.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Long talk to J. May come round at w/e. Bit tired for that. Goodsteady rush for some hours.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Felt a bit bad being lukewarm re J.’s visit. Cab at 9:30 to farmers market. Bought four bundles of asparagus from two different stalls, one, the usual stuff delicious English sort, & two bundles of sprue, looking like rather stout grass, as cheap aspara. was always called. A dozen & a half of those wonderful eggs. Two cartons of cream from those clear people who have the nous & manners not to say ‘haven’t seen you for six months’. I felt guilty all the same that I don’t make more effort for decent stuff. No cheese, except that rather dreary Lincolnshire Poachers stuff. No game, of course. Then to Waterstone’s – oh, also two big cartons of peas – Sybille Bedford’s Quicksands, & James Shapiro’s Shakesp. 1699, which intrigues me. At first flip it is not in ghastly yank academic jargon, not all, pub. Faber, still a reliable mark. Probably my last E. George, & a stallwood for thrillers. Tesco’s, English peas at last, no Eng. Aspara! & home by 11.15.

Struck all over again by the stupidity of publishers & bookshops, that three books reviewed this week nowhere to be seen. What on earth is the rationale, or selling point of that?

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Finished Phineas Finn. Skipped chunks of political analysis & anecdote for which T. has little gift. Tho’ has anyone? Left message for John N., & he rang back from Lytham emptying the dishwasher for his mother…. What would the Tate think? Dear chap.

Neil rang, in Norwich. Mother dead. Clearing up the house, relatives, funeral etc. That rackety little brother has a house now – imagine. Well I’m glad. No trace of the rift, or the strange quality, I’ll never find out whether it’s him or me that he found strange. Has found letters from Lalla! & a chunk from me. Hope he tears them up. Mother 82, went off her food, felt sick, after 10 days, daughter took her to Doctor. Inoperable cancer, refused operation & chemotherapy, & was dead in another ten days.

Oh doctors. No doubt N. was reporting inaccurately as 97% of people do, but I can quite believe the doctor said it was inoperable & offered an operation & chemotherapy in the same breath. N. wants to come round, has to see lots of people, Bowden’s etc. – staying with them perhaps? – just a g & t – yes. Would like to see K. Left message for K. Rang back, yes. Lovely chat. Mel B’s album has sold only thirty thousand copies. No radio exposure – she put off some people, it seems. Thirty then is failure.

Oh, such a comfort & joy. What have I done to deserve him in my life?

Monday, June 27, 2005

Despite two or three worries, M. Baker, the wall cracks & the council, slept well. Very hot. Had the sprue & poached eggs. Delicious. Finished Ayala’s Angel.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Thunderstorms, down pours. Started Dr. Thorne.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

More thunderstorms. Call from H. – ‘I couldn’t tell anyone but you, Leyton Hewitt’s girlfriend in the Royal box at Wimbledon, is one of the cast of Home & Away’. Really. L. H. is a nasty little cross-faced tennis player. ‘Dr. Thorne’.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

No Spectator. Hadn’t arrived at newsagent. Neil rang, to say, ‘tomorrow night’. Asked me where house was, & ‘what bus to take’. No idea, of course. Rang K. – far away –’. ‘Someone there?’ ‘Yes’. In a music cloud. Coming tho’. Finished Dr. Thorne.

Friday, July 1, 2005 Saturday, July 2, 2005

Neil arrive about six-ten. Taken taxi, tho’ he has to remark on extravagance, poor chap. K. rang earlier to see if he could bring anything. Yes, a bit of veg & cheese. I rang back to say ‘some cream?’ ‘I haven’t got any. I don’t know where to get any. And he won’t want it’. Really, he’s getting quite epigrammatic in his old age. All went well. They can talk to each other in a way I couldn’t. Neil is still stuck in clumping monologues. By ‘clumping’, I mean that, during the three quarters of an hour g & t time, I tried to find a pause of some kind so as to say, ‘I must go & look at the potatoes, & was finally obliged to stand-up & stop him & go. Oh dear, why do so many people today have no useful manners? And he’s fifty-four or something. Dinner, pretty scratch, as I only said dinner because K. wanted it. Slightly acrimonious anti-American interlude during dinner, as he now has joint English-Yank citizenship. Started commending that grossly sentimental & ridiculous ceremony of swearing faith to a flag…..Just stopped myself being cross at his ignorance. K. a help. Oh, and the dinner, a whole brill thawed, just enough, the two fillets for them, the back for me. K’s broccoli, & his, my cheese, wine not bad. Coffee all right. They shuddered at the sour cream. I said idly but I thought young people like sour cream, as it’s now sold as such in supermarkets for health. K. got up to go about 10.30, a studio down Goldhawk Rd. N. in loo, I said take him with you, so dear K. tried, but – N., stayed till 1.30, & was walking home to Chiswick. All the same, I was glad of at least some of the time. He is a ‘chum’ of Julian Sands – I wonder what J. S. sees in him, as J.S seems to me a real creep. However, that is only his acting & his admiration of J. Slade. (All the same, oh dear, N is so naïf.) So, we talked of J. Slade. It seems J. Slade – oh, these initials – has said he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to see him any more. So I told N. a few of the reasons. I’m glad to say he was fairly stunned at the unprofessionalism, & the utter lack of artistic courage. I wonder if I wrote about them in 1959 – 60 & later with the Mitford girls. At the moment, perhaps never, I can’t go back to the diaries & look. Anyway, we parted most amicably, & he turned at the gate, a sweet natured, dear chap, but with that curious mummified-youth look that descends on you in California.

The most difficult moment was nothing to do with N. K. told him when they were talking of N’s joint citizenship, that he was going to the States again, ‘for three months, that’s as long as I can stay’, glancing at me, ‘I haven’t told him yet’. I was pierced with – what? worry, pain? all the ways in which I depend on him, & have no right to, extra pain that he had to have someone else there to blanket the shock to me, pleasure that he knew what a pain it would be. I hoped to be unmoved – perhaps they thought I was.

So, Saturday. Utterly exhausted, but only slept for four hours. Perhaps because I can scarcely be a spectator today.

A plethora of events in which I have no interest, & in some cases no approval. Live 8, a worthy cause, I suppose, though no evidence to bring to bear, & the vast audiences sadden me. None of them have the artists voice directly on their ear, & only a handful on their eye. Why go? Men’s tennis, more cross little faces, & bodies twitching with neurotic paranoia – what do they call it? –, The Gay Pride march regiments perhaps getting muddled with the Live 8, in some bits of London, & getting v. diminished TV coverage; an important Test match at Lords! Loathsome motor racing at Goodwood – what an utterly futile pointless wasteful, disgusting affair for which, I hope future ages will blush for their ancestors.

Oh, & then there’s our Olympic bid…… American senator collapsed.

Sunday, July 3, 2005

J., H., & John Nick rang. Lovely chats.

Prince William on his first official engagements in New Zealand, planting trees, poppy wreaths, cuddling babies. He seems composed & un-neurotic. Reporters drooled that he touched people like his mother. I hope he combines the easy warmth of his mother with the balance of the Queen. Something that an actor appreciates more than anyone. They are actors in a profound way.

Monday, July 4, 2005

H’s new book No Cure for Death came on Friday. Picked it up at 3:30 after my rest, & came to on page 73 at 4:15. Very readable & funnier. Rang her to say so.

Planned shopping tomorrow. Hair, Chiswick P.O for stamps, Oxfam for bag of books, Turnham Green for three shops, & Tesco. Phew.

S. rang. To cancel Thursday.

Never managed to note S. had rung to arrange dinner. I’d booked table at Brack. S. over apologetic as ever, relic of his nervous youth. Cancelling because he’s compering something – to do with 60th anniv all war. HM to be there. Hm. Who did they lose before they got him four days before? A bit fraught. Asked after Daniel, said he’d tell me. Going to dinner with Chris Woods…

Tuesday, July 5, 2005

Dressed & got ready & felt decidedly below par. Legs felt like pasta, so left stamp-card & book bag behind, & only did the hair & Tesco. Rather shaven, but nobody notices now but K., & I was down at once, which helped the parking. Sat down.

Wednesday, July 6, 2005

J. rang to say the Sylphida/Red heavens season in November was entirely sold out. Well, I never. I never meet all those hundreds of people who went to see such an evening, or have ever heard of it.

So the Olympics are to come to London. Why do people punch the air nowadays when they are pleased? Reminds me of the Nazis. Two good things about the O’s, it is a really safe distance away, & I shall probably be dead.

Thursday, July 7, 2005

Ling-ling rang at ten to ten to say that she’d be late. ‘How much?’ ‘Ten minutes’. ‘You needn’t ring me about ten minutes’. Turned on the television set for that auction programme at ten, to find it interrupted by the chaos of an ‘incident’, bombss on the underground, perhaps, power surges, whatever they are. The word ‘terrorists’ being mentioned. It soon became clear that it was a terrorist attack. Bombs at Aldgate East, Liverpool St., & a train between King’s X & Russell Square, and rather different, an explosion on a bus in Tavistock Square, shades of Bloomsbury. Soon after Ling-ling arrived, happily just having escaped any major delay. All four channels poured out the few facts, endless repetitions, and then nauseous flood of overblown journalese.

The facts were horrible enough, something like thirty dead, hundreds of injuries, & yes it was more horrible because it was a deliberate act of murder & not an accident. But there seems to be a sense that there is something different in kind, about this atrocity, just as the American horror was supposed to be on a different plane from anything that had gone before. This is not so. As for the presentation, I don’t suppose any of the journalist involved had any idea how dishonest it was. By now, nine o’clock-ish, the same comparatively few filmed sequences are being repeated again & again, twelve hours later, with no indication that they aren’t happening now. As for phrasing, one reporter said, in his excitement, ‘London has been dealt and irreparable blow’.

Friday, July 8, 2005

Woke at four. Dozed off at eight thirty after the papers, & woke, at what I saw as seven, but turned out to be 12.35. Met Michelle in hall. V. depressing talk. They’re leaving, don’t like London or the schools. Good gracious & the Council did all that ‘refurbishing’. Made my skin crawl when she said a white woman with black children had looked at flat, & said they liked really loud music. Well, at least they turned her down on my account. That’ll be Charley, I think. She revealed that she didn’t work because of a bad back, but was going out to spend money. I suddenly saw her as someone who is never satisfied.

J. rang & came round with the photocopies of the Inde. front page listing Yankland’s enormities, & the feature from the S. Telegraph on various repair firms. She had some peppermint tea she’d brought, in that lusterware cup & sauc. Alan B. gave D.

Photographs arrived of the silver. Just what I wanted, tho’ some larger spoons, like tablespoons, but of course, older fashion soup-spoons. Perfect match for the teaspoons. I see there 1932. How odd, they’re nearer together then the t-spoons are to now.

Saturday, July 7, 2005

Up & out to farmers market at ten o’clock. Little Irish driver, v. good at finding that back road to the market. Impressed by his turning up in the market to take my bags bit by bit. Usual cream & two pounds of butter, a dozen of those wonderful fresh eggs, tight little poached. A big bag full of peas. Two chump chops. A huge chunk of organic cow Caerphilly, from the stall that usually has only Buffalo – not that I have anything against Buffalo. On to Waterstones & came away with the Allen Lane biog. & two detecs., both will carry me thro’ insomnia but will almost certainly end up in the Oxfam bag.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Bombing had an extra reality for me in that trivial way that familiarity brings. Russell Square tube station I can picture in detail, the ticket hall, the lifts, the passengers, the platforms. We have come here for years, to the cinema mainly, now the Renoir, one of my three favourites, the book fairs in the hotel, & the bookshops in Marchmont St.

S. rang from Horse Guards Parade at the half, where he’s compering an event, as part of the 60th anniversary celebrations of the end of the war. (Amused that nobody says in so many words that the slightly unusual 60th, is necessary because the veterans – me for instance – Will be mostly dead by the 70th.) Shares the credits with Bruce Forsyth, & obviously needed to talk to me, after struggling with a largely foreign-language. More amusement wondering which had heard least of the other. Dinner on Thur.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Heard on television, religious leaders said that ‘the only solution to global terrorism is incomprehensible mumble. How true. Ordered fridge engineer.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

They seem to have traced bombers to a suburb of Leeds! & they are suicide bombers!! And they’re British Muslims!!! Why are people surprised? Haven’t there been British murderers before? Rather squalid terraced houses right on the road, & five hundred local residents evacuated. Started the Allen Lane.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Waited for the ‘fridge engineer as the fridge was failing again, & worse, cream going off after two days etc. ‘Between 9 & 12’, but never at 9. Nice Indian chap from before, who made it work last time longer than the Hoover man the first time, a year & a bit. Now it’s on its last legs – well it was a second – & his firm sells them, too. Rang & they can deliver, install & take away old, tomorrow, for £299. Not ideal as I’d like to choose, but S. comes tomorrow & the children very likely on Sunday, so…

Bizarre day for financial matters. Rang Bradshaw at jewellers & bought the rat tail silver for £1200 odd, having first transferred £3000 into current-account, after hanging on ‘phone for some time. Rather staggered by a ‘phone call from someone with so strong an accent of some kind, that I could only catch ‘bank’ & some sort of demand for confirmation details. Very suspicious, told him nothing, & said I couldn’t tell what he was saying. Rang the bank & told them, very sympathetic. I said the test of whether it was a try on, was if they rang back. A girl with the usual suburban accent rang back twenty? minutes later & I told her nothing, as advised by the bank. Rang the fridge firm, to pay. Gave him MasterCard no. he rang back twice for corrections, & at last refused it. Gave him my Maestro no. accepted. All bewildering, & legs sore from walking up & down the passage to the ‘phone. Really, modern life.

Thursday, July 14, 2005 Friday, July 15, 2005

S. sent a cutting with Dame Vera Lynn & S. C. The silver arrived, after a carefully orchestrated campaign of delay by the P.O. Found card in letterbox saying they rung, & no answer. I think not, as I’d been sitting up reading the paper. Decided to send one of the cabbies to fetch it, as it’s so difficult & I was tired after a terrible night. Paddy arrived, & went off with the card & identification in the shape of a paid utility bill, one of the items specified on the card. Twenty minutes later, he came back to say they’d rung from the office & spoken to the postman, still on his rounds with the parcel, & he’d come & deliver it. ‘When?’ ‘I don’t know. And they said utility bill is no longer valid identification’. ‘Perhaps they should amend their card…..’Fairly happy ending, as the silver arrived ten minutes later. In a handsome solid red box, the silver in two slotted wraps, thick material, which, it seems, is impregnated with anti-tarnish. Silver itself excellent, plain, handsome, exactly what I pictured & wanted, six spoons, six dessert, six forks. Most satisfying.

S. arrived in good time, & drank all his half bottle this time like a good little boy. In fine form, & slightly less frantic than usual, so I found out more. All is well with him & Daniel, tho’ I sense it is better for D, than S. D. is directing Hair at The Gate. No doubt next, Private Lives on Salisbury Plain. S. goes into Woman in White, & then does a panto at Richmond, playing Abauazar. And he has written something about Noel & Gertie. Oh dear. Typical result of him not telling chronologically. Put his Ma in a home in Finchley eighteen months ago. Imagine it. What an inadequate idea of friendship he has! Imagine either of us not telling friends at the time, preferably before, to talk it over. Poor boy.

Smoked salmon slightly got up, tasty, & lemon sole, delicious for me, both had cheese. Pouilly-Fuissé. Gave me a tape of Ruth D. doing ‘Children’s Party’ on American TV very late on. Haven’t dared play it yet. Told me that last Thursday he was ‘compering’, ‘presenting’ a corporate award giving. It was cancelled. He was getting £7500 for it. I can see he needs money more than ever, with his mother at four & five hundred a week.

Hideously hot by the way, if only my b’day was in the winter.

Today, 79. K rang, at one. Lovely. Back safe. Can’t come this w/e, good, I’m too tired. Forgot that, with the silver came the new photo wallets I ordered for K’s photos. Dear John N’s wine arrived, & as a delightful surprise b’day present, the Shaw bibliography arrived from the British Museum.

Arranged lunch with J. tomorrow, so good of her after me saying I had to keep the w/e for the children. Hot again.

K rang again at 9:30 as A. wanted to say ‘H. b’day’ & didn’t want to ring herself. Fancy.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

Another present, the new Harry Potter arrived, like the Shaw ordered four or five months ago. Read 91 pages before the taxi arrive, slid straight into my brain like delicious soup.

To Ken High St. & Waterstones. Bought nothing, all holiday books, good heavens. J. in Café Pasta brought me a book – hm – & the compass I asked for. After lunch, I asked her to go with me to the newish Waitrose almost next-door. Waitrose is always something upmarket from the others, & this is Ken High-St. as well, so it was no surprise to find the flower stall quarter filled with orchids. They were about three feet tall, or more, & as well, I didn’t want to outrage dear J’s fierce puritan austerity. Last time here, she found my two packs of 12 tonic’s worthy of slightly pejorative comments. How I love her. Whole Waitrose bigger than I thought & much geared to the rich under forties.

Dropped a carton of cream, which burst. Manager coming up at once to apologise! & A small steam roller with driver sitting, zoomed up at once & sucked it up, carton, cream & all. No charge…. Amused and irritated to find there were no fresh peas. I suppose nobody who comes here wants to pod them. Tired me to do all this & and then a long slope & a walk round to the main road, & standing with all the bags by a ‘phone box while J. went to Ryness briefly, left me really exhausted, & I was glad to sit in the taxi the dear girl found, & collapsing into bed, after dropping her off. All the same, I enjoyed my day.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

It was the heat, & stale air yesterday & today that didn’t help. Woke at 1.30 a.m. Read till 5.0 Had a shit & went to watch TV. Bed & dozed & woke at 10.30. Bother.

Finished Harry Potter. Remarkably consistent. Watched the only interview J.K. Rowling is giving to a boy of 12? 13? who won it. She is all one might expect, humorous, feeling, composed, perceptive, treating him as an equal without effort. Curious interpolated questions by four celebrities, well, one was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lemar, the singer, Stephen Fry, & a girl I’d never heard of, surname Willoughby. I couldn’t quite understand why they were there. After all it isn’t as if JKR needs any celebrity boost, & I can’t think Lemar is a friend, but you never know. As Gordon Browne & S. Fry, of course, they are professional bandwagon climbers. The point is, J.F.K. was all I would have wished. In some ways she reminded me of D. No higher praise.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Not quite so hot. Read the Allen Lane biog. How similar those v. successful men are, even if their success is with books. Emotional cripple of course. Photos of carriage clock arrived. Perfect.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Rang jewellers for carriage clock. Mr Bradshaw away – father ill.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Edgware Rd. train lifted off, wrapped in tarpaulin, by a huge crane. Odd. Is Edgware Rd. on an open line? it’s ages since I went there, & weren’t there two stations? Brown & F smoked fish order & greengrocers here within the hour. Good.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

B’day card from K & A exactly a week late. Of the utmost puerility, quoting my reason for an instant mute button.

Funny cartoon in The Spectator at last, – well, funny-ish. A mermaid sunbathing, on one side a bottle of suntan oil, on the other, a bottle of tartare source.

More bombs, at four tube stations & a bus as before, but a strange amateur air about it, – nobody killed or injured, only two windows in the bus broken, someone bent over one of the bombers to see if he was all right, & so on. They all escaped. Police rather hysterical. One was at Shepherd’s Bush H & C station. So they closed Uxbridge Road down to Askew, so my Oddbins order couldn’t come.

Terrorism is certainly serious when it deprives me of gin.

Rang John N to tell a joke. Found him just back from Tate at seven or so. Took him an hour to drive from Tate to Trafalgar Sq, & another hour to get home to Maida Vale. Really, how would we have won the war if they’d gone on like that?

Friday, July 22, 2005

Rang Oddbins, no go. & K. – wry & asked about w/e. Said he must ask Arlete. J & I in & out all day. Rang H. TV ridiculous. Oh dear. Someone shot at Stockwell tube station by a policeman. Nobody has said they knew who he was or that he had a weapon, just that he was of Asian appearance & ran away……

Found a bit of paper on which I’d started to write down the inflated journalese of July 7, in case I didn’t record it before, ‘dealt and irreparable blow’, ‘changed Britain for ever’, and silliest of all, about the ‘vigil’, ‘in an unprecedented show of unity’, quite forgetting eighty- six years of armistice day.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

K rang to say he & A weren’t coming at w/e, he would come alone on Wed. Felt guilty about being let off as I’m tired. Still no joy on Oddbins. I’m told Uxbridge Road will be opened today – why on earth was it closed this far down in the first place?

Letter from S. with pretty strong timetable of dates. Woman in White, 30.8 – 26.11. Aladdin as Abanazar, Richmond, 2.12 – 26.1. then mid-Fed at Bath, ‘Present Laughter, touring four months. (Good heavens, is it money?) Possibly London in July. Is he playing Garry? Oh dear. Weeded by irises & myrtle today. Yesterday hellebore bed, but felt a bit faint as before once, & slightly sick. Is that a heart attack or just overdoing it? Talked to J about S’s salary. Quite pooh-poohed any idea of a number of thousands of week. Times are hard, she says, & I’m sure W in W hasn’t been full since the first month or two. Mind you, she always likes to talk any subject down.

Time moves both quicker & slower now I’m old. But mostly quicker. Reading the Harry Potter, as usual remarkable achievement.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Restful day despite worries. Rain.

Monday, July 25, 2005

More rest. Started Sybil Bedford’s Quicksands, after finishing the Harry Potter’s. Rain.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Curious enclosed dark day. Rang J. to arrange for her to pick up clock, as she was going to the shop anyway to spend part of Peter Barnes legacy, on a pearl ring & earrings.

Rang K., & arranged tomorrow.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

K. arrived 5:30 asked for dinner early as he was tired, Poor boy, up till 5.0. this morning, & left at about 9.0 so for once I can write on the day. Talked over all my worries, & more or less solved them. Rang Mark Baker & talked as he talked to I’ve forgotten who, slowly, levelly, calmly – told me MB was very, very, apologetic & would refund the deposit, tho’ on a post dated cheque! K. rang the same ‘phone number, revealing to me that people can keep the same number when they move, or I’d have lost MB forever. Well, we’ll see if the cheque arrives, &then see if I can cash it. No date for US yet, a little comforting. Talked at length of the last five years when he has started at the bottom again, after all the theatre work. He still yearns after ‘pop success, I suppose without quite seeing how immensely it is beneath him. He has clearly had to crawl to people who sound sixteenth rate to me, & sees himself how perfectly hit & miss it is, with no relation to merit. If only I knew more musically I might be able to say something intelligent. The awful thing is that to me his ambition seems so beneath his abilities. Yes, he’d like to sell 1 million records, but respectably how could you do that? What awful company he’d be in? But I don’t understand it all well enough. I didn’t say all this, I just backed him up as far as I could. He is so loving & good to me. What can I do for him. Salmon fillet, peas & rasps.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Rang J. & arrange to pick up clock on Sat. shopping.

More hysterical bomb reporting. Ghastly female psychiatrist looking like Eleanor Boom on an off-day & then even worst actress, started to tell people how to cope, – I only needed two words & her voice to cut off.

Really the panic. Road closure at junction of Tott Ct Rd, Charing X Rd. & Holborn too. A rucksack in a rubbish bin. Shot of unprotected copper reaching in & pulling out – an empty rucksack. Imagine. The inconvenience for everyone. Heavens, if that had happened in the war, it would’ve been permanent for twenty-four hours.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Must make a proper note of St Martin’s summer etc. St. M is Nov 11. Hm. What’s the other? In October some time?

Death in Telegraph. MARTIN. Lady (Betty) Martin. Great grand children & so on, but I’d have thought she was older… no mention of her in Shorter Oxford Eye entry.

Football fan arrested in Bulgaria for chucking brick at head of another fan! Said fan in court with semi circular stitching. Sentenced to 15 years. Interviewed day after sentence by British journalist, ‘gracious he’s learnt Bulgarian quickly’. Turned out to be a more then usually sloppy speaker from Liverpool. Despite my indoctrination, with poor Nigel’s friends….

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Tesco. Rain. Picked up clock from J. Heaven!

Picked up the Sybille Bedford ‘Quicksands’ again. Put it down only because I wanted to concentrate on it. She, & her style, & her life & her friends, are like nobody else. Mind you, I feel the same envy among them all, as there is always a family trust in the background. And what has she been living on the last fifty years? She doesn’t say, & only almost imperceptibly reveals the sex of her lovers.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Did I mention Dr. Wortle’s School & An Old Man’s Love? Two slighter novels, but in some ways all the better for that. The earlier novels are so often marred by the more or less alternate chapters of the less interesting sub-plot of Dickens. I still can’t understand how anyone can think of the ‘Victorians’ after reading Trollope, – he is forty or fifty years ahead of the stage!

Finished ‘The Prime Minister’, read some of the political chapters, but heavy going on the whole.

Monday, August 1, 2005

Started Orley Farm but abandoned it, as too painful after a third, otherwise a blank, my lord. Picked up Ghosting, & was caught by it at once. Perceptive, comic, well-written.

Tuesday, August 2, 2005

Mowed on an impulse after the forecast of rain tomorrow. Lawn not too long, & only because there was first a drought, & then a period of heavy rain, have I left it so long. Doesn’t look at all bad. And I didn’t have a dizzy turn – well, I only had two, & I’m not sure they matter at all.

Rang K. to tell of Bulgarian football fan, & Mark Bakers cheque post dated to September 5.

Finished Ghosting with keen pleasure. Shall send it to Mary L. & buy it in hardback. Worth it, & gets rid of J’s imperfect copy, so she need not know about it.

Wednesday, August 3, 2005

Rang Mr. Bradshaw to tell him about the hour hand & the strike. He was hopeful.

Thursday, August 4, 2005

It seems there are armed police on every tube station, the ‘anniversary’ of July 7. This is because it’s Thursday & they are expecting another attack. I wonder if the prospective bombers have a better command of English, & know the meaning of ‘anniversary’…..

Interesting that I haven’t heard anyone on TV or papers, say that there have been no attacks in America since what they repellently call 9/11, Nor have such sources commented on what, if any strategies have been ‘deployed’ to achieve this gratifying result. Oh, if they didn’t all love the crisis & upsets & misery & violence. A wonderful refuge if you are mess.

Long – an hour nearly? – chat with J. v. funny & interesting. Talked of her days with Sir Lawrence, often alone with him for some hours. His authorised biography comes out soon. Terry Coleman. Hm. Can’t believe he’ll deal with the theatre – after all the absolute core of L.O.’s life, at all adequately.

Friday, August 5, 2005

Caught last two items of a quarter of an hour television prog. at 6.45, ‘Dear television’, with viewers letters, illustrated, if necessary, by the relevant clip. Big black man in hospital bed, his kidney transplant has not taken, so he has the whole hideous business in front of him. Young woman presenter leans over end of bed, ‘you must be absolutely gutted’.

Letter, ‘The nature of vampirism is not generally understood. If a V bites a young man or woman, the victim becomes a vampire to &, must find his or her own victims from that night on. So two become four, & four, eight, & so on. By the end of a month there will be four billion, three hundred and eighty million, five hundred & forty thousand, six hundred & forty eight. More, if they have had more than one partner’. Difficult to tell if it was a serious anorak or a wit.

Such a nice surprise. It must be a year? eighteen months? Since I asked China Search to find some York Town teacups, & they’ve found seven. They offer them with or without saucers – odd how saucers seldom get broken – but I took them all. Lovely. Amusing chat with the woman.

Saturday, August 6, 2005

Anniversary of Hiroshima, 60 years ago, good heavens. I was a fortnight into my initial training at 18. I was just grateful the war was over, & wouldn’t have to fight.

The football season begins again about five minutes after it finished. It’s an exact symbol of the working-class mind – which, of course has its full flower in America, – that more is always better.

Thought of J. Slade unusually. Is he dead? Casting?!!! In trouble?

Sunday, April 7, 2005

Woke 1:30 a.m. & never got back. Rang K. to tell him the two jokes. Says next w/e to cut hedge. Lovely.

Monday, August 8, 2005

Slightly better night. Sun all day. Ugh. Picked up Shapiro, hoping I can concentrate.

Tuesday, August 9, 2005

Very poor night, woke at 1:30 again. The little torture on days when I’m going out, is that I can’t doze off after the papers, in case I doze off & miss the cab. Driver Paddy, amiable, incomprehensible, & an idiot. I had a full bag of books for Oxfam – both Jonathan Coe novels, for instance – & Paddy had mentioned this to Pat B. It seemed Pat would like to have them, & reminded me when I said stop at Oxfam. Amused that, when I rang Pat B. when I got home, to twit him about the books, it seemed Paddy’s idiocy had come firmly into play, & Pat didn’t want the books at all, tho’ very sweet about it & will take them to Oxfam himself….. ‘He’s and idjut’, in his Cork accent. Mini cab drivers are stupid, or they wouldn’t be doing it. Bought a new book of 100 stamps, £30 on the way, to T. Green Terrace, C. Garden fishmongers. Halibut, three fillets, skate, red mullet. Inquired about grouse. Yes, they have grouse. Told me not to worry about threatened shortage, ‘as we get the French grouse’. Good gracious. Did not bother to tell him our grouse was a subspecies with a wild diet & habitat. I bet the French ‘grouse’ are half domesticated like our pheasant. Got a couple of artichokes at g-grocers & said I’d have an order on Friday, thinking of K. & A. on Sunday. At M & B, got two soups, Caerphilly, a new organic Cheshire, recommended by proprietor – hm – & Tallegio. Oh, & at beginning of trip, left the carriage clock at J’s.

K. rang. Not weekend. Has meeting near here at 4.0. on here after. ‘Will you want dinner?’ ‘Well, I can get it somewhere else if you like’. Should get to me about five thirty. Heaven & hedge.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Woke at 3:50 a.m. & never got back. Dozed 8.30 – 10.0. Long chat to J. doing the fan mail. She never, of course, betrays any confidences, but did tell me that letters from young people who have a drama school place, asking for help with the fees, are commonplace. How disgraceful that they should be reduced to this. Amused that J. told me Covent Gdn soups are harmful ‘because they have so much salt in them’. She is full of these food fads, as always amazing me that any intelligent person can believe all the passing fads of ‘nutritionists’, ‘dieticians’ etc. etc., not to mention doctors. To think of the hours we spent in our youth collecting to send the new vilified ‘dairy products’ to the East End before the war. Wonderfully calculated publicity phrase to demean cream & butter & milk & eggs. Now J. is a quite intelligent girl, but seems to bring no rational processes to bear on these matters. I noticed that however delicately I intimate that I have reached 79, on ‘dairy products’, salt, etc. etc., without actually dying, something in her resists fiercely, tho’ she can still be polite. Such a help that she can look at me as an old wreck. I fear it is the old Yankee disease of living forever. Dear Agatha Christie – ‘Do you believe what people say to you? I never do’.’

Thursday, August 11, 2005

K left at nine-ish, arrived at five thirty-ish. Said his back was a bit painful, but that didn’t stop him doing the hedge at once. Cut all the loose top & about another foot. Safe for the winter.

Had our g & t’s in the garden, on the platform. Halibut, peas, rasp. did a bit of salsify for myself, & he tried a bit, about an inch. Didn’t spit it out. Asked for a Benedictine. Talked of Nigel. Rang Sian to arrange visit & she burst into tears at sound of his voice, & I don’t think she’s a fool at all. She still feels guilty, & shouldn’t. Told me Charley, so beautiful, but probably prosaic. ‘Has a guitar, so I showed him a few chords. A few minutes later, he was back playing footy’…… Later. ‘Now you’ve got my number, it’s only a fortnight’. Talked over everything. Waved him away up the rather humid road.

Thursday no, Friday August 12, 2005

Another missing girl, only 13, looks a rather used 22. Parents refrain, various accusations, ‘she’s not like that’.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Suddenly picked up ‘Those Barren Leaves’ yesterday. Some brilliant passages of course, but essays rather than a novel. The ‘essays’ were much in advance of the time, and excitingly prophetic sometimes. But I think his work should now be read in tandem with S. Bedford’s biog. Oh, by the way, I still can’t tell whether the poetry, Chelifee’s etc., was meant to have a tin ear, but it has.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Hazel rang as usual. She has finished her latest novel & is having to read it, poor girl. Today talked more of her family than usual, as always with such detail, dull & part fantasy in treatment, tho’ I daresay not in fact. She has great strength of character, just as well, as I think her life with Geoffrey has much frustrated her. And then there is the fantasy….. And should she say my calls are the highlight of the week? Hm…..

Monday, August 15, 2005

Israel evacuating Gaza which they should never have occupied in the first place. Much misery for the Jewish ‘settlers’, as they are euphemistically called. Struck all over again, by the ghastly open tone employed by the cantors, the very archetype of vulgarity. I see a suburb in Gaza is called Morag. My father had a cousin Morag. I don’t think it’s the same word……Oh, what hell all those excitable races are. What a sin ‘all the talking together’ is! Two squirrels on apple tree!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

To Ken High St. New driver, rather surly, but I think it may be partly manner. To Waterstones. Struck yet again by how so many books widely reviewed never appear even in a big shop. Boy George & Julian Clary’s biogs., Richard Bradford’s book about Larkin, a Nell Gwyn biog, & Coryne Hall’s Imperial Dancer. Bought what turned out to be an unreadable thriller, a decent copy of Ghosting, and Diana Melly’s Take a Girl Like Me, which I gobbled two thirds of without noticing.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Woke 1:30 a.m. never got back. Finished ‘Take a Girl Like Me’. Compulsively readable. I wonder if she has any idea how contemptible she has shown George & herself to be. No morals no taste, no principles, the shallowness is staggering. All the more annoying that you can’t put it down.

As always in lives like this, money is scarcely mentioned except vaguely to imply that they never have any, while every now & then they buy whatever they extravagantly want without comment. Of course George M came off a well-off family. When D. was at Liverpool in ‘47, I think, Mrs. Melly, was the sort of theatregoer who often had the company to meals & parties in her large & luxurious house. George was pretty young & a charmer, of course, but hopelessly spoiled. I always like the type who is determinedly ‘impractical’ & gets everyone else to do the tiresome work for them. Such people can write a readable book perhaps, but drive you mad in reality.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Woke at 12:10 a.m. & never got back to anything but sleep here & there. Ling-ling asked for two weeks advance over & above this week’s money. I’m glad she feels she can. Dear John N. rang, dinner soon. Suggested wait till Sept. when it may be a little less stifling.

Victoria Beckham has announced that she has never read a book. Who ever thought she had?

Meant to mow but too tired. Must try & did it, tho’ it rains tonight. Set squirrel trap yesterday.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Woke at two, & went to book-room & watched TV. There were four hours of short British films called, rather humiliatingly, Hollywood England. Help. I didn’t last long. As so often with such stuff, profundity was achieved by length of shots, cutting & dialogue being v.e.r.y. v.e.r.y. s.l.ow & deep, in a shallow studenty mode. Oh dear.

Oh well, sitting on the sofa was a change from a sleepless bed.

Fairly torrential rain, fairly all day. So no squirrel yet. Long chat to J. I cried off lunch tomorrow, as I was too tired.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Squirrel no five, drowned. Too wet to mow of course, but sun out, more tomorrow, so in the evening before more rain on Monday.

Padded envelope from K. – the remote control, the dear boy, in all his busy days before going away. Oh how I laughed at myself. The instructions were in a tiny booklet with minute print. With a magnifying glass, I could just make out ‘do not wait more than ten seconds between each operation’. It took me more than ten seconds to put the magnifying glass down.

K.’s card said only, ‘don’t lose the instructions’. So he knew!

Sunday, August 21, 2005

MOWED, & no heart-attack. Finished ‘The Eustace Diamonds’. Read the first half of Magnus Mills ‘Scheme for Full Employment’. The new one is announced. Why did I wait? It’s wonderful. The writing is of a clarity and simplicity that it is very rare & like no one else like no one else.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Rained satisfactorily on & off all day. Chat to J. Jokes.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Tesco. Young driver with a glimmer more brain. I was too talkative, perhaps because I talk so seldom.

Did I say my knees, especially my previously good left one, much more painful? Can see how it might cripple me.

Clifford Williams dead. Certainly a gifted director, but a certain meanness of spirit. I worked with him in ‘56 at the Marlowe, Canterbury when it was weekly. He plainly thought it beneath him. It is difficult to respect a director who prefaces a read thro’ of Agatha Christie’s Hollow by saying what rubbish it was, nothing to be done with it etc. etc. I don’t hold much grief for A. C., but her little problem plays (not to mention her novels) give many people pleasure, & occasionally me. The main point is that he did not support his company as a director should, forgetting that we had to stand there & act it every night. Did a good job twenty years later on What Every Woman Knows for D. & D. Tutin in ’73. Amused that he treated me differently as D’s husband. A bit of a second rater all the same.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Rain all day. Long talk to Mary L. about the Independent front page I sent her, listing US enormities. Only 4% of the world’s population using etc. etc., of oil, etc. etc. Her at her best. Talked of Coral B., & Pauline Jameson in her wheelchair so crippled. I must record a few Coral B. tales, as J. probably didn’t at the time. I’ll have a think at the weekend, after Ling- ling.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

I see Juliet Pannett has died at 94. She painted pastel portraits, on the small side, of favourite pets & people. The pets were rather more human than humans, but always decidedly insipid. Not so Mrs. Pannett. When I joined the company at Salisbury in ’56, it didn’t take me long to notice a certain wariness at best, downright terror at worst, at mention of her name. She ran the theatregoers tho’ whether she bothered to be elected Secretary, I can’t remember. At last I ventured to ask Jo Tewson why people went a bit pale at mention of her name. Jo considered, ‘well, whatever you’ve done ….. she’s done it in Brazil’. Some ten or twele years later I came out of the Cheltenham Theatre to see her coming out of the back of Cavendish House. ‘Mrs. Pannett’! What are you doing here?’ Always with that air of faint rebuke, she said, ‘I was born here’. You knew that she had arranged to be born here fifty or so years before, so as to be able to administer the necessary snub. Was her-dead, I think – husband, French? Certainly one had to pronounce her name Pané. And the faint rebuke was often not faint.

Friday, August 26, 2005

It’s no use pretending that I believe in autism, dyslexia, etc. etc., accept up to a very small point. All of these new complaints are largely undiagnosable, & all too easy to assume, not to mention a tempting refuge for parents refusing to admit their children’s incapacity or lack of intelligence.

A programme about young prisoners. The worst crimes from dead faces. Some others had that secret smile across their faces when their behaviour was condemned, because they’d never had a good smack.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

To Farmers Market. Diminished by the holiday. Only bought rasp. cauliflower, runner beans, & eggs. No cheese or butter.

To Waterstones. The two books I’d been told had been ‘set aside’ for me, weren’t in the little order cupboard behind the counter, & a dear young man – dear after he realised I was mild &right, went upstairs & downstairs & all about, for what seemed ages, & finally brought me Charles Beauclerk’s Nell Gwyn, &Kschessinskaya biog. Name, Ben, & rang me later to say he’d also found my ordered book, the P. Larkin affair. Also bought the Ned Sheridan autobiog. The Simon Hopkinson cookbook, and the L. Olivier.

J. rang in a.m. to say ‘bad cold’ so no lunch. Thank goodness, as I wasn’t really up to it. Ben in vac. undergraduate?

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Started Olivier biog. last night. Six hundred pages. So far at least not a ‘showbiz’ affair. Joan has seen to that I hope, but Terry Coleman is not a theatre man. We’ll see. That might be a good thing. No photos of his sister & brother. Odd. Perhaps none survive. After all, have I a photo of Donald? Not after early twenties.

Hazel is sending me a six hundred-word article on a favourite detective story. She chose The Franchise Affair. I forget who it’s for, some Yank something.

Monday, August 29, 2005

This house has always been quiet, but the welding shut of the iron-gate at this end has made it even quieter. Now, on a bank holiday, the silence is complete. Wonderful.

Spent today concentrating on the L.O. biog. It’s workmanlike, with proper notes & so on, & no errors of fact so far, – eighty or hundred pages in.

Another hurricane in America.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

No misprints so much as re-duplications – ‘has has’ & so on. Oh the blessings of computers! I suppose I am of the last generation who doesn’t believe in machines. But the book is curiously dead. It has no sense of the closed circle of a company, or the tension between off- stage & on. And little appreciation of the tension caused by V.L. being intelligent but not very talented dramatically, & L.O. being resistant to analysis & instinctive like N.C. Some tasteless quoting’s of Sarah Miles, who rather like L.O., should not be allowed to put one word after another in public. I would say it has little sympathetic understanding of theatre & thinks of it as another branch of television & films, not appreciating its absolute fundamental difference. The best actors always come back to the theatre.

Bank Hol again, as far as profound quiet.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

The hurricane seems to have been much more serious than first thought. It did partly miss St. Orleans but the dams that protect St. O from the Mississippi & a lake, have broken, & much of the place is underwater, horrifically up to the gutters, & it won’t go down naturally. Now Bush has shrugged it off, & outrage is setting in. Fancy. The people left behind are poor & black, so fuck them, hasn’t everyone got a car & driven out? Oh dear, Americans! Oh my ‘Gard’!!!

It strikes me it’s going to be ghastly.

To Waterstones to pick up the R. Bradford Larkin book. Sent down to basement, & assistant directed me to previously unnoticed lift. My book buying life transformed! Asked for Bradford, she brought me the two other books un-found last time. I wonder whose mistake that was. Not nice Ben I hope.

On way there, called at J’s to leave the L.O. My £800 clock in bag on stairs.

Thursday, September 1, 2005

N. Orleans now frightful. The American hysteria takes over, & there is ‘a breakdown of law & order’, rapes, shootings etc. Police have handed in their badges & left. Poor little delicate flowers. Bush actually broke his holiday to….. third world shots, people holding up scribbled posters on roofs, ‘help us’, – some of them said ‘Please’. 25,000 crowded in baseball stadium, no elec or water for food, no air conditioning, not a luxury there, as it is 90°. But oh! Americans, even black Americans, who have a right to be angry, the useless hysteria. New Orleans is to be evacuated.

Ned Sherrin’s autobiog. is the usual collection of stories with little connecting text, most ineffective & mostly ineffectively told. He really is a half person. Why did we take him & Caryl Brahms toL 'Escargotforty-five? years ago?

Juliet Pannett’s obit. Pleasant photo of a smiling delicate featured thirty-seven? year old. Born in 1911. This must be 1948 or so. What happened between then & 1957 to turn her into a domineering bossy strong-featured woman who many people rather dreaded? I think I remember formidable spectacles, & the change does odd things to people. Goodness knows. She takes a last liberty by turning out to share my birthday. Really! So much for astrology. I hope.

S. rang. He got the champagne, but didn’t go on. For reasons he didn’t have time to go into, as his singing teacher, poor man, arrived. But it began promisingly, ‘the conductor is blind….’ Marginally better than deaf, I suppose.

Friday, September 2, 2005

Slept through from 11 – 6.30, for the first time since when. And why? I can’t find any reason. Bother.

More, much more American mess & hysteria. Bush has visited warily again, having had a couple of fairly black young people produced on cue, fresh from a prolonged shower overseen by an ‘aid’, so that he could embrace them carefully. The token black Sec. of State, Condoleeza something, last heard of caught in Manhattan on news of hurricane buying a pair of shoes for seven thousand dollars. Are there enough real people in America to be shocked? I doubt it. Think of H.

J. taking clock to Bradshaw. Thank goodness. Everyone seems to think I’ll live forever.

Saturday, September 3, 2005

Rank H to put her off ringing on Sun., because I can’t trust myself not to bite her head off about Bush. Maybe easier later. Poor creature, she knows US is hell really. Helped by being her b’day, & happy returns & so on. Pretended children were coming, & K. did faintly hint weeks ago.

I see at last some apparently qualified person, or at least, years of ‘intensive academic research’ – hm – is putting out a prog. ‘The Myth about Dyslexia’. Well, I’ll give it a look. No one at either of my schools couldn’t read.

Sunday, September 4, 2005

Mowed as heavy rain was forecast. A bit damp & not a good cut. That heavy rain came, so it had to be, or it would be worse.

Monday, September 5, 2005

K. rang. Imagine he even sacrificed himself enough to say, not only that he was back but ‘safe’…. Mind you, it was only on the answer machine, not in my actual ear.

Tuesday, September 6, 2005

The frightfulness in New Orleans goes on. There are still bloated bodies floating in water. Mind you, to put in perspective, the area – for once, the word devastated is accurate –, in addition to New Orleans, is the size of Britain.

Now, unbelievingly, Bush has set up a public enquiry to look into everything impartially, I presume, – heading it, President Bush….

Wednesday, September 7, 2005

Meant to shop yesterday, but had to put it off – after a sleepless night. So to Chiswick to the NatWest, as my MasterCard pin no. has been changed, the card locked, & you have to reactivate it or something. Hoped to avoid standing or queueing at a quiet branch, but what looked like two young tourists went on & on to both clerks at the queries desk, – as D always said about the P.O. queues ‘sending contraband to Brazil when you only want a stamp’. So I stood in pain for, I timed it, four and a half minutes. A dear big black woman received me, apologised, & came with me, brimming with warmth & kindness, pressed the necessary buttons, & sent me off feeling better, though still with painful knees. Already too tired to go to Turnham Green, to do possible superior shopping for children who may possibly not come – cf. Halibut – & went straight to Tesco. Good rest. Will cover John Nick tomorrow.

Thursday, September 8, 2005

Tired, but lovely evening. Oh the comfort & peace of old friends. Amused that the Tate paid. He has a smart black credit card specially for expenses, with the Royal Arms & Tate Victoria on it. Much moved tho’ I didn’t show it enough, when he told me that D & I had a good influence on him, perhaps revealing a little about him to himself, which gave him confidence. ‘Like good parents?’ I said, hopefully. It seems so, how extraordinary. Well, his own were pretty hopeless. I can count on him.

In the Telegraph today, a death, which made me ring Mary L. A Roderick twin has died, aged 87. Just the right age for M.L. She intrigued, clearly the same family, Cambridge twins. First cousins or something. Have I ever written about Rodericks? Bill, the love of D’s life? Went off, with Peggy Ramsay?

Friday, September 9, 2005

Eiffel tower opened five days before my fathers b’day. He never said.

Sent Mary L. a case of wine. Keep her quiet. Started the Bradford book about Larkin.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

K. rang. For once was glad they weren’t coming for weekend, – I’m really tired. ‘Tuesday, I’m your way for a meeting, lunch?’ Lovely. Rest.

Last night of Proms. 50 years of ITV. Minute glimpses of both, Demos rampant in bt both. I’m not as brave as Martial.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Knee is painful. Ibuprofen two a day only.

Loo not flushing properly? Or only a little hysterical turn?

Rang John N. to thank him. Back from mother & exhausted – how I understand. Repeated his incredible compliments. J. incommunicado, no doubt the cricket. Odd she & Jo Tewson, – what link has J. like Jo’s with her father?

Monday, September 12, 2005

Oh my knees. England won the ashes – I was so proud, not that I’d have known if J. hadn’t told me. First time for years, it seems. How can people be interested? But just as well, as they’d bugger up other things instead.

Snoozed in a.m. & p.m.

Finished Bradford’s Larkin. An excellent antidote, very well written, and perceptive. Satisfying.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

K. to lunch. Has a meeting in New Kings Rd. at 12.0. Arrived at 1:30, most apologetic, but I was glad as I put a loaf on a bit late. Brought me half a dozen wine glasses & how many 100 w light bulbs. Wouldn’t let me pay. Liked the idea of boiled bacon. ‘Anything with it?’ Fried egg. ‘Two’, & went round the garden. Gasping for a glass of wine, he really liked the Chilean Burgundy. As I was putting stuff back in the ‘fridge, he said ‘what was it? I must get some, cheaper wine’. Shrieks. What would we do without things that might have been more happily expressed…. Heaven. He’s all right.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Tesco & on way back picked up dear new carriage clock & left J. Test cricket supplements from my papers, she’d asked for. Imagine reading about it as well.

Heard the chime at last at five o’clock. Beautiful, discreet, I can’t hear it except in sitting- room where it would register, but not interrupts the conversation.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Ling-ling goes to the Philippines for a fortnight. Gave her two weeks money & £50 towards the fare. I think she would have refused more. Long chat to J. Funny & quick. Clock a real pleasure, I keep going into the sitting room & waiting for it to strike. Skipped through Bradford’s book on K. Amis, & remembered why I didn’t altogether like it. Most of the novels were run thro’ a tiresomeness either way, whether you have read them or not. H. rang, with a rather higher proportion of non-news than usual, poor woman. Much about the grandchild’s baldness, & I’ve forgotten why she’s bald.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Woke at four, dozed, papers at seven fifteen, dozed and woke at 11:45! Started Charles Beauclerk’s Nell Gwyn.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

H. sent me an online whatever you call it about that cross little tennis player, Hewitt, Australian, I think. He is marrying someone who was in Home and Away. Oh god, which is why she sent it. Still some fun, ….‘fans strained for a glimpse’, ‘Hewitt popped the question on the night of his loss in the final of the Australian open’. That might make her feel a little nervous for the future. My favourite was a no doubt idiot tennis coach – surely all of them must be – ‘after what he’s been through he can handle most things, but this is a completely different ballgame’. A pretty comprehensive Freudian slip.

Woke this a.m. At 12:25! Hardly dozed. Book room at five. Papers eight. Woke at 11:50. Most irritating.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

A similar story. A problem. I am very chary of sleeping pills of any sort. And I can no longer do something energetic or testing to make myself tired. I am tired.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Caught the poor Blue Peter team in Tokyo, on one of their poor little surface trips. Hideous auto rail above limitless infelicities. Again slept so badly that I slept after papers again till 12.0. I must stop this, but how?

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Woke 2:40 a.m. Book room. Back to bed for papers at 6:30. Closed eyes consciously for a little rest at 9:15, & woke at 11:10. A little better but unacceptable.

That poor girl Millie Dowler, happily ironing on video four years after that young flesh was rotting in a murderer’s grave. Are the parents asked if they consent to it being on TV, & told when it will be shown.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Shocked to hear that there are 50,000 truants everyday from British schools.

At last a return from Mark Bakers cheque. It bounced, & a completely incomprehensible letter from the bank. Thank God K. rang to save me ringing him at a wrong moment. At once said he would ring M.B. & did. Came back to me, & said M.B. was sending another cheque. Didn’t think M.B. was a twister as he’d rung K. back. Otherwise lots of talk about a shopping trip to John Lewis on Sat. A. wants a bin. Heavens.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Agatha Christie for insomnia. ‘They came to Baghdad’, in which B comes out as a highly coloured Tunbridge Wells.

Intrigued by a note, I suppose in my writing, which I cannot remember writing nor does its contents remind me. She mentions ‘the S.P.O. where her young heroine eats. I identified it as ‘The Sausage, Potato & Onion’ in Tottenham Court Road, & there’s another branch in Waterloo Road near the Vic! I have no recollection of such shops, let alone having gone to them, further, the reprint date was 1970, the time when I would have been very unlikely to go to such a chain, when we had a house at Clapham. Odd.

Good long talk to J. told me her friend Willie has bought a house in Spain. How odd she is about money! Surely some months ago, she said he was much more hard up.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Hoped to mow before the rain, but too tired & below par. Bother.

K rang to arrange the shopping trip tomorrow. So thoughtful, every detail.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

I feel like Miss. Hancock’s dog. ‘You’ve had a lovely day’. He rang at ten thirty to say they were just leaving – he knew my taxi was coming at eleven –so they’d see me in ‘the pillow department’. Dropped at the back of John Lewis as the congestion thing means a cab can’t stop at the front. Actually, in a big department store it doesn’t make any difference, & the lifts are nearer the back. I’d arrived at eleven fifteen, as I thought I would, tho’ ‘others’ – incl. the taxi firm – had said ‘half an hour’, & K & A weren’t in the pillow dept. Walked about a bit, & noted what I’d choose, & then found a comfortable armchair – still provided, a little surprisingly, as I saw no one about the shop in the hours we were there, within twenty years of my age – & waited. Perhaps ten minutes later, darling Arlete came running, & just behind, the louche unshaven figure of my nearest & dearest. We got going almost at once. Duvet covers, both blue & white, two mostly white, with three-inch rough circles of deep blue every few inches, the other two, fine blue lines, not unlike my old shirts. Then pillowcases. These have a flange round the edges. ‘That’s right’. ‘It’s called the Oxford’. ‘I was at Cambridge. Still my brother was at Oxford’. Three hand towels, six small towels for the kitchen. Six linen glass clothes with the blue stripe down the middle.

Then he realised I still needed an oven….. So we went to look. We soon found a possible, with a knob that would turn off the bloody fan-assistance. We went back to the pay desk, where he put our name down for an assistant, since buying an oven or fridge seems to demand a little more ceremony than a tea towel. I was just about to sit down in one of the small armchairs nearby. He stopped me saying he’d find out when the assistant would be free, to see us at a row of tables with computers & so on, in case we could go to them now & settle me so I wouldn’t have to get up twice. That is just a tiny example of the detailed care he surrounded me with all day. So there was the oven on its way, & up we went to the restaurant. At once he found a corner table to help my ear, looking out on Cavendish Sq., settled me there, came back what seemed seconds later, with an ice cold bottle of Sancerre. Meanwhile, Arlete came back from her bits of shopping. Sensibly she’d gone off to do it since she’d have been only tagging along with us, as I knew exactly what I wanted, & he was only looking after me. Showed me a pale turquoise jumper – eau-de-nil, I said – which would have been insipid & suburban on an ordinary English girl, but will be lovely on her. She’d also bought a chrome litter bin, & between them, before I got there, they bought a new washing machine, as the old one has at last given up the ghost, & probably the rags & tatters of a few garments. Heavens, I believe it’s the same one he had at Bryantwood Rd. back & forth he went, ‘you said you wanted smoke salmon & asparagus? Or was it poached salmon?’ Knowing I’d like it better. Delicious. Jolly talk, – P. Ustinov came up, I forget how, & I retailed a couple of bits from ‘an evening with’, & they shrieked, rather more than I expected. Also delicious. We had all the things put on the system that collect them & then you go to a collection point, still where it’s been for years on the ground floor at the back, opening on to a side road. He settled me with the stuff, & went to get the car, having rung A to say we were off, – this was when she bought the bin. Oh & I’ve forgotten, we went to the pillow dept. for J’s pillows – pillows from £10 to £80 each – after lunch, only to find, when K. rang her, J hadn’t quite – oh, well. So there we were in the car, & there was a bit of the usual bickering, ‘I have been quicker if you hadn’t rung me’. & so on. Can’t imagine D & I, but modern times. Traffic jams over to the left, possibly the detritus from the protest march from Traf. Sq. to Hyde Park. He whisked & whisked away – he is such a good & quick-witted driver – & we were on the flyover, & home in a modified flash. Showed them the carriage clock & its delicate private chime, much admired. Went back out to car, he left A & I to look at oven measurements, having arranged to oversee its installation week after next. What son could be better?

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Collapse. Oh my legs, & feet & t’other side.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Yet another squirrel in garden.

Interview with Cynthia Lennon. Dignity, articulacy, forgiveness. I shall get her book.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

MOWED. Poor finish of course, as the grass was still a bit damp.

More Yank nonsense. They make sparkling wine there, which may not be bad for all I know. But they call it champagne. Now somebody, no doubt French, has forbidden them to call it champagne, & that has been upheld, except that the American producers have secured a concession that they can call it champagne inside the USA. How wonderful to fight for a concession that enables you to go on cheating your bottom-lessly ignorant & crass customers. And champagne, only the name of a whole district. Really they are as insular as they’ve ever been.

Something for television. ‘The shot that Shook the World’. You might think it was a revolver shot, so famous assassinations, but no, it’s a film sequence. Here are the categories that the public are going to vote for: Global Conflict, People Power & Politics, Human Tragedy, World Firsts & Sporting Greats’. Fancy. If we were voting on the years 1580 – 1610, that would exclude Shakespeare for a start. Just as well, since if there were a Shakespeare now, the television audience wouldn’t vote for him. After all, they don’t.

S. on a little discussion-chat-show, The Wright Stuff. The eponymous Wright is another polytechnic anorak, but a little quicker witted than some. S. at his best, witty, sensible, not condescending, excellent. That’s the third ‘show’ I’ve heard he’s been on lately. Heavens, W in W. must be doing even worse than I thought. Much amused at one moment, as discussion of soap operas’s came up, of which S. knows less than the dust. He has no television still I think.

Rest 4 1/2 hrs. 2 – 6.30. Bother.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Forgot to say P. Scales was on This Morning being interviewed about her book in her looking down at the floor, in her surley ‘you can’t be interested in poor little me’ mode.

To Tesco, picking up the C. Gdn mag on the way, from J. Later she asked me for the name of the cab firm. Good. She might help them. Slept this a.m. noon, 2 – 6.40. Bother. I must see what I can do about sleep.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

‘I had a need to be seeing myself in a context outside other people’. Alone, perhaps.

Friday, September 30, 2005

A quiet day, lolling among my books, getting my meals, looking at the garden.

Saturday, October 1, 2005

Still sleeping badly & turned to Agatha C. even over meals today.

Sunday, October 2, 2005

Lovely long talk to John N., who rang at five. Established that I could ring him at above four thirty on a Sunday, before he rings his mother. I am thankful to say he seems comfortable at the Tate. I must try & ask him more about what he actually does. Always the possibility that I would understand much of what he says. Dear friend. Whole self into Wed. oven & K.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 191

October 3, 2005 – January 24, 2006.

Monday, October 3, 2005

Wrote to S. about the programmes I wrote about on the 27th, but then tore it up, I couldn’t make it uncritical enough, & he’s got long past taking criticism of any general kind.

Tuesday, October 4, 2005

Mark Baker’s cheque bounced again. Well, if I never get the money back, I suppose I should be grateful that it’s the first time I’ll have been cheated in nearly eighty years.

To Tesco, after Waterstone’s for three replacement Christies, Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries, & Alan B’s Untold Stories. Started it immediately, laughed aloud almost at once.

On London News something he’d like, ‘trapeze artist saves drowning man in Thames’. No sign of trapeze.

A good day tomorrow, a new oven & K.

Wednesday, October 5, 2005

He rang about twelve, & said he couldn’t make two, I said it’s coming between three & six. ‘Oh well’. It came about 3.30, looking rather big for its space, but that proved to be the polyurethane – is that how it’s spelt? He arrived about four, in working mode, tools, dirty t- shirt, etc., & got going straight away as he always does. In what seemed minutes, the kitchen was a bombsite, all the contents of the cupboards under the oven & hob out, as the wiring is at the back of them. I went to read in the book-room, as I couldn’t stand & watch physically, even if I’d been fool enough to irritate him by doing so. A few difficulties I think, but no curses. Eventually, he came in here, flushed, dirty, looking about sixteen, & handed me the instructions with triumph! Lovely. Lovely to have a new oven at last, & even lovelier to have it put in for nothing – with love. It was then about seven, & he’d discovered the oven had been left on for forty-five minutes to get rid of something or other & might smell a bit, so we couldn’t have the guinea-fowl. ‘Salmon?’ ‘Yes’. ‘Fried?’ ‘Poached’. After a gin & t, he ‘got up to clear up the kitchen before I get drunk’. And he did, & swept the floor, put all back in the cupboards in order, so that what I use most was still be at the front. And when I think what he was like at 19…… I’d read him the two or three jokes from AB., including the change of names in old peoples homes as the young generations fade away. ‘You’re our first Kevin’, tickled him. I plucked down the Dictionary of Saints – I told him there was a Saint Kevin. ‘No!’ I read & started to shriek. He came back. The bit he especially liked was Saint K. letting a bird settle on his hand & standing there till it had built a nest, raised a brood, & all flown away. Dinner, poached salmon, broc., pots., & a bit of cheese. Said he hadn’t any food at home, when he said he’d stay to dine. Cut off half the new loaf to take back, & grabbed a bit of my best Meursault, so I gave him another, & he drove off.

Thursday, October 6, 2005

K. also showed me an e-mail was it? printed anyway, from S., in answer to K. saying he wasn’t free, beginning, ‘would you like to work on my kitchen?’ Perhaps he didn’t mean it, but it sounded as if he thought K. had nothing else to do & might like the money! K. didn’t like that much, or the greeting. ‘hello gorgeous’. It’s no use ignoring a certain coarsening of texture in S. in the last year. His choice, – if choice it is – of work, & his attitude to L. Webber & the musical. And a panto with C. Biggins!

Went on with the Alan B. Keen pleasure. His poor mothers retreat into childish nothing & lasting for fifteen or so years, until she died at ninety-five. And the poor father – they were so close – driving fifty miles there & back every day, until he died, comparatively prematurely, at seventy-four. And A.B., rather repelled by the jocular nurses, but, fair as always, realising they were playing it right. He was only visiting, they were there all the time, for that, a Carry On film was more bearable than Brief Encounter. Many good jokes as ever. Just my taste.

Afternoon diversified by two deliveries. That big driver that came at two last week, from Oddbins, came a little later, & disarmed me by genially apologising, saying the usual driver was ill. Pre-paternity nerves perhaps? Not that he ever looks very well, pale, hollow cheeked, unshaven. The other delivery, as upstairs was having some planks delivered, was a genial, again, black driver from Fortnum’s with the grouse. A large’ish box for its contents, 2’ x 1’ at least. Un-packed, a couple of sheets of those air or water filled little cells, that make such good shock absorbers for fragile goods. Underneath them, a large glossy white glamorous padded carrier bag, with the majestic logo on it – why not, name? – & there the two little grouse, always smaller than you remember – a large pigeon. But cooking the guinea-fowl tonight.

Friday, October 7, 2005

Alan B. I think I must write to him now. Guinea-fowl all right, tho’ a little over done, as I am unused to ordinary roasting. Fan manufacturers please copy.

Saturday, October 8, 2005

Mowed at 4:45. Pleased, as I purposely put it off until the last moment before the wedding – the wedding! –

The rain arrives. This week has been dry & sunny & windy, so the grass was as dry as you can expect at this time of year. A better cut, & acceptable if it doesn’t go on growing.

Had the first of the grouse. A disappointment. Tough, old, I’d say, as soon as I saw the legs so scraped & short. Half an hour, much basted. Will try the other at fifteen minutes, but I doubt it.

Sunday, October 9, 2005

Pleasant, sunny, & no guilt about grass. H. rings as usual, Poor girl. When I asked her some time ago, to ring me at five instead of two, because I start my rest at two & sleep, she did it for a few weeks. And then she asked if we could go back to two. I said yes, because ‘her need is greater than mine’, saith the Lord. I am amused & to a certain degree, irritated, at once, by her insensitivity. Today, apropos of some similar decision over someone else, ‘you see, I can’t have my routine disturbed’.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Present-day statistics seem reckless to me. ‘100,000 children run away from home, & 2/3rds are not reported or inquired after’. It’s a wonder it doesn’t say everyday – afresh. I have never known anyone who ran away from home, nor heard of such a thing from personal experience, of anyone I’ve known.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

K rang. ‘Two bits of good news. Mark Baker said the cheque was all right, he’d had to ring about it for some reason, but its all right. And I went to an old antique shop in K. Church St. & bought ten liqueur glasses. A chap, been there fifty years, very little rent. Told me his life story’. Sweet. Spoke of K. C. St. almost as a discovery. Must have been too expensive.

Rang bank. They haven’t cashed or refused the cheque. Ring back on Friday.

Northern line shut it seems, because ‘of the drivers brake’. Electrified, unlike the northern line, by seeing it. A metal handle attached by what seemed, a good lump of sellotape, to a piece of black rope. Further surprise, the rope is too thick, & a thin piece must be substituted. How glad I am I can’t go on the tube any more.

Looked up saint’s names for the ‘day’, to chart for myself St. Luke & St. Martin Summers, Oct. 18 & Nov 11. Wonderfully vague, these weather fables, like St. Swithin. Certainly there are always little sunny patches in Oct. & Nov., so the fables are safe.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Had booked tab for Tesco, but cancelled at seven-ish a.m. It seemed so much nicer not to go. Still going on slowly with Charles Beauclerk’s Nell Gwyn, a bit pedestrian, but I think it’ll perk up, because he is the Duke of Alban’s son, & it seems they have quite a bit of original material. He is trying to avoid the usual tiresome innuendo about poor N.G.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Ling-ling. Forgot to ask if everything was all right, & felt badly. I do try to make, un- intrusively, her feel that if everything is not all right, she can tell me.

J. rang & suggested lunch on Sat. in Ken H. St. Cab for Tesco tomorrow, despite two days running, oh dear. The oven has gone from outside. Relief. And, all from a painless call to council.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Tesco’s. Paddy has such a thick Irish accent even I, after eighteen months in Ireland, can’t always follow him. I really doubt if he would get a job except from another Irishman.

Rested as much as possible, – trips, two days running, bother. Enjoying, without reason, ‘Nell Gwyn’, original material from the family, account – books, fascinating.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Very tired tonight. To farmers market, dear young driver, who expressed interest at eleven & thought to find it slowing down with emptying stalls, but not at all, far to full. How odd, that there is always a twenty or thirty strong queue at the fruit stall! Strawberries, even from Kent, in October, odd. Four partridges, butter, a dozen of those really fresh eggs. Cheese, Buffalo Caerphilly again, yielding texture. To W’stones briefly. The new P.D. James, ‘The Lighthouse’, a new Jill McGown. The serendipitous treat, was Magnus Mills, I thought I bought everything of his as it came out, such a favourite. But only the other week, I’ve seen it in a list of his work. How did I miss it? And there it was, a smallish black ‘pamphlet’ like his other little book of short stories & published by a separate publisher, perhaps a friend from his past? 2003. The black matte cover marked with a fingerprint or two & the sort of scratches that are caused by books being slotted either side, but both could be wiped down. I realised it had been on those fiction shelves – & disgracefully there were no others of the most original writer – since it was published two years ago, being batted about.

Lunch with J. Such good company. Tho’ sometimes two negative in her sympathies. I must write about this again. Our lunch diversified by a very young woman – or so she looked – couldn’t have been more than 26, fair thin, bush of hair – three children, girl, six, seven? boy, four? & toddler – two? who screamed&screamed&screamed, so that even the young ‘80’s childhood mother realised was unacceptable, & she had to take her off to the Ladies, just behind the table. Was she used to this table? The boy & girl were left sitting, or rather wildly fidgeting, at the table & I suddenly realised I’d seen her, when I was sitting in the only armchair at W’stones, killing time. It’s right in a large plain window. I felt like a tart in Amsterdam. I saw a couple of children on scooters – the old sort, that you stand on with one foot & push with the other – & then the little girl now at the next table. (They’ve obviously come back in again, like yo-yos.) She was chasing a pigeon off the pavement on her scooter, & might easily have scooted under a bus. Noone to watch her that I saw. Then J came along & I picked her up. So I wasn’t in Amsterdam, after lunch, as I rather hoped, she had to go to Waitrose. So I could go, too, & quickly picked out a white orchid – only £12.99 – ham & pea soup, & a pheasant on reduction. I expect it’s just about becoming eatable. Out to the front, not that awful slope, & J. off to another shop. Taxi at once, & home & bed before I could think. Lovely.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

K. rang full of busy-ness because of Ireland, so relieved when I said I’d ring back & see. I did ring, & they said cheque paid in Oct 3, & not refused yet. ‘So you are off on Friday?’ ‘Am I? Thought it was Thursday’. Shrieks. ‘Oh, & the clocks go back while you’re away’. ‘Back?’ More shrieks.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Art critic, Tim something? on TV said casually, ‘George Moore, a novelist’. Now I don’t blame him. It’s just that I keep being brought up against the huge ignorance of the past. He was just being realistic. And how cross G.M. would be!

Found a note from Ling-Ling asking for advanced again, on top of the papers on my desk. Was it when she did the s-room a week ago? Rang & left a message on her mobile.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

J. rang, for S’s email address from his exchange with K., just as I was having a wank, & I had to start all over again after she rang off. And it takes three minutes these days. Good rest.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Ling-ling asked for advance – two weeks. The Mark Baker tiresomeness drags on. The money is in, but there’s a debit mistake by the bank. Let K. believe all was over, so he can go to Belfast without bothering. He made date for Nov 4.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Picked up the Matisse seriously this time. Read the first chapter again, & was caught, as I knew I’d be if I took it on properly.

Meant to shop but didn’t, so a fairly scratch lunch & din.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

A bath at last. I must do something about the bath, as my skin badly needs its soak. But, however easy I can make it, anything is an effort nowadays, & needs more resolution then I sometimes can find.

Another bad night. Woke at 12:45 a.m., & read & dozed till TV at 5:30. Back to bed with the papers, 8.30. Read them. Dozed. Woke at 12:30. What a life. Post, useless catalogues, except the Three Jarndyce cata. I sent for almost by return of post. A bit of a treat.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Bad night again. To book-room at two & read Matisse with great interest till the papers, at eight. Excellent, as good as the first volume, which is saying a great deal.

I didn’t say that H rang on Monday, voice thick with cold, to say she couldn’t ring during the week as promised, because…. today, I wanted my rest, so rang at ten to lie that K & A were coming over, and…. She embraced the idea & again said she’d ‘ring during the week’. Always intrigued by people who know so exactly that they will be too ill to ‘phone for a week. Also the ‘phone was engaged for twenty minutes before….. And I don’t think it was Geoffrey ringing for an ambulance.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Bad night. Short rest. Help? Rain heavy. J. has bought a double disk of Shakespeare at Stratford from the B. M. archives. Earliest L.O., Coriolanus. Altogether hm…. She’s leaving them out for me to pick up tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Terrible night. Felt shaky & exhausted & almost couldn’t face the effort of dressing. Still, I went & picked up the Shakespeare CDs, & lunch was one of my favourites, asparagus tips & poached eggs – no! I scrambled the last remnants of the box I dropped – & I couldn’t finish it.

Slept from ten past two till four thirty. Finished the Matisse. Will write about it tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Matisse – yes. A remarkable achievement, as clear as a bell, as quick as an arrow & even more clichés if I could be bothered. I can’t imagine a better treatment of the material. There isn’t in this volume, so much new, not to say combustible material, as in the first, but there is a great deal of satisfaction, despite war & family difficulties. The only difficulty for me, is my deficient sense of painting & for example, I usually make a couple of pages of notes on the end pages, at least a hundred comments, parallels, witticisms, & so on, to remember. Three in this case. I know as an intellectual concept, that painting can be all consuming, as any art is to its greatest masters, but I can’t feel it. I think I can tell quality in painting, to a point, but I’m not so moved by it, that I do not have to make a conscious decision to look at it. I have lived in London, more or less since 1940. How many times have I been to a gallery? Goodness knows, but incomparably less than to a theatre or cinema or concert. And I never have to remember to go to a bookshop or pick up a book. Not much fun, in the Matisse family. Except in the paintings.

State banquet at B. Palace. Duchess of Cornwall in a tiara for first time. Borrowed from Queen. How many has she got, I wonder? Dozens? Getting on for a hundred? Certainly some we’ve never seen, & she never wears. I suppose even some tiaras can be out of fashion in those circles. ‘I can’t wear that, it makes me look a hundred’.

Curious, a little more energy today. No reason

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Ling-ling working for nothing. Feet sore. Must face down to a chiropodist.

The tabloid Times sent instead of Independent. Couldn’t be bothered to ring, but took pleasure in putting The Times into recycling without reading it. That’s where Rupert Murdoch should be.

In a burst of energy & extravagance, sat on the sofa & ordered lavender water & soap from Floris. Wine, two cases of Pinot Grigio, from S. Times Wine club, despite R. Murdoch, pillows & duvet from John Lewis. Picked up P.D. James for insomnia.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Rest 2.5 – 5.30. Slept, I mean. Bother. Started Linnaeus properly.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Cooked guinea-fowl more successfully. Clocks back. Eventually got oven clock back. Turned on oven for g. fowl, & it went forward again. Why can’t there just be a switch, instead of radio signalling. Modern life!

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Linnaeus. Rain.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Made a note not to answer bell in case it was some idiot children, who have been conned into buying ‘Halloween’ masks & so on, for an entirely invented Yank celebration to make money for toymakers & disturb blameless neighbours. Fortunately not a sound. Rain. Linnaeus.

Tuesday, November 1, 2005

To Ken High St. New driver, black, jolly, up to standard. Made him park in street by Waterstones, so I’d be sure where he was, in case he had no idea. Limped down to Waitrose, & bought a partridge to go with the two I’ve got, for K & A. Baby courgettes, rasp., & forgot cream! On way back bought new engage’ diary, & left the bags with driver. Books, the new & last Lees-Milne, the George Melly autob., & four replacement Agatha.

Back home, the Floris order arrived. Lavender & six tablets of lavender soap.

Memorial service at St. Pauls, for July 7. Queen etc. Odd, as we’re promised more, possibly endless, terrorist attacks. No doubt qualification for St. Paul’s will require a higher body count, if disaster prophets are right. No sign of more attacks in US. I wonder why?

Wednesday, November 2, 2005

A few fireworks last night, & already a few tonight. How people dilute their pleasures now. Can’t wait for G. Fawkes day, Christmas lights in September etc. Poor things.

John Lewis delivery, delicious pillows & duvet. Just on the spot as I am making the bed for L.L. to do bedroom & laundry on Fri.

Anita Dobson of ‘Eastenders’ fame (sic), interviewed on playing Gertrude. ‘Oh, yes, it is a thrill for me, & the language is beautiful, almost like poetry’.

Mary Wimbush dead at 81, – a stroke after recording an episode of the Archers, in which she was a long-time regular. Big woman, big head, large square face, & a big spirit to match. Lived with Louis MacNeice for last years of his life, & his last posthumous book of poems was dedicated to her. Last time I worked with her – when? twenty? years ago – she was telling me over lunch of a newish neighbour in her Berkshire? village, of uncertain origin, who said ‘I’m worried about the state of the village with all this influx of new residents. I’m so afraid we shall be swamped by the wati pollwah’. ‘What did you say?’ ‘Well, I did tell her that some people didn’t know that ‘wah’ meant ‘the’. ‘Nothing about her classical Greek accent?’ ‘Oh I couldn’t be so cruel’.

Women in Mauretania stuff food, from a tender age to be huge by their teens, & therefore marriageable. Thought it was a bout.

Thursday, November 3, 2005

Ling-ling. Gave her a bag of change, two or three pounds. Didn’t like to give more. K rang, back safe. Both Sunday, 6.0. Lovely

Friday, November 4, 2005

Rest for weekend, & shop tomorrow, farmers market & all. On with Linnaeus. I am beginning to find Wilfrid Blunt’s text rather pedestrian. A pity.

Saturday, November 5, 2005

Tesco’s & the farmers market. The driver who overcharged me, & had the poor taste to mention it. I hoped he’d been dropped. Farmers market very full of stuff & customers. I wish the vegetables were more possible. No doubt they’re excellent of their kind, most, not my taste, & those that are, – delicious looking cauliflowers for instance, but as big as my head, literally. Tesco bill £108. Rest 1.45 – 6.45. My subconscious knows what it’s doing. 6.45 is my first g & t. Didn’t mind this time, as it will help me with tomorrow.

Sunday, November 6, 2005

He’d said six, & they were almost on the dot. Because they weren’t coming to work in the garden, darling A was dressed up. Define black brat-necked sweater, a tight vermilion skirt with a cut-on-the cross frill on the hem, skyscraper heels on shoes almost not there. Lovely with her dark looks. She really likes to show me her clothes, I think.

Settled on dinner at seven, she works tomorrow. Got them settled on sofa with a drink & K produced the liqueur glasses. Or rather he produced some parcels of tissue paper almost completely covered in sellotape, & struggled for some time. Eventually produced ten liqueur glasses, six matching trumpets, & four matching bowls, the right size & heavily & deeply cut. Lovely shop in Ken. Church St., as I think they said & a large talk to dear old shopkeeper: K. thought glasses must be expensive, &, when he asked & the man said ‘£45’, he thought it must be each & made a face, & the man came down to £40 – for the lot. A real treat. The dear boy. I’d put the partridges on, & he turned to & took out a magic key & performed on the sitting room radiator, letting there out, it seems, & it became hot. Unfortunately, minutes later I found there was no hot water….. K. explained at length that it was nothing to do with him. A & I looked at one another. It seemed unlikely but…..he tried various things, but we put it behind us, enjoyed dinner – the partridges were just right, carrots, courgettes, & broccoli, little new pots, rasps & cheese. A success. They left after christening the liqueur glasses, him saying ring me in a.m., & I’ll see the boiler man.

Monday, November 7, 2005

He rang me at 10:30, not eleven, rather triumphantly. Told him little blue dial hand hadn’t moved. He rang the dear chap who installed it, rang back to say he’d told him how to solve it, so nothing to pay. The nice chap remembered me, ‘that old actor chap’. Amazing. So there was K. about one, ringing before to say he was starting off, – imagine that years ago, that careless teenager. Inside the boiler, or rather underneath it, a tap, he turned it, the little blue hand went up to one & a half, & lo! All was well.

Offered him four choices for lunch, ‘Qeufs Florentine’, ‘Ooh yes’. The eggs, being farmers market, poached perfectly, looking like big eyes on the spinach, & he said ‘ooh’ again. I said ‘I must get more things to go wrong, so you come round every day.’

Tuesday, November 8, 2005

Ling-ling paid this time. Seems all right. A good rest. Message on machine from dear John N. Only two nights free for dinner till Christmas. I left message, saying let’s leave it till after the New Year. Restaurant will be quieter too.

How could I forget a delicious moment yesterday? As he took off the casing to turn the water knob, he said in a rather quiet voice & a bit of technical smokescreen, what I think was an admission that his touch with the radiator had triggered……..the word pressure I think emerged. The dear sweet thing. Oh how I laughed when he’d gone. How lovable he is.

Wednesday, November 9, 2005

Quiet day. Still mild. How I’m longing for a frost. Long talk to J. A treat.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Coldish last night. Good. Still resting after weekend!

Linnaeus – Well, no jokes yet. Of course he was a monomaniac.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Slept thro’ the two minutes silence. J rang & suggested lunch in Ken H-St. tomorrow. Good, as I need a bit of shopping & was trying to make up my mind to go to Tesco’s – a bit of a bulldozer to kill a gnat. Now comforting Waitrose & J. to help.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

A successful & lucky day. In the post, a letter by return from the jewelers, with a picture of five or six watch bracelets, gold & the one I liked best was the cheapest. Also the fuel payment of £250, for being so old. To Ken High St. & Waterstone’s, & bought the new biog. of S. Sassoon, – there have been five, I believe, but one will be enough for me, as he is, I feel instinctively, a profoundly irritating & unsympathetic figure. This has all the material from the son at last, so one hopes at least for the whole story. Hugo Vickers, Queen Mum, – he is a more or less serious biographer, & at least he’s known most of them. Louvish’s Mae West. Mae West has probably had more rubbish written about her than most Hollywood stars, which is saying something. All the same, there has always been something monolithic & independent about her, tho’ she clearly has little intellectual baggage, & her sayings are more than cracker mottos. That wouldn’t influence me, but publication by Faber would & has. Unknown detec. story.

On way to restaurant bought nail clippers. Might help toenails.

J. already there as ever. Gave me a Philip Roth, oh dear. She’d bought two by mistake. Imagine me buying one! Sparkling talk, – to me, perfect sympathy. Many children screaming. Later at the next table young couple, she twenties, two three year olds, & one 10 weeks. Enchanting, – after all, we could leave, – & I thought as so often, how I could never never have borne such noise & fidgeting & worrying & vulnerability. Even as it was, I was glad to get away. I hope nature anaesthetises in some way, – nor releases some, as yet unrealised capacities with parenthood. To Waitrose, with J., a treat. Spinach/nutmeg soup, lemons, cream, bananas, a dozen eggs, Fairy Liquid. What a good friend she is.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

At last John N, & I managed to be at either end of the telephone at the same time. Dear chat quite understands that I can’t come to the wedding – standing, sitting or perhaps not. Longing to go home, & most of all, not hearing. What I couldn’t, of course say, was that I couldn’t be sure of keeping a straight face. And will Simon R. like it? Isn’t he shyer than that? And there is a thirty-six sit-down dinner – is it a sit down? – anyway, 36 people eating & drinking, none of whom I know except Joyce & Sally Ducrow, & none of whom I could hear. (Of course I could, taking care to find a corner, but I just couldn’t bear to go) Dear John, at least it’ll be a good practical move for legal & financial reasons. Think of poor David Dodimead being left high, dry & broke by James Cairncross. That was one of the rare moments when I was glad that D. was dead.

Slept between 9 & 11 a.m. where will it end?

In the Sassoon found out R. Gravesmother was a filthy Hun. Interesting. He certainly had an unattractive side not unlike German archetypes.

Monday, November 14, 2005

A parcel! Un-delivered. Let’s hope it’s not the Jarndyce books. No, it’s not, there was a letter. Got all the books, except a John Coleman & Kembles records of a Girlhood. This last I do care about, as I have two good sets of Later Life & Further Records to follow. Good, for the Betterton.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Jarndyce books arrived. Sublime. The old passion, the Gildon Betterton, the two vols. Life of G.F. Cooks, two lives of Phelps, one by John Coleman & one by his son & other. No F. Kemble, those first three vols. that I still haven’t got. £500 odd. Good.

Card from John N. – their wedding. I can’t go for practical reasons, deaf, wee? Sit? but also for aesthetic reasons. There are very practical reasons for a legal bond, but anything beyond that, – I’m afraid I’d laugh.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Report on attack on murdered black boy. Picture of ice axe used in murder. Voice-over: ‘fell as if he’d been poleaxed’. Very sad, but – um, yes.

Rang Bradshaw about my watch & new bracelet. Sent Larkin book back to H. didn’t like to read it properly as it could hardly be opened wide enough, let alone could I scribble in it, but possibly interesting. I can’t believe she’s read it, a paperback whose text you can scarcely read without breaking its back substantially.

Read John N. Jarndyce, putting out feeler for Kemple. & Arlete, telling of K. twiddling knob while confessing.

Turned central h. off at 2.0 for my rest, although it was 8° or 9° C outside. At 7:30 all thermometers still at 68° F. Didn’t feel cold, so… Perhaps cold snap will seep in more.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

For the first time this year, left the c. heating on all through Ling-ling & didn’t feel too hot in the book-room. Turned it off for lunch & my rest. Not above 7° C all day, they said.

Re-delivery of parcel, not a sign. Nothing.

Drinks order, usual dear driver. His baby has been born, all went well, a girl. Called her Maja, pronounced Maya, because English Meyea would be major. He’s Serbian, v. typical gaunt aquiline face, receding jet-black hair, a dear. I gave him £20 the other day. He told me what he bought with it, an arc of wire to hang above her pram with bells & toys & things to push & pluck. I’d like to think it’s a little luxury that they mightn’t otherwise have afforded. Heavens how much does an Oddbins deliveryman get?

Friday, November 18, 2005

Rested even more than usual, ready for tomorrow, though I don’t know how much more you can sit down than just sit down.

Finished the Sassoon biog. Quite well done, though the notices were too favourable, swayed by the new material from the son. I have always sensed a deep lack of sympathy with Sassoon. What a poor creature, – apart from the few poems & at least not hindering Wilfred Owen. But S.S. is a deeply inimical type to me, who doesn’t know what he wants, & ruins people’s lives in all directions to indulge himself, & runs away from the consequences. Oh the selfishness & the taste – an affair with Stephen Tennant. Goodness. That alone!

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Pleasant young driver whose name I should remember. Bother. Most thoughtful, especially as it took me till eleven thirty, I don’t quite know why. I don’t think it’s age, perhaps Sat. morn. On way there called at J’s, as arranged, for Covent Gdn. magazine & booking form. Couldn’t get keys in door of flat, & realised why at the same moment that poor J. did – a burglar? And she was in the bath. A chubby figure in a blue towel. As I lean forward to take the mag., which she’d forgotten to put out, I entitled the picture ‘Silenus surprises Venus at her toilet’. It was Silenus, who was the reason for Midas being given the touch of gold, but all I can do is take her to Covent Gdn.

H. rang at five – you see she can, if it’s not regular – so tomorrow free. Good. Started Queen Mum biog. Genial & I like genealogical trees, of anyone.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Cold, thank goodness. Young fox sunbathing on sleepers right by French doors. Emptying water over it as it ran off, & later poured two lavish bottles of piss on the wood in hopes.

Started the Queen Mum biog. Hung round with all the panoply of Hugo Vickers’ fragile scholarship. He is a royal fancier really, tho’ a superior Etonian – ‘the Queen Mother said to me’ type. Still, it will be better than a popular biog., as he has had access to a few more possible sources. I hope a few authentic wits.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Finished it. Not bad, considering he’s felt it necessary to include a pejorative, or critical, or downright nasty comment on anyone or anything ‘Royal’ every few pages, to avoid being called ‘sycophantic’. And now there’s that ghastly TV prog. ‘The Queens sister’, about poor wretched P. Margaret. Doesn’t the Queen have the same rights as anyone not to have her most intimate feelings outraged? As if any useful artistic purpose could possibly be served by such a programme two seconds after her death, without any reliable research or cooperation.

Ordered expensive car for unwanted journey to Mary L. for Christmas?

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Started the Mae West. As I thought, it is a serious properly researched affair, as Faber would demand. I noticed a West archive has been used for the first time from the US Archive. She was obviously hardly a scholar, but I think words meant as much to her as anything.

Was going to hair, jewellers, & possibly books. Cancelled cab at 8.0 just felt it was too much of an effort, & only my own comfort depended on it. Annoying, all the same.

Started using my piss to put fox off again. Watered the place he sunbathed again. I hope I can sprinkle the wall also.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Slightly less cold. Good night. Utility bills, elec. £69. Gas £17, Tel £67. Went on with the M. West. As vivid a picture of American theatre life in NY from 1908 to the ‘20s as I’ve read. Not that that’s saying much, as any American theatrical literature I’ve read, seems to be either lifeless academic amassing of detail, or frightful near journalistic ‘racy’ gossip. Most interesting. It still pays lip service to her sexual life. I don’t think she was interested, or good in bed.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

think it will get rid of awful closing time, when all the vast body of people – & not all lower or working class by any means – who haven’t learnt how to drink, I hope, won’t lurch out to be sick & fight & so on, because they’ve slurped those last two pints quickly, ‘to get them down’.

I suppose it isn’t just American, much as I would like to think so, that more is better. I see only a thousand pubs – it didn’t specify clubs – have adopted the twenty-four hour license. It seems a suspiciously round number, not to mention fifty of them are in Bournemouth. Reporter in B. – I’m thankful to say I couldn’t recognise anything.

My knees are decidedly stiffer these last few weeks. Bother.

Heavens, Steven T. is in the Queen Mum’s biog. Good heavens.

Rang Mary L. & she tells me dear Malk F. is coming to see her – I wondered if he’d ever come up again, – & bringing with him, or coming with them – Jo Tewson & Myles Rudge. Gracious. Must give her instructions that I too frail & confused to be seen.

Keep meaning to say how many leaves on trees. More than I remember for a few years.

Friday, November 25, 2005

No shopping trip tomorrow. Cold, but not as sensational as forecasters like it.

That poor little object George Best is dead, & about time. ‘Footballs greatest’ etc. I wonder if anyone will see that perhaps football, that imaginary Valhalla killed him. I was interested that somebody said he drank because he found everything too easy. He didn’t try much did he?

Saturday, November 26, 2005

The first fivepages of the Independent devoted to poor little Best, – ‘genius’ ‘beauty’ – a good definition of decadence.

Jeffrey Archer reported to have applied for readmission to the Tory party, but nobody seems to have heard from him. C4 News applied to Jonathan Aitken for informed comment. Like Pontius Pilate being asked for a character reference for Judas.

Started the Phelps, two thirds, more or less, unopened. Such is the idiotic side of antiquarian books, now influenced by collectors as opposed to readers, a book that cannot be read without opening, is worth more. Out with the paper-knife.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Told H. children were coming, & told her a Queen Mum to sugar the lie.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Ordered two cases of S.T. wine, Christmas offer, both known. Also ordered new ed. of T.E. Lawrence’s letters, with a good many of Charlotte Shaw’s letters. I’ve never read them, & notice said they were the only ones he ever answered truthfully. Not saying much, but all the same.

K. rang, safe back, but has stuff to do, & …. Such a relief as always.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

This time I got to the barbers. A new chap, Nikos, about 40? Amiable. Seemed amenable to home visit. We’ll see.

Tesco, with the knees looming large. Has anyone noticed that the trolleys are really zimmer frames?

H. rang unexpectedly at five, so why can’t she….. Said I haven’t watched soaps. She seemed to take it well. I must get out of these wretched things.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Did nothing, even more than usual. Mae West still on bookstand for meals. Really well done in a very difficult area. Yanks, Hollywood, little education & so on. Am still riveted. Phelps still ‘ongoing’, but won’t comment till the end. The ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ Letters arrived. That’s quick. L of A is another, & worse, S. Sassoon, but I must read his letters to C. Shaw. Phelps still on. Satisfying.

Thursday, December 1, 2005

Ling-ling revealed that she is now living at Feely’s flat, up at White city. I saw hovering in the air that she might expect me not to go on paying her fare from Colindale….

Long comfort chat to J. comfort is needed, as I woke at one-thirty & never got back to sleep. Partly Ling Ling’s day. Rain.

Friday, December 2, 2005

Finished the Phelps. It confirmed exactly what I thought that his sixteen years at Sadler’s Wells, – 1844 – 62 – was the most important dramatic achievements of the first half of the 19th-century. All Shakespeare accept Henry VI, Titus Troilus & oddly, R J. Of course this last Phelps wasn’t good casting, & perhaps left it until he was too old. He was not a selfish actor- manager, nor a sterile archaeological idiot like C. Kean. (A revealing glimpse of CK at rehearsal telling an actor to display a large key more conspicuously, so that the audience can see it is a carefully researched historically accurate reproduction.) What comes over most clearly in Phelps is balance. As so often, what the critics praise, reveals the fearful deficiencies of the 19th C theatre. To find a critic being obliged to say ‘the text was delivered with correctness & fluency’, & ‘look & attitude in perfect keeping’, gives me a bit of a jump. Or would have done more, twenty or thirty years ago!

The book is by a John Forbes-Robertson & W.M. Phelps, a nephew, judging by J.F.R.’s intro. he seems to have played more of a referee role. W.M.P., who seems to have been an eldest son figure to P., may have had a business head of sorts – difficult to tell, tho’ P. was never rich – but he was more of an idiot about the theatre. I take it the material for the book was mostly supplied by him, & J.F.R. did his best to arrange & emend. Much dramatic criticism is quite rightly reprinted, but at least half of it is rubbish. This half is, of course, undiluted praise, the most turgid Victorian journalese, with no trace of the ability to bring a performance to life. Fortunately there are a lot of articles by Henry Morley, & to a lesser extent, John Oxenford. A particularly dead contribution from someone called Bayle Bernard of the weekly dispatch, whose response to any miracle of poetry or dramatic stroke, is to summon a barrage of political article abstractions to describe them. I bet it was W.M.P. who got P. to commission B.B. to produce a version of Faust.

This selection of letters at the end of the book, the chunk from John Forster, who seems to me to have asked for a complimentary box every few weeks, wanted one of them to bring McCready’s son ‘who has never seen a Shakespeare play’! Well. M. obviously keeping him unsullied from the filth of the theatre. Oh dear.

The book, published in 1886, still displays the mess & muddle that so much dramatic literature suffers from. All the same, I have a vivid picture of a man with a vision, which passed onto Barker & Shaw, Lillian Bayliss, John G., & The Old Vic, & now The National. And now – I wonder. Left bit of book unopened for K & A. Rain.

Saturday, December 3, 2005

More rain. Farmers market, two pheasant, two partridge, butter, cheese, cream, eggs. Batteries for old remote – control. Odd K’s new ones went dotty, & when I put batteries in old one, new one was all right again. Any connection? Who knows nowadays?

Nice black driver, Second time. I mentioned new controller, he said he favoured Irish drivers too much, being Irish himself. ‘I get £5 jobs, not Heathrow’. Poor Pat.

Waterstones. Asked for new Mrs. Beeton biog. Nice chap assis. went around & upstairs & about & said they only had one copy & it was on order. How odd publishers are. The book has had very good reviews everywhere.

More rain. Knees.

Sunday, December 4, 2005

Started the T. E. Lawrence Letters, oh heavens. H rang, shortly, as she’s had her nose cauterised again. What a hobby their health is.

Finished the Mae West. Decidedly interesting. An excellent survey of the N.Y. Theatre & why she moved to Hollywood, the clearest account of the circumstances, (not only M. West’s) that I’ve come across.

The leaves down at last on trees opposite, the latest I’ve known.

Monday, December 5, 2005

Yes, the leaves have gone, leaving me naked to mine Council flats.

The Lawrence, ugh, what flat boredom so far, a hundred & fifty pages so far. Very poor night.

Tuesday, December 6, 2005

Lawrence has no wit, no apparent interest in other people, no descriptive powers, & is a thoroughly cold, & rather stale fish. Realised no cash.

Wednesday, December 7, 2005

Had to go out to get cash. My days are planned round K & A’s next the visit, so I’d rather not have gone out today, as Ling-ling tomorrow, Friday off, shop for K & A on Sat., – & Sunday. No sound from him. Longer then I like, & I wonder if he’s all right. But then I do that by the day. On way to Tesco, stopped at the ironmongers, got served straight away by one of the lesbian? proprietors – I may be labeling them, but I observed before they do seem to be a couple, certainly in command of the business, & perhaps upstairs, too. The Indian woman said she had got the plant ties I asked for, she thought, but they might have run short. They hadn’t, & she found two packets, one four inches, one six. Back at the counter, a large plumpish commercial traveller was selling something to the other, white, lesbian? in terms suggesting a lyrical romantic landscape of some kind from which this wonderful artifact had emerged which only he could sell them. Probably a new set of screws.

The driver, Ken, rather hurt I didn’t remember him, but he had much stubble, & it’s been some months. Forbidding, unsmiling, but actually pleasant & very obliging.

Thursday, December 8, 2005

Wretched night. Grateful for Ling-ling.

Somebody said Afro-Caribbean’s are three times more likely to be ‘sectioned’, that is, put in a mental home, than comparable white people. Is this fact or prejudice? I feel that it may be partly based on something I have noted before, that A.C people have many superficial characteristics that are deeply inimical to the huge army of mild suburban people, namely talking v. loudly &v quickly in public places without shame. It is true that said mild people, if heard talking like that, might very likely be on the edge of a psychotic episode. And oh I do wish so many of our once Empire black people had been taught better English. It holds them back.

Saddam Hussein threatens to boycott his trial ….

Friday, December 9, 2005

K. rang at last, & I knew it – a pity I didn’t write it down, – he is feeling ill, flu for five days. He’s off to Belfast earlier, week before Christmas, back on eve, so can’t come till after that, as he is all behind. Oh dear, I was so looking forward to seeing him before Christmas, for one or two bits & pieces. Still I have always made up my mind that his work comes first.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Knees. But the good side of not seeing him is that I have time to do the little I have to do for Christmas easily, every other day.

H rang unexpectedly. More good side, can’t ring tomorrow or next Sun. Told her, apropos of what I could get, but I’d never had flu. H. shaken. Knees.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Knees sore. Forgot to say that Bradshaw at jewelers said immediately when I said my knee was playing up, ‘you must have it replaced’. Amazing. Too hot in bed once I sleep – feet & legs boil, even on top of bed in this weather.

Forcing myself on with the T.E. Lawrence. The first two hundred pages are stupefyingly boring.

Plucked down A. Bennett’s Hugo, – an antidote to Lawrence, tho’ I didn’t think of it like that.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Decided I couldn’t go to West End just for Rex Stouts for M.L. Too extravagant. Releif.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Had one of those odd little bursts of energy & impatience, & made two ‘phone calls that have been hanging over me. First, ghastly Green hill at Ravenscourt Nursery. Pleasant girl told me he was there, but has left to be freelance, ‘looking for plants, did you say?’ Anyway, he’s left, so I can use the firm again. I expect he’ll be director of Kew in the end, having no scruples & no sense of humour. Good. Now for the window-boxes. Other number turned out to be the Tate! John N. ringing up no doubt. Ordered cheap watch for dear watch overhaul.

Touching little news film, about an English family finally getting in touch with Latvian relations after fifty or sixty years. Tears in my eyes, more or less pure gin, as I thought how frightful it would be to be reunited with any unknown relations. Heavens, my known ones were bad enough. I repeat again, interesting that all my friends have families that wouldn’t be friends unless.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Oh Lawrence.

Had central heating early on, but had to turn it off by ten, as I was too hot. Didn’t turn it back on at all, & never felt cold. J. asked herself to lunch or dinner, Thur. Fri. or Sat… may have to go down to Sussex with Maggie S. after dentist session.

I see Michael Davie has died at 81. Only met him once or twice with Gerard Irvine in 52-3. Mild in manner, good looking, dark red hair, & that dead white skin that often goes with it, keen intelligence, the keyword – balance. A little while later at The Observer, & at the height of Salad Days opening & fame, he, I think, talked to D. & Julian, & certainly wrote the only article, at that time that was accurate in every fact & detail.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Illiteracy spreads itself about. I especially like the modish (sic) phrase of the day, so modish that they lose their meaning for some people (& not so simple people) with comic results. Thus I heard an estate agent say ‘& get them into auction at the end of the day’, meaning ‘eventually’, a late night auction being unusual if not impossible.

A long talk to J. who seems to have taken up going to the Academy films again, to a certain extent. Rather shocked to hear that the American Academy officials sent DVD players to all the English members to view some films – an arrangement I didn’t quite understand, & couldn’t be bothered to go into.

Charming little item about the tube. So pleased to see there are plenty of dotty English people still working on the tube. Married couple plainly feeling the trains take very much second place to their flower-beds, – at a station I’ve never heard of. Looked it up, & now don’t know whether it was Kingsbury or Queensbury…..

An announcer, a genial idiot, was just about to sound a terrorist alarm, ‘when I found it was a spider on the lens’. When asked name, laughed deprecatingly, ‘James Bond’.

Friday, December 16, 2005

To & fro on ‘phone to J., who did some shopping for me, said she would bring it, & then decided to bring it tomorrow, when she comes to lunch.

Rang K. for Sian Thomas new address. He shrieked, saying she’d rung yesterday for mine. Off to Belfast on Sunday, & coming to me for Christmas on Boxing Day. Good.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Lovely long chat to John N. about the wedding. They’re having a sit down dinner for thirty- six guests, three courses, three wines. Thank goodness he seems to understand I can’t go. Simply practically, I can’t stand for long & might have to, & get away? No to mention I wouldn’t hear a word. Even more not to mention that I think the whole thing ridiculous. It’s sad that the need to have a ceremony should trap them into the absurdities of a conventional wedding. I am grateful that he doesn’t seem hurt.

Card from upstairs, thanking me for the fruits, so I can stop listening for the delivery.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

J. to lunch. Brought shopping. Everything alright, except pots. Certainly Charlotte, but two, two foot bags of huge five inch affairs, larger than the largest in the ordinary packs. What an odd girl she is! but then she finds me pretty odd, I expect & gets me odd pots as a tribute. Seemed to enjoy the lunch. Mush & bacon omelette – wouldn’t have a veg. as she was going out to dinner. Tucked into some cheese, though. She is a good friend.

On Antiques Roadshow a letter of Agatha Christie’s to fan was auctioned. Mentioned her next novel in preparation. ‘A Caribbean Mystery’. Well she said she had a v. happy childhood in the country ‘with not many lessons’.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Message on machine, she’s lost her watch, could I look in case? Felt all round sides of sofa cushions etc. Nothing. Sad, as she’s had it for many years. Happily she rang after dinner, to say she’d ‘found it in her dressing gown pocket’.

Preparing for Mary L. Tomorrow.

Abandoned the Lawrence letters about two thirds of the way through in disgust. His smugness & inverted conceit, & his careful cultivation of famous figures or simple servicemen from his barrack-hut, who he could crawl to or patronised too subtly for the poor men to notice, confirmed, for ever my decision not to read him ever again. And, he can’t write either, though he says so, so often he’s obviously still hoping to be contradicted. Well, that’s what a world war brings to the surface – a psychological mess of boredom made famous by war & crippled by peace. Put the letters in the Oxfam bag.

A bottle of wine from upstairs. A relief, as I was worried, despite making the basket of fruit as small as is consistent with generosity, it might have made them feel an effort was needed. But he is more sensible than that.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

To Denville. A success, I hope. Mary L. v. well-looking, actually plumper. Hair close to her head, but when she turned round to take me upstairs, I saw she’d let her hair grow, but just bunched it up all messily in the nape of her neck. Her walk is worse than ever, the shuffled steps only the length of her foot. Sitting by the table where you sign yourself in & out, time & all, I found a mild & timid white-haired woman, whom I greeted like all those old people in Daddy’s churches, jocular, patronising. M. told me later it was Margot van der Burgh, years ago a rather sultry dark highbrow temptress, mild art success.

In M’s room, we chatted labouriously, I gave her her presents, a bottle of whiskey, some thrillers, smoked salmon, & those Flori samples with a promise of a bottle of whichever one she fancies. Probably none, as simple choices & pleasures have always seemed to elude her. Peter Green came in again. Well, it helped…. All over in two hours. £200? How like life that I should be left with the only one of D’s Friends I didn’t like, but I know she is behind me.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Two presents from H., so as not being beholden for The Spectator, I suppose, as we don’t do Christmas. Still, useful two packs of ties for plants, white plastic plant labels, &, less useful, a CD of Joyce Grenfell, with nothing I haven’t got on it. She rang later, so at least I could thank her. Must thank upstairs for bottle of wine. I was afraid they might try to do more because of the Fortnum fruit. But happily Charlie – I think it’s Charlie – has more sense.

Thursday, December 21, 2005

Oh dear, another Christmas complication. No wine from John N. I only hope he hasn’t been offended by me not coming to the wedding, which was yesterday. I dutifully thought of them at 5:30, wincing at the probable scenario. But I must insist I also wince at almost any wedding ‘scenario’, except our own.

J rang. 6.0 ish, was interrupted by other ‘phone, said she’d ring back…… I’d hoped on the same day.

A card from Neil. Another tiresomeness from lack of manners.

Friday, December 22, 2005

No sign from S. for letter on first night or champagne. Later. To Tesco for last shop, delightful driver from the past, showed him flat, solid, adult, Indian, – I wish I had him more often, but I expect he does some of their regular business affairs.

Mildish. Turn central heating off for my rest, & never turned it on again.

Saturday, December 23, 2005

No sign from K. so it’s Mondays still…

S. rang from theatre between shows. Said he drove home along ‘the Uxbridge Road’ & could call in after the show, about 10.30 – 10.45. Had to say I’d be in bed by 9.45 at latest, – & when would he go? Not that I said that last question. But he was dashed. Might have a time at five one day – we’ll see. Almost immediately after the panto, he goes off on a four-month tour of Present Laughter. Hm. He can’t look it, he’s too short & square. Of course he’ll speak it well, but imagine the love scenes! Oh dear. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s really in trouble for money. Three decidedly down market jobs for him, third or fourth take over in W in W and after Anthony Andrews, god save the mark, now a panto with C. Biggins, good heavens, & now a four-month tour. Liked the champagne.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Complete quiet. The Queen. Guinea-fowl breasts – about C-cup, I think. Read the A. Powell reviews book with great pleasure.

Monday, December 26, 2005 Tuesday, December 27, 2005

They arrived before six, just, incredible. A. in another new dress severely tailored, – at first I wasn’t sure it wasn’t a jacket & skirt, even tho’ the jacket was sharply wasted – perfectly cut in a subtle shade of dull ruddy brown, & pin-striped. How the old things come back. Terrific. High spirits. After giving them a second g & t, I went to sit down, & the top button of my trousers, – the only button, the rest being zip – flew off with an audible ping! K went off on a scrunched up scarlet face laugh like Thumper in Fantasia, a little boy again. Dinner, two pheasants, tiny courgettes, carrots, broc., K. demanded red wine – I felt guilty. He made do with upstairs bottle. I must have red as well for him. Later on in dinner, he got a bit tight, & told me off for interrupting a bit of a monologue with, I insist, a relevant & possibly witty comment. One day I’ll remind him, & tell him its called conversation……

He took away, at last, the old panel of the Vaudeville curtain for his garden door, just like St Dunstan’s, tho’, unlike St. D’s, it’s an awful mocked up ill-fitting affair. Also two of the good cushions, the two bags of pots!, some carrots, oh, showed them how to cut pages in the Phelps book.

So today Tuesday. Forgot to say A. brought me a dear little box of Ackermann’s chocs. Lovely. Put out of my mind till today that his off again to Belfast on Sunday for a week & then later another three weeks & later, a three week Caribbean holiday. But he was hopeful about the lilac bushes etc near his birthday.

Today delicious finishings upings. Pheasant, veg. cheese. Indulged every pleasure that is still open to me.

Wednesday, May 28, 2005

For much of the day I thought it was Thursday. J. rang to say how nice bacon I gave her was. Good.

I had sea-bass. Icy. Central heating on 75°, a rare degree from me, which brought the thermometer up to 70°. Oh, a little sprinkling of snow yesterday.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

Long talk to J. re visit to Powell exhibit & possible lunch. Tiresome being old. H. rang. No mention of Sunday, but –. And at five. Why not always?

Still very cold, but rain all day, so I suppose it must be warmer. Oh how I hate the excitedly sensational forecasts these days.

Saturday, December 31, 2005

S. had said 7.45, after two early shows, & no evening. Had my dinner all ready to turn on at a touch – v. simple, sausages, veg, banana & cream, cheese. Of course he’d make no mention of when he was going, ‘tho’ I’m thankful he did refuse dinner. Equally of course, he was half an hour late, naturally lacking imagination what, when & where I was doing about my dinner. He looked trim & face tight, as one is after facing six hundred people twice a day, & kind & warm. Brought me a bottle of Tanqueray 47% gin. Opened the champagne for him, & put the pots, sausages etc. on a top flame. And, oh dear, he sat & watched me eat it. Nothing to him, torture & indignation to me, but he would never understand. He’s such a pleasant man, with so much missing.

However, the good thing to come from him, was that Anne – had it an ‘e’, that shows – came round with her partner? husband? She & S. met over My Fair Lady auditions. I’m glad she had the goodwill to come round after being rejected, but then S. is, I repeat, kind & genial. Partner, fifteen years older, – well, Ann must be nearly fifty, by now, – white haired, quick- witted, pleasant – and they had two children, boy & girl? eight & six, S. thought, but who can blame him in d-room chatter. She is going to teach… I feel absolutely guilty about her, but what could I have done more than I did, & always now she will find me – well, what? irrelevant at best, repulsive at worst, reminding her of Mackay. What a really comprehensive mess Donald has made of his life &. Patsy Kensit sometimes inaudible.

Sunday, January 1, 2006

Thought H might Ring again, so immured myself in the bedroom with other doors closed, earplugs, ‘phone bell turned off, signal light covered. But no. Good.

Picked up the other vol. of A. Powell’s criticisms, & I’m reading it with such pleasure. Just to my taste.

Monday, January 2, 2006

Rang K. despite having said goodbye forever on Friday, to tell him about Ann. He was touched just as I had been, & we felt pleased together that her life hasn’t been ruined as we both thought not impossible.

Tuesday, January 3, 2006

To Tesco, so out of everything. On, just such an occasion I remember D. making a shopping list & simply putting ‘food’.

At the end of the Powell’s Miscellaneous Verdicts, read more of the sizeable Proust section than I have before, & his two articles on each vol. of Painter. V. high praise. I might try a new translation.

The Major?

Wednesday, January 4, 2006

Wrote to A., thanking for chocs, to Tim & Helen, thanking them for an invitation to stay, so sweet, but I could no longer risk it, not only from ‘physical frailty’, – which I certainly exaggerate to get my way, but still exists – but because I can only do exactly what I can do, which is sit down most of the time. Also to Paul Whitaker, for his card, dear chap, I didn’t send him one because of not thinking he’d know who I was any more, & finally to Neil & Lynda, a fairly usual chatty letter as of old. What a pity old manners don’t survive. When I heard nothing from him after dinner here & staying up till 1.30, atavistically I felt he perhaps wanted to keep a distance. Foolish of me, he just never got round to writing. Just like Roy & Marion.

Cleared up generally, & got more than usual done. Going cold tonight.

Thursday, January 5, 2006

Ling-ling’s couple has gone abroad, & she has two new separate ones. They may ring up & ask me for a reference. Suggested a written one, but she didn’t seem to understand such a thing. One of them is a Mrs. Levy, – ‘oh, a Jewish lady’, – she didn’t seem to understand that either….

Friday, January 6, 2006

Leader of L. Democrats an alcoholic, & must go. Someone called Lembit Opik spoke up for him. Ought he to have an anagram for a champion?

J. took a slightly disabled friend to Rigby & Pelletier to get a new corset. J. much encouraged that she was measured for a new bra, & needs a smaller size. Janet Brown is up again. Chat of where she is to stay. J. tells me Basil Street Hotel has gone, being turned into a Health Centre. Soon perhaps already. There is nowhere for the Slades et al., to stay. Is there any hotel left that is an attempt at a country house, or is now all American?

Saturday, January 7, 2006

That rather silly plump orange haired politician with an even sillier quiff has had to resign ‘because of the drink problem’. Well it must be a problem thinking of anyone I’ve known in politics. Head of party to, tho’ I can’t recall his name. ‘alcoholic’ banded about. A vague term really, but that sort of drinking, going on to destructive limits, is so mysterious to us. The nearest I come to seeing how it might happen is hearing that Richard Burton didn’t have a hangover till he was fifty-seven. What bad luck! Welsh, mind you.

Sunday, January 8, 2006

A slight access of energy, – why? The porridge I sometimes have now at seven-ish? Anyway, I cleared the bedside table of at least six months of detective stories, old earplugs, packets of Rennies, some empty, two cinema leaflets, plastic studs from new shirts etc., Etc. Books left between bookends, assorted pencils, pens, nail & and other scissors, book marks, inhaler, lip- salve & fan remote control, all tidily crammed into one of the pint glasses poor Nigel left behind. Purging.

No call from H., tho’ all poised with notes & no rest. After 2.30, ruthlessly put in earplugs & turned off ‘phone.

Monday, January 9, 2006

Undergraduates on some quiz program – oh, it was University Challenge, –I caught it for five minutes because it was John’s Oxford – none of them recognised either Noel or Gracie Fields voices. I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked even tho’ they are among the twenty most distinctive voices of the twentieth century, but I was.

H. rang later. ‘Too ill to ring’, it appears, & of course no ‘phone by bed I suppose. ‘Inflamed’ hip, had to drive whatever-it-is miles to the doctor’s, after some days of pain – can Geoffrey still drive? – perhaps, & I suppose was not in the middle of one of his many heart ‘episodes’, after which he always seems to resume gardening in an acre? or two? I tread a delicate line between sympathy & encouragement, a very little of the second, & absolutely no sniff of ‘bracing’ or ‘you’ll soon throw this off’. After all, didn’t G. say to me recently, ‘your indestructible’, with a distinct ring of irritation. H. made a glancing almost nonexistence reference to the cause, which I took to be the attrition of the ball & socket. A hip replacement operation loomed menacingly over the conversation. The doctor had said nothing that was told to me…. Sad to be interested in one’s ill-health.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Shopping. To J’s with French phrase book, given away with The Independent, that she fancied. Why, I wonder? To Chiswick NatWest, another efforts to adjust my MasterCard to pin. Too boring. Turnham Grn for artich., salsify, ceps. Fish, skate, halibut, too small red mullet, shrimps, & in cheese shop, Caerphilly, Tallegio, Gordal olives. Then Tesco. Driver, Paddy, thickest County Cork acc., often impenetrable, out of a silence, produced a sentence that might have been more acceptable as an impenetrable silence. ‘I am 66, & didn’t have an orgasm till I was 46’. ‘Oh’.

Very stiff – but only in my joints.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Sanatogen advert on TV. Heavens, is that still going? I don’t think I’ve heard of it since before the war!

Much talk on TV news of meningitis. Suave doctor said important to press glass on rash. If it didn’t vanished under the pressure, it was men…. Obviously v. smart, as the glass was a rather delicate wine-glass.

S. rang, to say yes, the H. Irving book was a gift. Good. Must do something about the K. Branagh excerpt. Don’t think S. would relish another inaccuracy to deal with.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Ling-ling arrived as usual. I had four or five different matters to tell her, but realised she had to tell me something. I hoped it wasn’t that she was leaving, & it wasn’t, rather the reverse. She’s moved out of Feely’s, & I think, moved in with her sister, – can it be in Maida Vale? Well, there may be council houses there somewhere. Thank goodness she seems quite eager to stay here – & did a few extras to prove it, when I went round after she’d gone. It seems Feely was v. cross she was leaving, & apparently said she would tell me, and…. And what? Now I know little or nothing of Feely except her standing in the hall with Ling-ling, & J’s mentions. But Ling-ling has now been cleaning for me for two & something years, thorough, punctual, reliable. So I support her. Careful work suggests truthful witness. I gave her a reference I’d written, as neither of the people she mentioned have rung me.

She puts the two bulbs up in the hall, swept the front, & did afore said extra washing up, as well as the main thing, the bedroom. We’ll see. Must decide how much I tell J.

Friday, January 13, 2006

A’s b’day, so rang. Also secretly hoping it would make K ring. Not a word since he came back & he goes again on Wed. Ah well, he was asleep, & A. still in bed. Nice chat, & I said nothing about him. Good.

J. rang & said lunch in Ken High-St. tomorrow? Good, as I nearly suggested it myself, what with books & those foil sheets that also useful. Cab 11.30, so more good. Bad night again.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

How comic, Lalla would be a hundred. Poor silly creature. She didn’t even know she was dishonest.

Lovely lunch, really good mushroom soup, & my usual risotto, & good talk. Not so many screaming children as usual. Goodness, how badly parents let their children behave nowadays. After, to Waitrose, for various bits & pieces, but not the foil sheet’s I wanted most. They’ve stopped having them, too. Legs bad. Even standing for about three mins was fair old torture. Still, as well as lunch, I stocked up on ballpoints, & Waterstone’s before, where there were the L. Anderson diaries, hardback, no paperbacks as J. seems to have expected. Gave it to her, who worked with him & admired him much, & that distracted her from noticing I won’t be reading another word of that unpleasant man.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Wilkis Collins two novellas, to accompany collapse. Hm. Acceptable pot boilers. Next Mrs. Gaskell’s, Lois The Witch.

In such a relief & a joy, K rang. As warm as toast. Up-to-date, & many shrieks, specially over Joan Rivers. Has he never heard my tape of An Evening With? Seems not. I don’t mind him going away so much now. How lucky I am!

Monday, January 16, 2006

In my excitement forgot to say that K. has an assistant! John Poole, 23, & pay’s him £150 a week! Seems he is getting some money for this job.

The Mrs. Gaskill a disappointment. A pretty fearful preface by Jenny Uglow – the series all have prefaces, which I usually have to skip. 1691, Salem Witches. Ponderous, neither fish flesh etc. would much prefer a factual account, & not this rather clumsy & slow fiction. Couldn’t finish.

Tuesday, January 17, 2005

Started E. Wharton’s The Touchstone. Read one chapter, a very different affair, tho’ comically like a James pastiche every now & then. Rang J. & arranged Friday for the Powell exhibition. Pulled down in a couple of M. Nabb’s detecs for bed reading.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Starting to plan my solo shopping trip next Tuesday. There are at least half a dozen important items, my watch, books, napkins, & so on, that I’ve been trying to grope towards, but have kept putting off for lack of energy & increasing stiffness.

Paul Berg asked for a list, & I left it to him the itinerary, as depends on parking & so on. Only failure on my list, is the Pea Centre of Aldwych, can it have gone? I’m sure I’ve been there since I’ve been here. Now it’ll be the jewelers, Murder One & Cecil Court, Unsworth’s in Bloomsbury, for the Loebs, & John Lewis. Prepared the list for Ling-ling to take to the post tomorrow, P. Berg will ring back & arrange. Purging. I hope.

Expensive car but, as I can’t walk very far, or stand for very long, essential. Clear my list, & I needn’t spend any more money.

Thursday, January 19, 2005

Obit. in papers, Philip Grierson, Cains don. Aged 96. When I went up in 1948, he’d already been a fellow of Cains for thirteen years, & remained so for seventy. He amassed on an academic salary & a smallish family inheritance, the greatest collection of medieval coins in the world. Left to the Fitzw., Worth between five & ten million. He never married. No time, apart from anything else.

Ling-ling as usual, seems all right.

Friday, January 20, 2006

To Anthony Powell exhibit. with J. Cab, picked her up, & tried my credit card, tiresomeness at Tesco’s on way!

Exhibition off Porphyry Court, – in the court, a bust of AP., it seems commissioned by Hilary Spurling!, not only about four feet high, but with a genial smile not present in any photo I’ve ever seen of him, or heard of him, wry, detachedly amused, – genial, no. In the little entrance hall, a very low little green table, looking a little like a butlers tray, as if with legs that spring down, chair, typewriter like D’s, small Olivetti. Well he was small, short in the leg at least. Plunged into the exhibit., & delighted to find that J. wanted to go round by herself, too. First, to second room, –complete set of all books of course, a bit déjà vu, as I have them all. Foreign editions, U.S. cruder of course, in first room letters between Waugh & P., a longish letter from H. Green, saying what hell New York is. Family album, but alas in glass case so only two pages visible. The H. Lamb portrait of Waugh, a big scrapbook of not much interest to me, with its smack of ‘30s finding rather too many things ‘amusing’. Saw as much as I could, tho’ I had to keep sitting down every ten minutes, oh dear. But even more oh dear, when we came out, & went to the inevitable ‘shop’ with its tawdry ‘mementos’ there were no more catalogues, & the exhibition has another fortnight to run. I was appalled at such slovenliness. I was relying on that catalogue to inform & remind – & to tell H. all. Maddening. I suppose it hasn’t occurred to anyone that any unsold catalogues would become valuable antiquarian items. Surely money would appeal.

So to the restaurant in the large now glassed in courtyard. Unusual space between tables, menu a bit showy. Strange thick piece of smoked salmon, sea-bream perfectly acceptable tho’ garnishes a bit frizzled with being kept warm. J. had rack of lamb & finished every morsel. It appeared on bill as breast of duck. We didn’t argue, as it was four pounds cheaper. Jonathan Cecil at another table. Gave me a charmingly puzzled glance.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Whale stranded in the Thames, swimming up it, & not managing to swim back. I thought they were intelligent. What could be stupider. I worked out it was three or four feet longer than the book-room. Heavens hardly room for me, & the telly as well.

Tony Banks died of a stroke abroad. A shot of him in Parliament, protesting about animal rights, was so incontinent that it isn’t only no surprise he had a stroke, but that he should have been elected to Parliament & listened to seriously on any subject.

Caught a brief moment of a revolting quiz, with people guessing between two photos’, who’s richer, finishing with Cilla Black £25 m & some footballer £28.

They’ll be rain for this wind.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

‘Asian man’s’ body found dumped at Epson R.C. Police are treating it as suspicious. Some mention was also made of Purley! Are the shades of Ken & Win Hards to be thus polluted? On the Antiques Roadshow there were two damaged valueless little pots, one or two areas fused with heat. Six miles from the centre of Hiroshima.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Rang Mary L. Fascinated that she was already talking of ‘London’ as a place of violence & pollution, ‘how difficult life in London must be now’. Heavens she only left it – what? eighteen months ago. Combination of two things, I think. First, she’s left London & justifies it to herself. Second, she’s been seeing television for the first time, with its news often only reporting crime. Shall I ever forget Mummy staying with us in London in the ‘70s was it? It was during some quite substantial riots – the miners strikes, perhaps – when we hadn’t got TV, she said, ‘oh, Dorothy it’s so wonderful feeling so far away from these awful riots’. No, the riots were in London. That’s what was so wry & funny. She’d come to London from Bournemouth to feel further away from the violence.

In a burst of extravagance – well, not very – ordered two cases of wine, a couple of things from Floris, two videos of Deanna Durbin I haven’t got, and five vols. of the Loeb series from Unsworth’s.

J. revealed she has asked about foil sheets in half a dozen supermarkets.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Shopping trip. The car was there at 9:25. He had the itinerary. First to the jeweler, where all went well. I put my MasterCard thro’ the little machine, & it is all right now. And then to new Murder One, well got up, tho’ stairs, moderate success with books, tho’ not as complete sets as I expected. Cecil Court included, tho’ I thought I’d crossed it out. Then to Jermyn St., & how right I was to have the good car, tho’ I’m afraid dear K. would think it extravagant.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 192

January 24, 2006 – May 22, 2006.

January 24, 2006 cont.

You see, I had to walk from one branch of Harvie & Hudson to the next, & found the car had followed me! Didn’t like either branch. Older shop-walkers remained aloof, both shops served me with foreigngirl – good heavens – & a silly looking goof who might have been anywhere but J. St., Ah well. Got two ties & some Irish linen hanks. They were slightly surprised at I think, tho’ the middle-aged shop walkers have cultivated an aloof & world- weary sophistication worthy of their respectable Croydon origins. Funny little things, serving these scrapings of the world-weary nowadays, I suppose – & they expected Brigade officers. Off we went for our last date, John Lewis. Driving in London has, for many years been much like Alice in Wonderland, that you find you have to go in the opposite direction to your destination, for some time. So I drove thro’ Belgrave Sq., & on into Belgravia & shades of Chelsea, with artless pleasure, looking around at my youth, & only came to as we were about to turn into Sloane St, & murmured ‘isn’t John Lewis in Oxford St. still?’ Stricken, as such a mistake isn’t supposed to happen with a £100 odd a morning car. I enjoyed it. At J.L. went in thro’ the Customers Collection entrance, as I knew where it debouched. Wanted to pee & saw on list nearest Gents on 2nd floor, and linens. Standing for lift painful, a trek to Gents, almost length of shop to Linens, where was told by nice foreign assistant that table napkins were in the basement…. She said, ‘Oooh,’ comfortingly. Bought half a dozen with rose motif, finished, home.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Forgot to say when I arrived in the big car back here, the dustcart was outside the house, & all the dustmen. A pleasant cheeky small one, – they’re always small – asked if ‘I was going to help them’. ‘I would have last week’. Collapse of small & other dustman.

Finished E. Wharton ‘Touchstone’. Yes, it is very Jamaican, but it has its own quality all the same.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Felt a bit ill at 5.0 a.m. when I woke. Hangover? Nausea? Certainly a general unease. Sat on the edge of bed for an hour, as even leaning against the pillows was unsettling. Intimations of mortality? Goodness knows.

Long chat to J. about ordinary things, her work, & her sister, & my Tuesday, & Ling-ling. Such a help. D’s b’day. 93. I look about me, & Think how bewildering it is that I am now seventeen years older than D. ever was. What a waste.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

The two cases of S.T Wine Club Wine arrived today, identical, but one a.m. & one p.m. Curious waste of the van. The videos arrived by the post, & I watched First Love straight thro’ at once, before lunch. Never saw it at the time, & didn’t quite realise it was the Cinderella story, in 1939. D. Durbin 19, singing like an artless bird. R. Stack first film aged 20, a perfect prince. Waltzing at the ball, she in e. dress with puffed sleeves, like all my first partners. He in, I’m sure English tailored perfect tails. As they danced, all the others faded to wraiths. Sobbed throughout.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

The Loebs arrived. Scarlett instead of green, published by Harvard! But the same inside, tho’ new. Shopping. Stopped at Pestle & Mortar in Uxbridge & got earplugs, stopped at the opticians, but not open until 10.0, wretched Paddy having arrived early, so on to Waterstone’s. P. said there was a Holland & Barrett in K. Church St., so got 3 Sarakan there, & on to Farmers Market, oh, no, F M. first. Got cream, butter, 2 doz. eggs. 2 pheasants, 2 partridges, & 3 sticks of foot long salsify, £1! Then, after Sarakan, W’stones. Detcecs. New Simon Gray ‘Jouncer’, and at last the Catherine Hunter Mrs. Beeton.

Oh, end of some news yesterday. ‘Breaking News 7.7 quake in East Indonesia’. Lunchtime. Not a word since, or today. An old tape? Oh, the poor little innocents, thinking technology…

TV review, witty. Apparently three progs about the penis enlargements, & so on. Head of clinic, ‘we have 50,000 members on our website’….

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Good day. Lovely fresh eggs & salsify for lunch. Started the Beeton, & was delighted to find it was even better than its notices. Partridge.

Monday, January 30, 2006.

Yes, the Beeton is very good. Very thorough research, which she has at her fingertips, can call on it with the latest touch. Really as good an affair as I’ve read for a year or two.

Cold Partridge, & courgettes, with half a partridge still to come. Blackberries, & that delicious Yarg, a great chunk still left.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Good gracious me, had an ‘off’ dream. First time for months, if not years.

In hotel at crossroads of Tott. Court Rd. & Charing X Rd. ‘Incident at Vichy’ cast unspecified, went off first to the theatre, The Phoenix. I out to Charing X Rd., and as I thought, saw the Phoenix down the road. (Which in real life, it is.) So I ran. But it proved to be another road altogether, in another part of London. Hailed a cab from behind, which turned out to be a rickshaw. Left him after an agony of slowness, & found myself in country suburbia, motorways & woods. So irritated I woke myself up.

That last para. is more or less what I wrote as I woke up. Interesting to speculate whether all the locations of dreams have been affected by all the myriad artificial images generated by photography & film. Perhaps before people only saw vistas they’d already actually seeing. Went on with the Beeton with keen enjoyment, which spread over to dinner. Two red mullet, about five or six inches long, more delicious for being small. Dinner reading, ‘Clayhanger Trilogy’, Hilda Lessways, why isn’t it more valued?

Wednesday, February 1, 2006

Another dream & another double whiskey. School? Playing field: crowd being addressed by various inferior fools. Spoke last, got a murmur, a chuckled, a full-throated mild laughter, & I walked away, having solved all difficulties a quiet hero. Nauseating revelation of my subconscious complacency. Heavens, I’ll be crucified next.

Rang Floris, no sign of order.

Thursday, February 2, 2006

For the first time since when? kept the central heating on all day. Usually turn it off when lunch heats me, & my rest boils me. Long funny talk to J. She has another bit of Joan P’s throwaways. Sounds like a hassock! And a secret retreat from her. Goodness.

Friday, February 3, 2006

Tesco’s for a good shop, because I love re-stocking stores not just food. Matches, rice, paracetamol, Oatcakes, razorblades. Whiskey & gin, cheaper post-Christmas.

The Floris order, Lavender room spray, & Edwardian bouquet toilet water. Little boy, 2 ½ up to my knee in front of me at cash-desk, pulling the closed strap over, slotting it in, taking it out, & so on. After the? time, looked up at me, & said with a smile, ‘magnet’. Told his mother, put him down for the ‘Royal Society’. She had my accent, so thought little of it. Afterwards, thought of paedophile worries. Gracious, I haven’t spoken to, or of a child since K’s nephew. They’re quite safe for me.

Saturday, February 4, 2006

Finished the Beeton. Very good. Just as a picture of England at the bursting beginning of the real Victorian age, after the ‘51 exhibition. It is as clear & vivid a picture as I’ve found, & told thro’ Mrs. B., an iconic figure she gives flesh & blood to, – not always the f & b. the books devotees might expect – is satisfying. One or two little journo tricks I dislike. I don’t think Elizabeth David ever ‘wailed’ a point she was making. There are one or two other emotive verbs, which she uses as misjudged criticism. An excellent book.

Deliciously lazy a.m. Ernest Dudley is dead, good heavens. I thought he’d been dead for at least thirty years. He was a name in my childhood on radio, & detective stories, unread by anyone I knew. A thoroughly third rate figure, but possibly beguiling. Affectionate obituary says he couldn’t quite get the idea of old age, & was rushing round in black leather jackets & jeans at 97. Died at 98. Only direct experience being in one of the reps adaptation by somebody else of Dr. Morelle. Abysmal but that may be partly the adaptor, & Ronnie Magill played Dr. M., so it may have been Salisbury – & R. M. was the very archetype of mediocrity.

H. rang, can’t ring tomorrow. Oh good, a proper rest. Isn’t it odd she persists with two o’clock, despite… It must be really neurotic. These Twain over dinner, – I can see its faults, but it’s still a favourite.

Baked lemon sole. Cold still.

Sunday, February 5, 2006

No H., so I had a good rest. It’s not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy our talks, but my rest is becoming essential. I wonder if she ever actually thinks of me nodding off on every other day at two…

Now Muslims are seriously rioting over some cartoons about Muhammad, published in mild Denmark of all places, & they’ve burnt down the Danish embassy in Bahrain, I think. Really what primitive vicious idiots. I suppose they are purposely kept un-educated like Catholics, & so have no apparatus for realising they are at least five-hundred years out of date.

Started new Mills. Extraordinary standard. Has anyone interviewed his fellow bus-drivers? Is K. safe back? Tried & succeeded in not ringing.

Monday, February 6, 2006

J. rang in g & t time & we had long & funny talk. All right, as it was cold sausage. This sounds austere, about five really good chipolatas were as delicious cold as hot. And then, when I put the ‘phone down, K. rang, safe back, thank goodness, but a bit under the weather, ‘fluey cold’, such as I’ve noticed that he does tend to ‘give in to’, as it were, at the end of a job, like D’s cold sores. Not next weekend, because they’ve got someone coming ‘to take down the ivy’. ‘What Ivy?’ ‘Well, you haven’t been round lately’. Isn’t it awful? Even for him, I still feel relieved that the effort could be put off a week. That is the only part of age – so far! – I really hate. So relieved he’s back safely, & within call.

Tuesday, February 7, 2006

Disturbed night. Tired in a.m. Kept almost nodding off during the TV news. Eggs Florentine for lunch, slept. Meant to teleph orders. Not a word to a soul.

Wednesday, February 8, 2006

J. said she has something else from Joan P., a sort of electrified hassock. Gracious, I wish I’d had that when I was a boy, for all those long services.

Feature on TV for getting round those interminable waits, being passed from one recorded announcement to another, longing for a real live person when ringing a big shop or business. The trouble is, I couldn’t really follow the helpful explanation. However, I copied it down & perhaps K & A. will be able to help.

Oh, & J. says she has a secret present with the hassock. I bet it some foil sheets, but shan’t spoil the surprise by saying so.

Thursday, January 9, 2006

Ling-ling as usual. After she went, baited the squirrel trap at last.

Friday, February 10, 2006

To Tesco. The tiresome driver who charged me too much, remains tiresome by mentioning it every time….

Called at J’s on way, & picked up ‘hassock’, rather large, thick American cloth, wired for heat. Hm. I need cool, not heat. And, just as I thought, four boxes of foil sheets. Good. Unpleasant TV shots of Handsworth & Lozelles, milling with almost no white people, where Asians are making racial attacks on blacks. Goodness. D’s early home, rather quiet dull suburban. Horrid.

Wonderfully absurd opening parade for the Winter Olympics – pity the end product is absurd, too.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Just as I was thinking of ringing H. & lying that the children are coming, as I’m still tired, she rang to say she couldn’t ring. And for what a reason! They’re driving off somewhere to pick up yet another v. old pretty ill relative – I reckon this is the ninth such relative they are still in touch with – why? & take him home. Driving two and a half hours each way; Geoffrey’s 81, she’s 77, & both claim to have various infirmities. G. has been in hospital for heart three times quite recently, she had an ‘inflamed hip’ cured by the hospital contributing some paracetamol. They’re taking turns driving…… she murmured something about some food going off. In a day?

Really people are so strange. They don’t like any of the relations, ‘they’re all Geoffrey’s said H., with a certain icy attachment. Must ring dear K. tomorrow & see how he is.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Every now & then, I watch rugger for half a minute to relish the fact that I’ll never have to play the wretched game again.

Mary L. wants more whiskey. Blizzard in N. York. Snow two feet deep. Us next?

Rang K. to see how he is. Monosyllabic, almost forgotten he was ill, ivy cutters coming next weekend, as it’s pouring this.

Yank presenter on TV, Ryan Seacrest.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Started to keep a new list of names from Telegraph death column, after noting ‘Births’ &‘Nutter’. The latter difficult for someone with upper-class aspirations, ‘I’m a Nutter’.

Headline on cover of gossip magazine, ‘why I kept my rapists baby’. Re-read A. Bennett’s ‘Great Man’, a minor but excellent short novel. Wonderfully funny. Take on Marie Carelli, Hall, Caine etc.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Had Covent Gdn soup, lentil & smoked bacon, which I relish, but once more it rather upset me, a sort of intimation nausea & unease, & a near decision to have no dinner. But then Mr. Bradshaw rang to say watch was ready, & I was resting, rang back & S.B. was with another client, & he rang back & said Janet was with him & he gave her the dear watch to bring to me, & ‘I said I hope I get it before she flogs it in New Orleans, or Buenos Aires…’

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Bill arrived, £500 odd. L-ling tomorrow, after telephones yesterday had gin & dinner as usual.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Ling-ling as usual. Asked her if she could replace the light-bulb in the bedroom – much taller than the ones in the hall. No trouble, out with the big steps & up, & it was done. Wearing jeans, for the first time. They are coarsening garments, one has to say. No money and she had advance of £60 last week, but took the opportunity to give her a carton of lentil & smoked bacon soup that I don’t think I should try again, & four chicken breasts that I mustn’t buy again, without wrapping separately for freezing. If you thaw all four together you have to eat chicken breast every day for four days. When she asks for an advance, she must be short of money, so at least she’ll eat something for five days of the week. She keeps up a good standard of work.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Forty-eighth wedding anniversary. Well.

Good day tho’ I wondered at first. Woke at 1:30 a.m. & never got back. Sat in book room for some time, & felt restless & uncomfortable. It’s always more difficult when I have a coming & things to do, as I don’t just concentrate on reading myself to sleep, as I mightoversleep.

But, as I say, it was a good day, despite feeling the inside of my head had been roughly scraped. On the way to Janet’s the driver, Paddy told me he’d had a £150 parking fine last time he took me to the farmers market. Didn’t offer to help. It was his idea to park there.

Picked up dear watch from J. & the National Trust catalogue. She is good. Watch a great success. Fine link gold ‘bracelet’, & watch is going perfectly. I wish they could think of a less feminine epithet for a man’s watch - strap, if it’s metal!

Fearful landslide in Philippines. A whole village buried thirty feet down. 2000 dead? Do you hope it’s nothing to do with L. L.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

A quiet day of recovery until K. rang. ‘The two men who did my ivy are coming over to cut down the lilac bushes at eleven. I’ll be with you at twenty to, then we can clear up of bit, & you can give us lunch.’ Coo! In a whirl but I am so touched. And he’s utterly confident he’ll get lunch.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

V. tired, (tho’ I did nothing but lunch) but a wonderful perfect day!

Everyone was early, I was still shaving when the doorbell rang at twenty to eleven. It’s wasn’t the men, but him, a bit bleary. ‘Have the men being round?’ ‘No’. ‘Their van’s out here, they must have gone for something to eat’. He & A. brought in one or two things, &, as I was coming back from the bathroom in my pyjamas, there were the two men, K & A., passing me in the passage. Bright remarks from me. Dressed quickly & everything was going on, and almost at once the electric saws were cutting through everyone’s head. I came out of find dear A. already on her knees weeding the parsley bed, & K. instructing the men, and rather hampered by thinking it was only one bush/tree to come down, when in fact, it was the whole twenty foot stretch of forsythia, dead lilac bushes, & erupting buddleia seedlings. Made all clear, & had to take his hand to keep my footing on the un-even ground. How old I’m getting. To my bedroom to read the Sunday papers – & before I could look round, all was over, & K & A. were clearing up.

Huge space, such a purgation. ‘When do you want lunch?’ ‘An hour. What time is it?’ Mush & bacon omelettes for K & I, no bacon for A. I must remember that. ‘Hm. Smoked bacon’, he said. Loved the St. Veran, & went & opened another bottle – I love that. He needed it, he’s 45 on Sunday. Oh, & ‘had I got a magnifying glass?’ ‘I had & he’s admitted’. Memorable laughs all through lunch, only I can’t remember any of them. Over the coffee, it turned out that A. had paid the workmen…..I was quite overwhelmed & she would hardly let me thank her. Fell into bed at 3:30, & thanked my stars.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Stiff & tired & did nothing but read. K. rang & said ‘could I find the breadknife?’ ‘No’. ‘Don’t get up’. I had. ‘I lent the b-knife to the workmen to cut something….’ ‘Oh’.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Still recovering. Bit of a partial night as usual, but only read for half an hour at two-thirty, dozed & woke at five. Rest 2- 4.30, good. This a.m. in burst of energy, holding the ‘phone on the sofa ordered Arpège for A. a case of Saint Veran for K., & one for me in the Oddbins order, sent for the Burncoose catalogue, & transferred £2000 to my current account. Phew!

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

On TV, Hong Kong Skyline made out of biscuits by Song Dong.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Biography of Wilfred Thesiger. No doubt considerable figure in a way. Many insights into Marsh Arabs, tho’ possibly a certain preoccupation with March Arabs under the age of twenty, to the point of performing 6000 circumcisions in eight years. He wasn’t a doctor. Wembley Stadium won’t be finished in time for the cup final. Fancy. Ling-ling in jeans again.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Tesco’s with the tiresome driver who overcharged &will keep mentioning it, so only did Tesco’s instead of Ken High-St. as well. Slept 2.30 – 5.30. Bother. Very cold.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

K’s b’day tomorrow, but not 45. Rang to wish. Funny talk as he thanked me for wine & A’s scent. Was really pleased, I think.

My & J’s National Trust stuff arrived. A large box, 5’ x 4’ mine a small six-inch box. Made her a present of hers. No reply from Burncoose with the catalogue. Annoying. Bought two bottles of Grants for Mary L. Now I’ve got to get them to her…

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Worked in garden at last. Cleared iris-bed, & started digging the new border. Two rows I can do & then…

Monday, February 27, 2006

Maddening morning of toing & fro-ing. Sent cab to Mary L. with whiskey at 9:30. Rang M.L. at 10:45 & no whiskey. Rang Pat at cab co. said he would investigate. Some time past, at least half an hour. At last a call. M.L. to say the whiskey had arrived, & was really naturally pleased, not always so.

Meanwhile was ringing J. to arrange getting the National Trust dogs coffin to her. Another cab, this time that dear driver I haven’t seen for ages, forties, Polish? warm as toast. Why do I not get him more often? Anyway, it got there & even then, I was poised on the edge of my arthritis before J. rang to say.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Garden again. Hoped to dig but ground frozen, & not breached by a blow from my fork. Still encouraged by camellia with numberless buds, acanthus with leaves spread three feet or so wide, newer hydrangea three feet high & wider, olive tree three foot six or more, madonna lillies bursting thickly upwards to one foot six. Good. Encouraging.

Re-reading A. Powell’s diaries. Very funny & perceptive within limits.

Just as I was starting to worry darling A. rang to thank me for Arpège, with some yob chi- aking behind.

Wednesday, March 1, 2006

V. cold, thank goodness, but not because no digging, killing of bugs etc. Hard frost again here.

Must note conversation between Constant Lambert & Sir David Webster, then head of Covent Garden. ‘The Dream’ – isn’t there a version with Purcell music at a la P – Dryden Tempest? Anyway C.L. telling, bracing himself not to laugh, all the worse as D.W. clearly had no humour. ‘It came at last, Webster said, ‘now. Bottom….’ How do you yourself feel about Bottoms? I myself have seen some surprisingly good foreign Bottoms. All the same I prefer an English Bottom. What I never like is an old Bottom. One of the best bottoms’. Etc…. I don’t think C.L. did laugh. D. Webster was gay as well as humourless…… From A. Powell diaries

Thursday, March 2, 2006

V. cold. I hope K is still coming to lunch as there are really quite a number of important things to ask him for help with. Choice of bath help. More trellis for grape before it grows again. The pond. Must take care not to mention the small things in case his Protestant work ethic makes him have to finish something like the little bird table that you can sucker to the window. Or the wood finish to the stone. Or the mobile. Or the front gate. Or where are the two sets of secateurs….. what would I do without him?

Ling-ling as usual. Jeans apparently now the thing. All seemed well, tho’ she distributed the various bottles etc on the glass shelf above the bathroom basin in a new & the arbitrary pattern. Well, the shelf was clean, so who cares?

Friday, March 3, 2006 Saturday, March 4, 2006

It seems last night was the coldest night in central London for forty years. Was it? I must say it is rather wonderful to be delivered from the weather at seventy-four by having central heating for the first time. I had no idea it was as cold as that. But then time comes into it. If someone says sixty years ago, forty years ago, a cog slips. sixty years ago is well before the war, forty years ago, being demobbed & Cambridge. So I doubt last night (Friday) was as cold as 1947, but it might have been as cold as 1962.

Letter about my pension. It looked favourable at a quick glance – the ‘phone went. When I came back, what had seemed like four rises in a few months, resolved itself slowly out of the illiterate officialese, into what I’m getting now, – £114 odd– announced as a new sum, with two further rises of a few pence over some months, carefully separated for excitement to a final rise just after my eightieth, of a whole five pounds. Gosh. Isn’t there a real help at 80 or is that just with the tax? Ha!

Apparently last night it was -4° in London, –7°, outside.

Started on A. Powell’s autobiog’ again for sheer fun, after the diaries. Card in the envelope from S. giving me the news, of Present Laughter. Says he feels better prepared for this than anything he’s done. Perhaps M. Rudman has stopped him talking about it long enough to rehearse a bit.

Sunday, March 5, 2006

Last night so sleepy, to bed at nine-thirty. NO WHISKEY. To my outrage woken at twelve by a helicopter overhead, flashing lights in all directions, with that deafening buzz like a huge prehistoric bee. Why? I suddenly thought that I haven’t heard it for a year or two, when it was a fixture as it seemed over the house, at a level to glimpse a figure in the cockpit, – that was usually on a Saturday when there was a football match at Loftus Road. This helic. had no huge downward turned searchlight to show ‘crooks fleeing from justice’, so what was it doing waking us all up at midnight? No one will ever persuade me that the helic & the police cars are not sops to rackety young cops. I wish I could live to see all these noisy engines delivered to the scrap heap of history. And the scrapheap recycled.

Monday, March 6, 2006

So last night, no whiskey, just water, better night by how I feel today, but still restless. Spoke to noone. Turning milder on Wed.

Tuesday, March 7, 2006

Pouring. Migraine ‘aura’ about five-fifteen, for the usual twenty or twenty-five minutes, as it passed across my eyes. I’ve had it three? times recently, tho’ not at all for a couple of years before. Curious. Fitful, since my teens when the ‘aura’ – a line of angular flashing shapes – was followed by being sick & a day in the san. Then it might well be put down to that fashionable cause – ‘stress’ – as I was being consistently bullied. Not that I’d ever heard the word then. Interesting.

Left a message for K. about tomorrow. Left a dear message back.

Wednesday, March 8, 2006

Pouring. What a heavenly day. He was earlier than he said. They’re going to Antigua, then into a smaller island, ten miles away, but with ‘only two hundred people’. Rather a lot I’d have thought. They’ll have a cottage self-catering, they’ll shop in Port Talbot wherever that it is, & boat to the island. There are some restaurants. Oh well rather them than me. What a strain modern holidays seem to be! Eight hours on a plane & then that.

Scrambled eggs & smoked salmon. He looks around the place like a son & heir, & leaves me as comfortable as he can. I watched him drive away, as always wondering if I’d ever see him again. I am my mother’s son – how contemptuous he’d be. I am so lucky.

Thursday, March 9, 2006

Pouring. Good. Quiet. Ling-ling. Rang Mary L., poor girl. What a life. Rang J. No mention of D’s letters. Must grasp the nettle.

Friday, March 10 2006

Showers. Rang K & A to wish you a good journey & a happy holiday, partly to stop K. going to the trouble of giving me a number & address, which I was so touched to hear him say, before he left on Wed., he wanted to do. Dear thing, as if I would worry him all the way there. Got what I thought was Arlete, turned out to be name – I – couldn’t hear, who K. had mentioned as staying with them. American, pleasant, laughed easily. A. not back from work yet, & told her not to get K., ‘who I expect has been working for the last thirty-six hours’ – comically turned out to be true – up all night. So sweet. Usually gives the impression of never postponing all till last minute…..Asked my name, & rather overdid it by saying they never stopped talking about me. Well, she’s American & called herself ‘a house guest’. Oh, how odd yank expressions are! Sometimes so pungent & individual, but all too often, in more formal matters, clumsy & tautologous not to say inaccurate. ‘A house guest’ – just for lunch? tea? Why not say ‘I’m staying here’. I told her to be sure they didn’t bother to ring. Later connected K on Wed. saying he was sleeping on the studio floor, – ‘no, it’s all right’ – with, I presume, the conclusion that the extremely spare room where I slept six years ago is now not so. And the American is in the double bed with A? Hm.

Just as I’ve been wondering whether to say a word to dear Pat about ‘the driver who cheated me’, he rang ten minutes before my booking, to say would I mind a bit of delay as he didn’t want to send TDWCME & Paddy would be ten mins late. Good service without me complaining.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Magazine brochure from council, ‘refurbishment of council homes’. Put it drawer with a shudder. Although I have a 135 lease on the flat, it was addressed to ‘the Occupant’.

Waited for the news & weather on ITV. One of those ghastly noisy polluting useless motor races – every man who spoke is running a mile from women & real life, & I was outraged that the news was postponed for a whole halfhour. Disgraceful that news should be put off for anything.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

I’d left a message at John N’s about 4.30 & a little surprised he wasn’t there. He rang back – from his mothers. ‘She’s dying’. Odd, as only a bit before Christmas, they’d arranged a whole new regime of carers & so on. Taken to hospital with a gangrenous foot, & heart failure. Perhaps she didn’t like the carers etc. & so on. Later she talked fairly animatedly to John, his brother & Joyce, all there, & he felt more hopeful. Not that I think he’s overwhelmed. She’s 87? has been ill & lonely for years, & never, I can’t imagine with that husband, been specially happy. And a weight for John who, one way & another is the one fully conscious person in the whole thing. Autre Temps, au nieurs.

Made a note of this deep truth in my cups last night, ‘Because clergyman’s sons hear/know all about guilt, they never feel any’. Hm. Something there, despite cups.

Monday, March 14, 2006

Hosepipe ban for Thames water from April 15. And a 20ft new border to plant & keep going. So no new pond at best. I must hope for a summer as rainy as possible. After all, I didn’t water much last year. But I am really depressed. I am too old for many watering cans.

Felt a bit better after weighing it all up. Cold.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Cold. Lovely. Sir Ian Blair, London Chief of police in trouble with taping a talk with the Lord Chancellor? who? Lord Faulkner? anyway his superior. Superior outraged, demanded & got an apology. How odd. I would have thought all such conversations would automatically be taped. How delicate the sensitivity of politicians are.

Turned on the television & saw what I thought was a cartoon description of the Fallopian Tubes with something rushing down both tubes into the womb. Turned out to be a treatment for acne spot.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Who is it who keeps releasing violent prisoners after only half, sometimes less, their sentence? That poor man in Chiswick. I wonder if too many of the magistrates are relics of sixties teenagers?

Love the Queen’s face at C’wealth Games, crushing giggles.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Still very cold, frost, no more than 5° all day. Ling-ling as usual. Felt lethargic but v pleased to send off the Burncross order. Asked if any chance it could come before hose ban.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Dug three more rows of newly cleared bed. One more go, & I should be halfway. Cold. No shopping trip.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Cold. Completely sleepless night for no reason. Made some porridge at 6, to give me some life, & perhaps sleep. Dozed 10 – 11.45, one glass of wine, felt wobbly not in the least hungry. Went back to bed, no lunch. Up about four. Dinner as usual.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Reasonable night for now. Got that odd feeling again. Sat on edge of bed. Heart? Hm. I think deaf ear & balance. Read first volume of S. Bedord’s A. Huxley, with much pleasure. Amazed to find I bought it the month after D. died, remaindered in Croydon! Why was I in Croydon? Well, I think I did walk many miles for days on end, just then, which did something to deaden the pain, at least while I was actually walking.

John N rang. Tuesday is on. Voice a little uncertain. Must underline the comparative comfort of someone dying, when age & illness & pain, mean that there is no other way forward. If it is prolonged, with coma & so on, it wears out the emotions, fruitfully.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Good night, good heavens. Two pees. Woke at 9.0…. Finished the Huxley. Struck by realising how his reputation has steeply declined in the 30 years since The Bedford. I must look in W’stones to see if any of his books are still in print. Four rows of bedding at five o’clock.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006 Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Completely sleepless on Tuesday night. Lay awake till 1.30, then read till I got up.

Little preparation for dear John N. had a slightly stronger gin than usual, which isn’t saying much! He’s no drinker. He was unmistakably strained, not frantic of course, but talking more & faster, & very uncharacteristically, left his bag in the restaurant, & had to take the cab back there, when he’d dropped me off. Told me the whole sad story. His mother has been sitting there getting worse without saying. ‘One foot is gangrenous & will almost certainly have to be cut off if she lives long enough to make it practicable.’ Heart & goodness knows what else, possibly malnutrition, despite two carers etc. So it happens even to the rich. She’s in an NHS hospital – why? ‘it’s filthy’, – oh, that emotive word, always makes me react against it. However, I think it must be true as she’s developed MRSA, which John tells me is completely incurable. Joyce is a pillar of strength at such times – her instinct does not fail her, I’m sure – the elder brother, like Donald, is a pain, but works out finances, at least the figures. They can’t go on trailing up to Lytham St. Annes so they’re moving her to a place near Beaconsfield, where the brother lives, & it’s been worked out it’ll cost £96,000 a year…John is, of course, the one completely sane member of the family, so no wonder he is tense, the chap. I hope I said one or two words of comfort. Harsh facts in emollient prose. In some ways, if the mother lives on & on, it can be less distressing, in the sense that you are forced to face gradually that there is nothing left but death, for the poor shell.

Dinner particularly good, quail breast with delicate garnish of artichoke & mushroom, then two seabass fillets, on a tiny bed of spinach, & chopped fine vegetables that I didn’t bother to identify, all in a thin delicious broth?, a clear liquid, just liquid enough for me to be given a spoon as well as a fish knife & fork. As delicious as anything I’ve had for ages. Amused that John didn’t want a pudding or coffee. His character is reminiscent of Davy in the Mitford novels. A flavor of hypochondria & fussiness, combined with great strength of character & the capacity to hold down a very high-powered job – the qualities that led me to ring when D. died. Even more amused, tho’ I hope I hid it & responded acceptably, he showed me their honeymoon photographs. They went to Chile. A few photos were of the two of them & were poor-ish likenesses, but most of them were snowy mountains or desert rocks, never a living thing to give scale, all under a bright blue sky. I’m afraid they struck me as a very old National Geographic mag. might. So touching that he insisted on showing them to me, when he must’ve known I would find it hard to work up any enthusiasm. I do hope I kept up a reasonable front. Hideously expensive it all was. Did I dream it or was one of the hotels £1000 a night? A week? And then there was the reception.

Today, Wed., J rang & said how about lunch on Sat. Said she ‘couldn’t remember whose turn it is to pay, so you pay’. Quiet day, recovering. Finished Huxley with pleasure. Dug two more rows, all I could manage.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

A morning crowded with incident. Ling-ling’s day, & when the bell went at half past nine, I thought it was her, tiresomely early. But it was the S. Times wine, the two cases. Then, to my amazement, the plants arrived, four huge 4x4 boxes & a long 5 ft. one, with open top. And I’m hardly ready! Another ring, another van with a further box of wine I hadn’t ordered. Rang, it turned out I’d forgotten I get two special cases in March & October. Fancy. A bell, & it was Ling-ling. Sank exhausted into the book-room.

Later dug site for camellias & tinus ald in the first box by good chance.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Planted the two Camellias & the Laurustinus. Soil is excellent texture. Wonderful.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Rain, so no garden, bother. Tesco. Soaked feet. At last found something to cut my Howard Hughes toenails – my secateurs. Worked perfectly. Good. No chiropodists. Now what about my hair?

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Planted the two Rugosa roses, Blane Double an Couvert & Roseraie de’l Hay, & unpacked next box with four Hellebores, & six Madonna lilies. Thought this last would be bulbs. Also three Cowslips.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Dream to ‘London’ to get food for Marian & Ken Branagh, great vistas of unknown buildings, yet I knew I was in the centre of London. Most irritating, tho’ interesting that both people I am estranged from. Rain. In one gap between showers unpacked the pots. A fine array, & I think I can manage the planting. Tired.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Out at 8:45 a.m. Dog site for Coronilla. Planted the Hidcote & two Hellebores. How lucky I am that the soil breaks easily into perfect tilth & holds enough moisture. What if it had been in the E. Sussex clay of the cottage?

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Out at 9:30. Planted cornilla between the two camellias, tho’ of course, about four feet in front of them. Sorting plants into their groups & places. Weeded French doors bed, & planted parsley seeds. Old parsley has more or less vanished, as usual, after a few years.

A million civil servants strike, the biggest strike since 1926. They have been told that they must not retire at 60, but go on to 65. How sad to think that a million people strike against going on working. I wonder if one of them enjoyed their job. I hope so.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Ling-ling. Forgot to record that Janet kindly (sic) told me that Feely told her that the reason L.L. & Feely quarreled was that L.L. is an illegal immigrant. Sensing my dislike, J. hastened to say how unreliable F. is etc. She should have more imagination & realised she might upset me for nothing. Her bossiness comes out, & her rather narrow prejudices. Bother. I shall say nothing to L.L. I hope J. wouldn’t either.

Rain last night, but fine all today. Might mow tomorrow, p.m. if possible. Grass & soil uneven after winter with grass too long. That was because it was never dry enough to mow until it was too cold to expect it. Out at ten two five, & planted vinca major just under sitting- room window in the very dark area under the vine & bay tree, & one of the v. minors behind the main bed. Sorted & placed the anemones & put in preliminary places. Not up to more.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Mowed a.m., rain forecast p.m. Set mower medium for a fairly course but carefully leveling cut. Looks decent, but another close cut at next really dry cut. That was me for the day.

Saturday, April 1, 2006

Shopping. That Irish driver who took the whiskey to M.L. He’s all right. To W’stones in Ken High-St. first. No copy of new Camilleri. But new Donna Leon, Cynthia Harrod-Eagles, Stuart Pawson, & dear Liz Smith’s autobiog. Tesco’s.

Dug two more rows, & spaced the Jap anemones exactly, so that I can plant them tomorrow.

Sunday, April 2, 2006

A bit damper than I expected, but still friable, the soil I mean. Planted the three Honorine Joubert, dug good space for the three September Charm. Dug site of New Dawn, right next to Féliciteet P. I hope they will intermingle & hold one another up.

Planted Dicentra Spectabilis down left of the Coronilla, – the geraniums will be further down, at the front of the bed. Decided to get two more D.S. to make a usual group, not that I know its habit of growth. It’s always pictured as one tall spray leaning sideways. But I always wanted it, in every garden but never quite got it.

Books reviewed so dull the last few weeks. Rain p.m. Good

Monday, April 3, 2006

10.10 planted the three ‘September Charm’, & dug & weeded rest of bed. Two of the old geraniums surfaced. Spaced the astrantias. Meant to go on at 4:30 or 5. Woke from my rest at 6.0. Still time before w/e.

Tuesday, April 4, 2006

Out at 9:45. Planted New Dawn. Satisfying. Did good clearance of most of the last bits of border – & couch grass! Almost settled positions of Ger. & Astrantias.

Ordered amid shrieks from a posh lady, some fill-in plants from the Cotswold Garden Plants. The two Dicentras, four P. mlokosewitschii, two Asarum European & an artichoke, the Gross Vert de Laon, recommended by Deborah Devonshire in one of her charming little books. Also ordered smoked salmon from Formans.

K rang, will be about, & dinner on thur. The Only disappointment I hoped to have all planting done to confound them, & scratch dinner it will have to be.

Wednesday, April 5, 2006

10.15. Planted all the Geraniums. Among all pots, found the two G. Phaeum Albium, 2’, one hopes. One may be dead, watered. Planted the other, behind the two G. renardii, & the two G. Wargrave Pink. These last two next to one v. similar, still surviving in the border after everything. A good day, or hour.

Thursday, April 6, 2006

He arrived when he said he would. I really must stop expecting the behavior of the boy of nineteen from the man of forty-five. Took him out to see the new bed, ‘I’m impressed’. Lavish praise from L’pool. Showed me the ‘holiday snaps’. This was on his ‘laptop’, a thing I have never seen before except on a fairly distant desk in a TV scene. Wonderfully realistic. Showed me a few shots of Antigua, rather nasty built-up traffic precinct, & many, many, people. The island they eventually went to, one image. An endless white beach, blue sea, a great curve of a bay with one white square, the only building in sight either way. So it was more or less perfect. Not all together uncharacteristically, looked rather cross in every picture. Sitting on sofa looking, was quite difficult to get up from, which I don’t like him to see. Dinner, salmon fillet baked, broc, – which he likes, & courgettes – which he is finally confessed he’s ‘not mad about’, bother, a few raspberries, toying with cheese, he made the coffee. ‘Easter, Isn’t it hell? Can we come over?’ Heaven.

Friday, April 7, 2006

Six years here! Anniversary. So touched he said ‘isn’t it D’s death day?’ How she would like that, if she didn’t hate being dead.

Ridiculous hysteria about bird flu. Really, it might be America.

Saturday, April 8, 2006

Tesco’s. Nice driver, mild, civilized, brown, I forget from where, but his very difficult English has clearly held him back. Why does nobody do anything to help them? Doesn’t he know that’s why he is driving a mini cab?

Around five, planted the four Astrantias that more or less completes the border, till the new Aquilegia & P mloko fit in either end.

Sunday, April 9,2006

Read the Sylvia T. Warner biog with pleasure.

Rain really heavy p.m., after popping in for courgette seeds to ground cover round the Hypericum, & Rocket, north of Astrantia.

British Gas had the cheek to ring today, ‘because of yr letter’. Reading the meter on Wed. ‘between 8 and 12’. When everyone else name’s a time.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Mowed with the mower closest cut, but left box off this time. Lawn still uneven from winter & oddly spongy. We’ll see. Rain tomorrow.

John N. rang during my rest in answer to my b’day call. Mother in nursing home nr. Beaconsfield, like a three star hotel, & she’s bored. Well, that’s better than being dead. Rang back when I woke, – & it was dear Sally Ducrow! Delightful chat as ever, tho’ I talked to much, & asked her to lunch in August.

Later. Going to bed at ten-ish, heard really bad row upstairs, oh dear. Only her, with raised, sometimes shouting voice, ‘you fucking – what?’ I never heard what oddly. I thought, on little or no evidence, that she was a bit unstable. Never heard Charlie, who, I’m sure, from my little knowledge, would be calming. The children must have heard. A pity.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Planted three more Madonna’s by lemon (they’re all potted & a foot high.)

One or two loud sentences. Nothing decisive.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Another day crowded with incident. Up & listening by 8. The smoked salmon came on the promised day, & within ten minutes of the promised time. Oddbins came at usual time. eight came, twelve passed, poor wretched young man came at 1:30, just as I took my first mouthful of omelette. I was rude to him, & it wasn’t his fault. Bother.

Long funny chat to J., difficult to record. Pleasant. But no mention of D’s letters. No garden, too stiff & tired from waiting & listening, but chased off fox & cat. Must sprinkle more wee round & about.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Rang K. re weekend. ‘Which day?’ ‘When are you shopping?’ ‘Sat’. ‘You’ll be too tired then. We’ll come Sunday. You sound a bit like a cold’. ‘No, it’s only catarrh. I said to D. once, ‘I’ve only caught my throat’. She said, you sound as if you’d just dropped it’. Shrieks. Garden, 4.45 – 5.30. Meant to plant Hellebores but found ground near main border to rooty. Cowslips, wood anemones, too, I was happy to see still there. Did some good clearing all the same.

Hideous item on London News, a woman’s skeleton found in a Wood Green council flat, last seen in 2003, – aged 40. Only found because of the arrears of rent.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Joyce Vincent in the paper. Forty, her bedsit was in a council block, partly? wholly? for victims of domestic violence. It was only opened up because of ‘thousands of rent arrears’. Inside they found what was more or less a skeleton, only identified by the flat & her teeth. The TV & the heat were both still on, & she was ‘surrounded’ by Christmas presents.

Another report made it clear that they were presents she’d wrapped for other people, & that she was estranged from her family. And presumably from her husband. The only reason she was discovered after she’d been dead for getting on three years, was that someone wanted some money from her. A terrible story. Short paragraphs, little made of it on TV, I hope everyone concerned feels guilty.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

A day crowded with delightful incidents. K & A coming tomorrow! Royalties for the Only Fools £3,600 odd!! Tesco’s, with every sort of veg., that K. cant look askance

Reading Furbank’s Life of Forster again, not since I bought it. Though I see the second vol. is inscribed to me from S. in 1978. How did he afford it? Or was that after Amadeus? Full of useful stuff, tho’ must seem overblown now with the fairly precipitous decline of F’s reputation.

Irish snooker player? caught for a moment. ‘Phone rang. Is that Dublin 777-7777?!’ ‘Yes’ ‘Could you ring 999 for me? I’ve got my finger caught in the 7’.

That pompous ass Melvyn Bragg. His pomposity & assiness insecurely concealed under a persona of Northern down to earth sincerity & a great deal of suspiciously black hair, has put forward a television programme entitled, ’Twelve Books That Changed the World’. The Reader’s Digest atmosphere that stifled me at its announcement, was blown away by as good & clean & big a laugh as I’ve had for sometime. The first book, to, I suppose hoped set the tone, was Newton’s Principia Mathematica. Certainly an inalienable choice. Then Marie Stopes ‘Married Love’….. Certainly contraception has ‘changed our society’ or parts of it, but the book? An ill written rather unbalanced affair. But world? I imagine there was such a book or whatever, in all western countries, but it’s the condom & Dutch cap that ‘changed our society’, not the book, which was simply the ‘information conduit.’

The good clean laugh? The third book, equal to the other two? The First Rule Book Book of the Football Association, 1863.

Sunday, April 16, 2006 Monday, April 17, 2006

Today, the dead Easter Monday, I am still in a delicious coma. He’d said 6, 6.30, 6.45, & I was just sitting in my nice shirt & no trousers, when the bell rang. I stumbled towards the door getting into them, & shouted thro’ the door, ‘I’m just putting my trousers on’. Got them more less on, & opened my door to find A. in hall, & Michelle & children from upstairs on their way out…A. had taken my promise of no gardening & ‘just sit on the sofa looking beautiful, but she had surpassed itself. Hair fuller than usual, a fine white sweater, just fitting, neither too tight nor too loose, a straight cotton white skirt, cut in slightly towards above the knee, where there was a delicately padded seam, & two box pleats below. Perfect. My only complaint the four inch heels & huge platforms of the Westwood white sandals. She has the legs for them, but they only suggest to me that she’s coming to terms with her clubfeet. (By the way, aren’t they a little behind the times? I think I first saw them three years ago.) K. turned up, his grizzled beard cut shorter but still there. I don’t mind, but does he? To garden, A on the wood steps, K. kept going back out by himself.

Dinner pheasant from F’s Market in Feb?, full, plump, juicy. Carrots, broccoli tips, courgettes for me and A – I made him choose the veg to be sure – usual rasps. & cheese. They tried to help me after with the remote for the big fan, no go. What hell modern machines are! Perfect evening.

He’s found a lampshade in? somewhere for the standard. I teased him that he’d found it, because (a) the present shade was his, & he wants it back & (b) where he always sits, he wants the bulb shaded more.

Highlights of the evening. He suddenly described in detail me rehearsing the Nicolson, & seeing me & Simon, fitting in business with the dialogue, making a drink or whatever & picking it to bits in awkwardness, & putting it back together, until you couldn’t imagine it wasn’t natural. Moving. And telling them the 777-7777 story, & seeing him lying back on sofa red in the face, eyes full of tears.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Oh his laughter! Like that childhood photograph Marjorie gave me. My legs & knees are still suffering from all that rushing about.

No lampshade cata, tho’ he said he sent it last Wed or Thur.

Queen’s 80th. Blitz. Oh, the syren – wasn’t it spelt like that somewhere? Up in yr mouth, & down into yr boots. Long J. talk. Planted last four hellebores. 3 new – must note!

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Good night! Woke twice for a pee, but slept at once, & woke at 9:45!

Garden 4.45 – 5.30. Bits of clearing up, scattering wee, & complete overhaul of window- boxes at front, emptying the old compost into a sack.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Bad night. Makes me stupid. Rang K. because lampshade catalogue had still not arrived, but he said he’d only asked for it to be sent… he didn’t mention that, but he did say on Sun that he & A were going to Centre Parks which is some ghastly sort of amusement park, & I forgot all the worse because he’s going with little Charlie & his mother. Well, I hope their all safe. Oxford companion to the Brontës – what next – the OC to Ethel M Dell & Barbara Cartland? Wuthering Heights yes, to a muddled point. Jane Eyre is magazine stuff, & has been overestimated exactly as education has declined.

Circular from estate agents gives the final accolade of desirability – corporate tenants looking to rent,…. ‘blue-chip companies & corporate tenants looking to find a home quickly’. Rent & off to – ugh.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Mowed properly with box, & I think much improved the rather beleaguered lawn. Uniform length of grass is so important, so that rain falls equally too. And I think rain is coming of that sort, despite the idiot forecasters, who prophecy weather only fit for office workers between package holidays. If their fantasies were really fulfilled, the whole world would starve. The word ‘sun’ has become an irritant to me in the TV forecasts.

J. rang & suggested lunch at café pasta. Hm.

Saturday, April 22, 2006 Sunday, April 23, 2006

Oh dear. Very poor night on Friday, & almost cancelled. Got to Waterstones & bought Anna M’s memoirs. The new Camilleri back in stock, the new Simon Brett, & the Lytton Stratchey letters, pb, that J. had asked for. Bought batteries at last for the cat & fox scarer, that I suppose is Yank, as its spaces-for-batteries was incomprehensible to me. Turned out they were just spaces for two each of the ones that fit in the record player. Fancy, now I can keep raccoons out of my garden. Knees stiff enough for stick. At café, she had a starter, – she isn’t short & quite square, for nothing – her first course, four five large crayfish or v. large prawns, second, two large pieces of chicken? I didn’t notice & accompaniments. Three scoops of ice cream. I had to have a starter to, the least demanding looked at the soup, but when it came it was vegetable, all right, but with that hideous redness all over, – well, why go on? The pleasant mushroom risotto, too, had vanished, & it was bright red, too, spicy beyond the dreams of Samarkand, – I had as few mouthfuls of either as I could get away with to keep her in countenance as she was paying. I have had quite tiresome heartburn ever since. Not much dinner last night – it’s working thro’ now. I think I must start prophesying that highly spiced food causes cancer….. shopping, Waitrose. J. still never mentioned D’s letters .

Today getting over it. Memo, David Halliwell dying, did I record it? It was a few days ago. I met him briefly because I shared the dressing room with his partner – not sexual – in Incident at Vichy, in 1966, – David Calderisi. A sad figure, D.H. I mean, a defensive Northerner, with all the difficulties that implies. His one real success, tho’ even then rather too limited to have made him financially comfortable – ‘Little Malcolm & His Struggle Against the Eunuchs’at the Garrick in 1965. He & D.C. were Quip v. oh dear, how tiresome he was. The sort who always imagines he’s being patronised. That he’s the only sincere/ realistic/ honest person in any situation. Poor chap, he must have reserves of humour & intelligence that he couldn’t show to me because someone with my accent couldn’t be sincere/ honest etc. Etc. And he was only ten years younger than me. More evidence of the ‘new theatre’ happening when I was thirty…. Have I ever written about David Calderisi? I must. Fascinating. Impossible to think of him 69, – or dead.

Like a dream because of all my planting & the hosepipe ban, there was a delicate pervasive rain, which fell from 6 a.m. till dark.

Monday, April 24, 2006

Poorish night. Good clearing up in garden for this week. Good rest. Scarer in order with batteries on kitchen windowsill. We’ll see. Already a cat has paused for thought & gone on to next door.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I wonder if I ever mentioned Penfriend, a rather grand shop, dealing in esoteric & valuable pens & pencils, in the sort of arcade in Bush House. They also sell modern stuff, too, not biros, I think, & do rarefied repairs. J told me that she passed B. House, & ‘a great part of it was being pulled down’, so Penfriend was no more. I believed her because she gets about & has all those grand clients. Mentioned to her that PF had a branch in Burlington Arcade – no doubt pens & pencils in 24c gold studded with rubies, emeralds & diamonds. She then said, two days later, that Penfriend had a number ‘in rather an old directory’, & ‘it was engaged’. I rang it, an answer, it’s there & has not moved, let alone been pulled down. Messy of J., particularly because of the rather self-satisfied voice in which she said ‘pulled down’. How often does she make this sort of rather smug mistake with her clients? I fear she liked saying ‘it’s pulled down’, just as she has negative opinions on the vast majority of the acting profession. I must try & temper that.

About once a month, I watch on television, thirty seconds of something of such crushing boredom as to make me count my blessings. Sport, for instance. The sports, which were invented for the ‘diversion’ of the upper middle classes, – as ‘games’ – see my dictionary definition – have now been taken obsessively up by the former peasant working-class, & fascinatingly, turned into the sort of drudgery they used to go through on the farm & in the factory. The obsessive rituals of football, – run, run, run, ran! – & athletics, ill phrased examinations of nothing, & so on, trap them in a routine that they mistake with its pathetic monetary rewards for happiness. Oh the pathos of a lottery winner!

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Wrote to Tim W. & A. re Arpe.sc.

In a burst of confidence from the £3,600 royalty, ordered a new stand-up fan – now so central to my comfort on boiling sleepless nights, & a new green garden umbrella, which can be angled to the sun. Vital. Rang the council ‘re-garden refuse bags’ – they come on Saturdays. Oh dear. Also ordered that cotton suit from Spectator £100. It’ll be cool…. In temperature, I mean.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

A further gas bill £114. Outrageous.

Ling-ling. Clock paperweight stuck to desk by what? Happily in the right place. Mysterious. Re-reading Forster after the biogs. ‘Where Angels Fear’ seems as good & slight as ever. Started ‘Longest Journey’.

J rang & suggested the Ballets Russes film at the Curzon. No. Oh dear she said, I mustn’t give up going out….

Friday, April 28, 2006

Didn’t shop. Needed sleep for tomorrow. ‘Longest Journey’ tails off in last third badly. This time – it must be 30 years since I read it – I was struck by the child of nature. Stephen Wonham. Lawrentian wishful thinking gay poppycock, yes, but it occurred to me for the first time that it was L. pc. some three or four years before D.H.L invented it. Perhaps that accounts for D.H.L’s acerbity towards F. in future years. how both their reputations have plummeted in recent years!

TV advert voice-over, ‘chances are one in three of us will get cancer before we’re seventy’. What about before we’re eighty?

Wine deliveries from S. Times Wine Club are odd. You order two boxes – of two different wines, – I admit – one arrives one day, one another, two different vans & drivers. Extravagant.

Rang K. to say no lampshade catalogue. He’d taken in my letter to Arlete. Comic. ‘You never write to me’. Not entirely comic, even if he thinks so….

Saturday, April 29, 2006

‘A Room with a View’, light & funny & not meddling with ‘sex’, which he scarcely at all understands. After all, he’d never done anything but wank at this point & alone. And you don’t understand women by not being a man.

Tesco’s. Pleasant black driver, amiable, mild but again, almost incomprehensible. Sad.

Hazel as usual now at 5.0 on Sat. Relief. Geoffrey still mowing even if sitting down. Colder. Good. I must weed & mow, before rain tomorrow. Spent £144 at Tesco. No waste.

Sunday April 30, 2006

Poorish night. Meant to mow before rain, & start corner weeding. Didn’t feel up to it. I see there’s a life of John Osborne by John Heilpern, overlooked by Helen O. Might be good. Might be v. difficult – in more ways than one. I wonder if little Eric Jones appears in it, tho’ of course his friendship with J.O. may be quite imaginary. Started Howard’s End. D’s copy. those little E. Arnold Green ones, Liverpool, 1948, it says.

Monday, May 1, 2006

Nothing Day like all Bank Holidays. Rained most of the night & all this a.m. till eleven, good heavy rain. That’ll keep me going for a few days. Courgettes sprouting.

Tuesday, May 2, 2006

A bit better. Garden looking good without work, as it opens. But still too tired. Remade bed with clean sheets. Tiring. Started ‘Howards End’.

Wednesday, May 3, 2006

Awful night. Woke at 1:10 & didn’t get back. Hope to mow tomorrow, with a helpful wet weekend to follow.

Thursday, May 4, 2006

In The Independent little books, ‘Cockroaches survive for eight days without a head’. Like so many of my acquaintances – Lysette Anthony, for instance.

Parcel for no. 59! Looks like a picture, ‘Fragile’. What a nuisance. I shall have to listen for a bell.

Friday, May 5, 2006

Bad night again. The council elections fairly awful for labour. On the other hand, single- handed I have secured H’smith & Fulham for the Tories. I voted for all three of them, & H & F turned Tory for the first time since ‘68, to the tune of 33 – 12!

Hectic day of deliveries. First, the plants, a bit ramshackle & one missing but easily replaced. Garden umbrella delivered, huge, & the base too heavy to move from the hall. The suit – hopeless. Trouser waist at least four inches too small, Jacket is a badly cut monster. Well, ‘cheap’ has always been hopeless for me. Left a message at 59 about the parcel.

More devaluation of Forster. The Life to Come, short stories are feeble wank stories without any wank.

Now there’s a cabinet reshuffle. A farce. John Reid has spent ten months each in the last few years, in five major posts.

Rest. Slept 2 – 530. Bother.

Saturday, May 6, 2006

At 9:45 a.m. planted the four Paeonia Mlokosewitchii round the old one now in flower. As its done so well, thought it pleasant to give it company. Just seedlings, & if I don’t live to see them in flower, I don’t care. They’re a bargain. Also another Dicentra Spectabilis. Weeded herb bed.

Sunday, May 7, 2006

A flash of Top of the Pops. Typical looks & clothes, twenties, Italian looking & called Vittorio. Girls moving behind. But he might have been singing ‘Santo Lucia’, tho’ it was called ‘Bedshaped’. A sort of tenor

Planted Gros Vert de Leon on lamb’s ear corner. Supposed by the suppliers, & the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, to be the tastiest. I think the Duchess’ testimony is more believable. Last game at Arsenal, on London Tonight. I looked briefly because of K. Oh, the people! Behind the reporter only praising Arsenal to the ridiculous skies, some crass boys, 15, 17 etc., waved to the camera with wearisome persistence, & then threw beer over him which missed the camera lens. Heavens what would they do if he criticized?

Not too bad tonight, but rest 2 – 5.30. Too long, but….?

Monday, May 8, 2006

Ordered taxi for tomorrow’s shop. Then K rang. Wants to bring what’s her name to dinner at weekend. So four for dinner, pull table out & so on. I know little or nothing about her, except that she’s a friend of Arlete’s. As usual, I’m sure he thinks he’s told me everything. She’s a vegan just now. Oh God. I said ‘ring me before I go shopping on Friday to tell me what she can eat’. Interesting the lampshade catalogue is coming, after a further email & ‘phone call. Did I say I’d pulled down the Nicholas Blake’s & re read them? The first time for ten? twenty? years. Such feeble condescending tedious stuff. Have put them in the Oxfam bag.

Tuesday, May 9, 2006

At last rang the R. Park Nursery, & ordered the window box stuff, seven white pelargonium’s a sack of all purpose compost & two tomato plants for the kitchen window platform. How poor these nurseries are! I also wanted two or three gap fillers – Bergamot Dicentra Cissus etc. No go. Still local orders pay off in one way – it arrived this afternoon, five o’clock.

At last did feet. Soaked for quarter of an hour. Solution to hideously horny nails – my secateurs. Heaven.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Quick TV flash. A programme about foundlings. Middle-aged people still agonised over no relatives, ‘where did I come from’, etc. I couldn’t wait to lose the ones I had, & once or twice, I had a tiny pangs of horror of all those Scotch cousins & Geordies, ‘getting in touch’. Thank goodness Donald has shown no sign of sending me his address. It’s certainly in the Mackay blood. Think of Daddy’s three brothers & a sister, unknown residence to him, & he sending five hundred Christmas cards…

This a.m. did useful clearing of front of big rose & lavender bed, which has been an uncertain mess of roughly mown uncertainty. Filled garden bag, a bundle of which arrived from the council. Good step forward.

J rang in a.m., wanted to know what the music was to which Joan P. danced in Roots. Traced the notices & left a message on her machine, The Farandole from L‘Arlesienne by Bizet.

In p.m. 5 ish, did the window boxes. All planted up & smart. Put some of the nice large pebbles in between to put off the squirrels. Caught six or was it seven, & haven’t seen one lately, but it isn’t nut burying time so mustn’t be complacent.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

K. rang, & took the opportunity to ask my dinner question. Sunday’s name, which of course, I haven’t remembered, or anything much about her except that she was Arlete’s friend, & while she was there K. was sleeping in the studio. This a week or two ago. Name, Sharon Vaughan, quite ‘famous’, awards for songwriting & so on, ‘she’s one of us’, & far from A’s friend. A. ‘isn’t coming’, ‘she’s going out on Friday getting legless with her office friends’. Modern life! Is he bringing her to me for approval? Are they together? Goodness knows. As always, K. rather miffed that I didn’t know all this, & as also always, forgets he doesn’t tell me such things with enough empressement beforehand so that I know it’s important. Well, good gracious me, we’ll see.

Asked L.L. to buy cream & butter so I could give her a change from £10.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Shopping – an event now. Took the bag of Nicholas Blake etc. & a few odds & ends to Oxfam, in Chiswick. Not open at 9:45. Left the bags against the door, next to a mass of occupied café tables. Happily Chiswick wouldn’t bother to rifle a pair of crumpled carrier bags. To Turnham Gn. Skate, shrimps, a red mullet & three halibut steaks for Sunday, to Mortimer & Bennett, for three cheeses, & Gordal olives. At the greengrocer, two huge artichokes, peas, b. beans, – arti, at least seven or eight inches across. Exhausted. Hideous drilling noise outside. Later bell rang. ‘Can we have some water for a bit of cement?’ Turns out cable TV for upstairs. Oh dear. So perhaps they haven’t left, as there’s been no sort of moving day. But perhaps they have parted after that scene. His scooter has gone. Don’t blame him. He’s too young to take on three boys & a dissatisfied woman.

Oh, my driver, that pleasant large black man, suddenly sensing my sympathy, poured out his trials with neighbours upstairs. Disorganised as well as noisy. Some appliance failed, & water cascaded down onto their child’s mattress to such an extent they had to replace it. He is, as I think I said so thickly accented as to be mostly incomprehensible. I can pick up just enough words as a rule, to get the gist – it has nothing to do with my deaf ear – but then I know a lot of words. Disgraceful that nobody will take him in hand – or tongue – to free him from the deprivations that his very poor English will condemn him to.

Pouring – 7.0 – long before the forecast said.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

K rang, change your plan, Monday! Message after rest. ‘No. Sunday. Sorry to mess you about’.

No call from H. Waited ¾ of an hour then gave up & rang others.

Thunderstorms forecast. Not here. Cleared up garden, rubbish was in its council bag by 9 a.m., but no collection. Why don’t they tell you to put it out to the night before?

Sunday, May 14, 2006 Monday, May 15, 2006

Stiff & tired, with all that running about in the garden & for dinner. A v. successful evening I think. K. gave one, two hugs at the end. When I opened the door, he was carrying a big pot with a large fern in it, with very fine leaves, almost needles, on seven or eight branches in a circle. A fairly primitive fern, I’d think. Good. And she was introduced. Sharon Vaughan, small, square, plumpish, with that Americans skin that looks as if it’s never been in the open- air, about 50, very pleasant in manner, tho’ of course, too familiar, also in the Yank manner. Clever, funny, even witty, & in many ways, a good guest. Curious, I said ‘do help yourself to vegetables’, she picked up the dish, did so, & then divided the rest of them between my plate & K’s, & would have emptied the dish if I hadn’t stopped her. In the s-room, she noticed the Edna stones round the tray of the standard lamp, picked one up to look more closely, I went to get the beautiful half sphere from the niche with the Venus. She looked at it is with pleasure, & then put it back on the lamp tray, rearranging all the other stones to do so. Heavens, I can imagine the effects of that in some houses. And she’s one of those who come into the kitchen & ask if they can help……when I went out to get some mint, she offered to go instead, as I was clearly too old & tired to go into my own garden. I only list all these things because I felt, so much of the time, that she wasn’t being natural, being herself. And when I spoke to K. today I was touched to find he thanked for a successful evening, & told me she came from a very poor background, Southern, large family, etc. Well, there you are, a bit bossy on top of unease. Amused to hear him over dinner, ‘to have his two greatest friends meet’. He seemed pleased today, which is all that matters to me until I know her better. I shall send her some rose-bushes in the autumn, if I can. She admired the Etoile de Hollande, especially showy this year, right across the back of the house, twenty or thirty flowers. S. de la malon. balling again, oh dear.

Told K. I’d had an 80th b’day card from Ernie, & that woman next door, but, looking at it again, I see it was from Sian & Charlie. She puts (Malpass) in brackets….

A memorial service at St. Pauls, C. Gdn caught my eye. Henry McGee. All I know of him I rather despise, a feed for benny hill etc., for years, & a trimmer. The list of ‘friends’ rather confirms that, with certain exceptions. George Baker, for instance, & John Tydeman – odd. Was H. MG ever on third programme? The rest of the list should surely be submitted to the Physical Research Society. Hazel Vincent Wallace (Leatherhead for years, surely older than me), Barry Morse, going before the war, Mrs. Mavius Goring (well, and she might be much younger). Trevor Bannister & Francis Matthews, a really outstandingly boring pair (not in real life, tho’), Mr. & Mrs. Derek Bond, must be late 80s, & Mark Brackenbury !! never heard of since I shared digs with him at B’ham Rep in ’56, after which we all fervently hoped he’d left the profession. And certainly I have never heard or heard tell of him, from that day to this. H. Mcgee did a lot of charity work judging by officials attending. Collapse.

Thursday, May 16, 2006

Rang J. Her sister & b-in-law have gone to Canada for a fortnight holiday. Very suitable. Card from S. in B’ham. There ‘three weeks’. ‘Talk with Press Officer. Me: “Business was rather poor on Monday” P.O. Yes, we’ve never been able to sell Coward in B’ham”. Me: “Then why are we here for three weeks?” “That’s what we’ve been asking ourselves”. Somehow even more depressing in the Midlands accent’

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Liverpool soccer match. Two 14 year olds to presenter, ‘my dad got two tickets, Great game’. ‘Is your dad here?’ ‘No, he’s at home looking for the tickets’.

Watched ten minutes of the Line of Beauty. Perfectly beautiful young man, kept smiling in all the wrong places. What a snare! Like a beautiful girl, who has never had to do anything but stand there. Took the book down instead.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Ling-ling. Seems all right. Hollinghurst does write very well. Rain forecast, didn’t arrive. Forty-two flowers on Etoile de H.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Cancelled cab & didn’t shop. Inertia.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

No hazel again. Waited ¾ hr. & then turned off in a rage. Could do nothing waiting for ‘phone to ring. So much for her liking routine.

Shopping to Holland & Barrett in Ken Ch St. & found six tubes of Sarakan, & on to Waterstones, catching on the way, the other branch, moved up to a few shops from W. At W’s bought the new Osborne biog by J. Heilpern, Dominic Dromgoole’s ‘Will & Me’, the Royal Ballet 75 Anniv. Book – Faber, of course & two detectives. Tesco. Good. Tired. Cool. Rain.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Much rain overnight. Good. Reading the Osborne. Oh dear, oh dear, Heilpern not Osborne. Hazel rang & I had to tell her off. If she has to ring me at a definite time, well enough, tho’ none of my other friends suggest such a thing for a weekly call. But if she keeps me waiting three quarters of an hour two weeks running, that’s quite another, & I won’t have it, especially two weeks in a row. On time tonight from guilt.

John N. rang. Touching. Tells me one doctor has said a fortnight, others a bit longer. Mother ‘s still perfectly compos off & on. Warned him that anyone can hang on unexpectedly.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Rain. More good. Went on with Osborne, oh, the infelicities, & the show biz of it. What a missed opportunity! And he’s had all the sources & people & introductions most of them wasted. A pity, putting a proper biography off by years. Poor John Osborne, he had a lot of bad luck, mother, wives, journalists & so on. Brought some of it upon himself, of course, but now this. Published by Faber, too.

Left joke on K’s machine. On TV, two boys, 14, at L’pool final in best seats. Presenter: ‘Best seats, eh?’ ‘My dad got them. Game’s great’. ‘Where’s your dad?’ ‘At home, looking for the tickets’.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 193

May 23, 2006 – September 14, 2006.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Ordered six lavenders from offer in Telegraph. Only plugs but worth it for the moment. Decided to keep present pond. Paint fearful surround green & plant round it. We’ll see.

Finished the Osborne. What a pity! Cheap phrases, poor judgement. Still, his authentic sources give some pleasure, as long as you take care that you know the reality. Pamela Elaine saw him, but I note didn’t say much. And she’s younger than me. A pity she’ll never give us her account, she has too much dignity. How I remember when she came to lunch during Heritage & History, – during lunch, the man came to service the Ascot heater, I let him in, & later saw him out. Apologised to guests. Pamela said, ‘well it is Ascot week’. J.O. was certainly a class victim – he wasn’t upper-class & public schoolboy & Oxbridge. If he had been, his Hooray Henry persona would have been more confident, satisfying & with an audience supporting. Poor boy. A pity Helen O. didn’t live to oversee more sharply the book. Oh, well, she was a journalist, too, so perhaps she didn’t notice.

In bed, reading Anthony Berkeley. Variable tho’ not as much so as Nicolas Blake. Still more rain, how wonderful, as if in answer to the hosepipe ban.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Rain. Long talk to J. of which I can’t now remember a word, but jolly. Started Zoe thing’s book about The 75 years of the Royal Ballet. Good workmanlike stuff. Is useful rather than exciting, but with some hints & omissions worth catching. Also started new detec. in bed. Set in 1932. Quite well done so far, but the resolution is all. And he’s South African.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Rain. Good. Ling-Ling, looking a bit bleary. She says she doesn’t drink, & has certainly refused a bottle of wine twice, so perhaps she works overtime.

One of The Independents maps has a circle, ‘The world’s languages’ in percentages. Quite a surprise. Chinese Mandarin 13.69, Japanese, 1.99, Russian, 2.7, Hindi, 2.82, Bengali, 268, Portuguese, 2.77, Spanish, 5.05, English, 4.84 only, despite all the colonies & the U.S., – and other languages, 61.19%. Who would have thought it? Everybody but me probably. Did I say rain? Rain.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Rain. The wine had the usual odd arrival – one case at 11.30, another at 1.15. Surely expensive? Wettest May for 200 years, they say. Hm. A Man I believed, said ‘hosepipe bans save 2 ½ ins of rain. The water companies leaks in London total 22 ins. I believe that more. MOWED. Just enough let up to make it worthwhile, as it was getting long.

K. rang. In Edinburgh for five days working. A rock & roll wedding before & after. ‘I’m tired & hung over’. I expressed a little surprise as he always thinks he’s told me but hasn’t pointed it. ‘Well, why do you think I haven’t rung you?’ Precious.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

A richer post than usual, for variety that is. First, a thank you note from Sharon Vaughan, apologising for lateness. I’m glad to say, tho’ I did wonder whether K. had prompted her to write it at all. He had spoken to her, as it enclosed to the ticket from the palm. Oh dear, Americans again. The dinner was ‘wonderful’, my ‘home’ was ‘gorgeous’. Still, I forgive her for the third exaggeration, ‘I know why Kevin loves you so’. Oh, the funeral K. went to, was Robin, from Music House, its main partner, & their mentor, I’ve just remembered.

Another letter went straight into the w. paper basket, from a Mackay starting, ‘Dear cousin Angus’. At least she did finish that she didn’t expect me to answer. I wonder did dreaded Donald give her the address?

Started the Dromgoole, & struck by his lack of ear – awful infelicities. We’ll see.

K. rang just as I was sitting down to dinner, quarter past eight, but he knew & said it was quick. He’d come back from Waitrose, & was still laughing. He’d said to an assistant, ‘have you any fresh peas yet? as they might just have (to think one has to qualify peas!) After a little confusion the assistant said they didn’t have them till just before Christmas. K staggered back, saw a manager nearby smiling, asked him, got the same answer & staggered out. I shrieked, too, put the ‘phone down, ate dinner, & couldn’t stop thinking about idiocy. Not knowing about peas is no surprise after Ken Branagh, twenty-five years ago, not knowing how to pod a pea, or recognise a bath mat. It’s Christmas that nags at me.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Overcast but fine. Started marking out tentatively border round pond with turfer. Weak but purposeful. Clipped choisy by French doors – let’s see what happens & I can tidy it with secateurs after a little growth. These two little jobs took three quarters of an hour.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Rain. Dromgoole often has a tin ear, as with all such people now, is afraid of not being slangy enough, but I like him more & more.

Must speak to Janet about D’s letters.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Simon Rew rang – I thought it was Simon C. for a moment, as I’d just written to him.

John’s mother died. Good. Nothing else could happen. And he might have been agonised & made work so difficult.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

K. rang. Coming on Saturday, & hedge. Lovely, but a bit clouded by him saying he is going away for five weeks or so, only coming back for my b’day, or the Sunday after it rather. That’s good at least, as Saturday is no day to go out. I don’t know why he always seems to work thro’ the height of summer. Ah, well.

Rang Mary L. In comparatively good spirits, she told me a story about her youth I’d never heard before. The relation she felt closest to, was her Great Aunt Harriet. She didn’t manage the build up very well, but I did gather that they were in Worcester Cathedral for Martin’s. – G & A.H lived in W – & two young men who were choirmaster & organist & had been teased about the music chosen for the services, began an organ interlude. M saw G. A H crying, & then realised she was crying with laughter. The interlude, in the style of J.S. Bach, was actually ‘A Bicycle Made for Two’.

Repotted the tomato plants just in time. I’d half forgotten how quickly they grow, & how much they are supported by water.

Thursday, June 1, 2006

Ling-ling finally made me understand she’d like to come half an hour or so earlier: said she sometimes waited outside ‘till it was time’. Poor silly girl.

Started clearing all the big terracotta pots of old compost to replant. The old stuff I can use to mulch the bigger new plants with this hosepipe ban.

H. sent me – oh God – an abortion called My Dear Charlotte, some sort of addendum to J. Austin. Could only glance at front title…. Rang & got Geoffrey happily. How can people?

Friday, June 2, 2006

Ordered a few things from Crocus – a white Geranium, & some dung….. & more wine, to make up for that acid Sancerre. Ordered Bosch brochure, to try & break my stalemate over a new fridge. How can I defrost at my age?

Saturday, June 3, 2006 Sunday, June 4, 2006

The first really hot & sunny day of summer. Not that I like hot sunny days these days…. but it was one of the days of my later life.

No, I don’t think I’d be a success as a journalist. He’d rung to say A. wasn’t coming. A bit tired, & after all, she does 9-5 & journeys, so weekends are precious. He always goes straight into the garden – I love that – & seemed impressed. Brought his own ladder this time, & started in on the hedge at once, I said I’d get someone to do it, as he’s so busy now, & rang round, got some numbers, but nobody could come for three weeks at least, as it’s the season of hedges. Over the g & t he said he would like me to get someone to do it, because he wasn’t too keen being up a ladder, – & the hedge must be eight or nine feet. At one point I came out to ask what time dinner, he was coming round the curve of the bay window, &, seeing me suddenly gave a little scream of shock. ‘Who else did you expect to see coming out of my front door?’ Hedge perfect. We set up chairs etc on platform, & he put the new umbrella together, with the bribe of taking away the old one. I’d taken out bottles & glasses & olives & peanuts all on the little folding tables at the side of the canvas armchairs, which still look brand-new. He looked around as we raised our glasses, & said, ‘the way the plants & bushes have grown.’ The umbrella is excellent – a handsome brass crank handle, & it tilts, vital to a sun hater like me. Guinea-fowl etc. Red wine, chilled. Rather touch to that, after all these years, he asked for that, & said ‘have you ever had it chilled?’

Over the coffee, we talked of Sharon V., & he completely dispelled any suspicion that he might have been taken in by her, beyond a good working colleague. He said,’ as we drove away we haven’t got round the corner, before she said, ‘do you think Angus liked me?’ I revealed to him that many yank conventions lacked confidence. Christian names at once, but you still have to get to know someone, & the intrusiveness makes it takes longer.

I showed him her card of thanks, & I’m glad that it confirmed him in his judgement. But she’s a good workman. Only uneasy moment, him saying, after all I’d told him I’d rung A. to say sorry she wasn’t coming, but I quite understood she’d had a party on Thur & was still catching up on. Her office chums. He said he didn’t know why she wanted the job. Nearly said ‘it’s because she wants some independence’. Heavens, does he want her to be a little woman?

Itinerary till July 16! Thank goodness he isn’t going to the States yet. On Thursday he goes to Ireland to work with those people he went to before. Back late on the 15th, to work in the studio till the 20th,when he & A: go on holiday to Croatia till the 30th.

Then in the studio from the first till presumably the 15th, & we celebrate my 80th. Phew.

Today, Sunday, an odd night. Went to bed at 10, feeling usually sleepy & woke at 12:20, maddeningly. But the odd part was what seemed to happen to time. Read, of course, but all through the night, reading at the usual speed, kept finding time moving extraordinarily slowly. And that went on till mid-morning.

Quick flash of the film ‘The Mummy’, just this little bit caught. Hideous decrepit mummy nervous Indian held up a crucifix to fend off evil. It didn’t work, so he held up the Jewish Cross,,…. The Islamic symbol…A Mason’s apron.

John N. ‘phoned. Described his mother’s death bed movingly, because factually Joyce was with him, & they weren’t looking but heard a mild change in the breathing. Last words were to thank them… Have fears every now & and then, & try to face them.

Monday, June 5, 2006

Forgot to say, that, on the way back from Tesco last Tues. called at the local barber, where my driver, Paddy, beckoned him, he asked for my address. Gave him a page of my writing paper, tele. no. & all, after I asked him if a ‘home visit’ was a possibility. He took the page & emitted anodyne noises. Have heard nothing more, a pity but not unexpected.

Went on with hoeing the weeds, which I can still do, & emptying old pots. I can use the old compost as a moist mulch.

New leaf of artichoke rather pallid. Thought the sun coming out would suit it, but not me.

Tuesday, June 6, 2006

Bad night. Meant to beard the barber in his lair, & brazen the situation out with oppressively perfect manners, but when it came to the point, was too tired to do more than Tesco. The very pleasant driver, who suffers from a far too thick accent & noisy neighbours. Polite, without being at all subservient. Expressed interest in house, so when he carried my shopping in, I took him out into the garden. He was kind. Bought seeds courgette etc., after finding mice had turned over the seed basket in the cupboard.

Wednesday, June 7, 2006

Rang K. to wish him a fruitful time in Ireland, & ring me to say he’s back, before the studio stint. He always resists that, not thro’ carelessness but because of the suggestion of some disaster. ‘I can’t help it, I worry’. He rang back, to ask me to ring his new mobile, as it wasn’t working properly. Did so, & it didn’t ring twice. ‘And you with a £60,000 studio’. Not as amused as I should like…..

Thursday, June 8, 2006

Woke at 2:15 a.m. The difficulty arises when I have something to do the next day, as shopping, Ling-ling & so on. If nothing, I can read, & hope, & possibly drop off, even if it’s as late as 6, & I wake at 10.0 if it’s not. And L.L. was coming earlier, my request…. Then she rang to say she’d be a bit later….. & eventually turned up at 10.44, later than she’s ever been. Did the work as usual, with all the extras in the kitchen, as it was sitting-room day. Beastly hot & new shoot on one of the new camellias wilting, & started a morning watering, pottering about with my walking stick, & filling the watering can at the pool, still, of course, empty of life but full to the brim of water. Rest, 1.50 – 5.15, sleep. Bother! Rape of 12 week-old baby. Faces of couple, unfinished features, dead souls

Friday, June 9, 2006

Celebrity (sic)cricket match in India, for charity thankfully. Best comment from an Irishman, of course, ‘I’m not nervous. No, I’m just excited,…. in a brown-trousered kind of way’.

Out at nine-ish to water the camellias, rugosas etc., all new plants, & expensive & already cherished. The heat is now depressing. (I think I shall stop watching the weather forecasts with their poor little suburban presenters, insulated from life, mouthing ‘plenty of sunshine’, ‘dry all day’.) I want to scream at the television, ‘if it weren’t for rain, we’d all be dead!’ now under siege, all three fans, one rather more than just a fan, on more or less permanently. Everything on & everything drawn, blinds & curtains. Vignette thro’ spy hole, just in time to avoid the boy upstairs, shirtless – heavens it must be hot up there – equally heavens, have I recorded I think Charlie has left? – looking through my letter cage over my post, & throwing in most of the envelopes on the floor! Picks them up & takes them upstairs, as they are hispost. I abandon my position as a retired Anglo Indian Colonel.

Must start bird-watching again. In so many ways, I had been put off the garden. The two awful years with Donald, the French doors closed by scaffold for seven weeks & so on, & so on. My own physical decay. I realize that for far too long, I kept a curtain over the French doors drawn, so as not to see how much needed doing. Now I am on top of it again, I can make notes. Just today, I saw again a flock of starlings banging in & out of the pond, & counted at least twenty of them. And sparrows – more difficult to count because in & out of a dust-bowl by the artichoke & in the new border, & flitting in & out of the big rose bushes, gulping, I hope, mouthfuls of greenfly. And one of my favourite sights, & within almost touching distance a blackbird, sunbathing. Flopped a bit sideways, wry necked, with beak gaping, obviously dying of some painful tropical disease, Anthony scary to work. I think there’s a nest in the myrtle.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Watered at 7.30. Finished Explorers of the New Century. I have saved it a chapter at a time, & find it remarkable that I never forget the characters, or plot, ‘inimitable’ is often used, nevermore deserved. Small column, weather summer, ’76, in the Telegraph. D’s last painful summer, & in plain statistical terms more extreme than I realised at the time. Good to have figures. My poor darling.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Watered the four main shrubs at 7.30. 80 – something again. Football everywhere. Pathetic adoration. The England manager, who’s a Swede, & possibly a Mongol as well, gets £4.5m a year!

Monday, June 12, 2006

Watered at 7:45. Weeded a bit.

Barber rang! Perhaps he expected me to make an appointment. Perhaps forgetting he hadn’t said he might come or done anything but accept a page of my writing paper with my address & telephone number. Curiously reticent character. When I asked his name he just said he was at John’s hairdressers, – & eventually arranged to come on Thursday, their half day, on his way to lunch. Interesting, & possibly satisfactory.

Curiously traditional tragic love affair. Girl, fifteen yr. old schoolgirl, v. pretty blonde, boy eighteen, dark, (? some foreign blood) good looking. She dumped him. He came to house, shot her dead, & then shot himself dead, all on the doorstep. As always with such affairs, you wonder why such a fairly common situation ended like this, when so many such affairs fade more or less painlessly away. I suppose it was the boy, with the dangerous wonderful quality of feeling intensely. Kate Gilligan & Joshua Thompson.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Woke up at 12:30 a.m. & never got back, so my rest was sleep from 2 – 5.50. A nuisance. Rain for approx. three hours in the early morning, a great relief, tho’ I am still hoping for audible thunderstorms. H. rang. I didn’t mention her wretched Austen pastiche, or that I can’t bring myself to read it.

Planted the first of the courgette sorts in the old big pots with those little holes for lower shoots. Courgette, Organic Black Beauty, serds of course. Especially as Tesco has stopped doing eatable courgettes.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Planted other courgette pot. the plain thick round one. This is a Jaguar F1 hybrid. Looks black in the picture.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Ling-ling, 9.30, as if nothing had happened. Barber turned up on time. Not the cold fish I saw & ‘phoned, his younger brother, assistant? About 40, but a youngish battered naïve 40. A warm feel, practical, simple &quick. Does decorating, etc. Hm. A step forward.

Suddenly, after all this time, picked up Vol II of The Complete Gilbert White Journals from the book rest in here. I bought the three vols. at my lowest ebb, in a remainders bookshop – is it still there? I think not – in what used to be Scotts Restaurant, looking down the Haymarket from Coventry St. Did we ever go there? I think we did. I can’t have afforded much at the time, but I saw at once they were important, the only complete version & ed Richard Mabey of the general edition. This was in 1991. I did read Vol I with great satisfaction, then things got worse – money I mean – & I could only read for distraction. Now I am relishing it, all these years later. Amazed to see Vol I & II £45, Vol III £50. No sign of what I paid. It can’t have been much, I do vaguely remember they were on one of the really throw-out shelves in the basement.

Friday, June 16, 2006

K. rang to say he was safe back, tho’ he laughed at me for asking.

Tesco’s, that mild almost incomprehensible driver. Stopped at the timber yard by a vast lorry being slowly unloaded by three v. Young workmen, who never made a gesture & avoided eyes. They didn’t know I wasn’t on my way to visit my darling wife… on the way I bought some books, the Mary Wesley biog., the new Sue Grafton, the new Simon Hopkinson cookery book, & a new detec. by Mark Billingham. Hm. Read twenty or thirty pages & threw it across the room. ‘Tough’, ‘cynical’, no doubt from a mild little man with glasses living in Purley.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Quite sour indigestion. Hangover? Weeded for twenty-five mins., after the hideous sun had left the garden at 6.15. Watered as much as I had strength for with a watering can in revolting 85° sun. Torture. Well not actually in the sun.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Huge pop concert with three or four top (sic) names in – Weston-super-Mare. Huge audience. How odd. Isn’t it the dreariest of places? Oh dear, pop concerts. At least with the Lions & the Christians someone was torn in pieces, here you just have to wish someone will be. A better night, but hideously hot. Still, cooler at last tomorrow.

Later. S. rang re my birthday. Working with Laurie? Julian’s cousin, who told him J. died on Saturday. Coo! Well!

Monday, June 19, 2006

The ‘coo’ was for S. remembering his report of John G’s death some days before it happened. The ‘well’! Is for me, because I’m glad poor Ju is dead. God knows how many indignities he’s been guilty of in the ten years since I saw him, when I think of some of them from the previous forty years. I’ll list a few tomorrow perhaps.

Weeded 9.30 – 10 a.m. & 5 - 5.30 p.m.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I find I am quite un-moved by J’s death. Our life with him was over long before D. died & I have not seen or spoken to him for getting on for ten years. I wonder if I recorded the two nails in his coffin that happened close together during my season at Bristol O.V when they wrote ‘Hooray for Daisy’ for the Co. Christmas, 59 was it? At some point in the sold-out run, there was a gala perf. after the usual one for charity. As well as our company, there were The Little Theatre Company., & The Hippodrome show with Jimmy Edwards appearing. As the final item, quite rightly, was Julian, – Salad Days was the biggest success in the W.E still, with a year or so still to run, Free as Air, still on. & he had written the music, too, for H for Daisy, which was packing the Old Vic. The roof fell in, & he played a few well loved songs, & then a silence, & he said, ‘now I want to introduce someone very dear to me, who I think has written some very good songs – my brother Adrian’. I doubt if anyone outside the profession could understand the enormity of introducing an amateur into a professional performance. Just on a practical level, many of the little ones of all three companies would have given their eye-teeth for an audition like this. But this was a really great offence against pro behavior, something you do not do.

I think J. had some inkling of it, as he never gave either of us the faintest hint of what he was going to do. He knew somewhere inside. The other nail was I think, a little later. They were already working on the W.E follow up. Denis Carey came round to say you wanted a session. To D’s amazement, J. ‘wasn’t sure’. It was near Christmas, & his family was expecting him for the whole Christmas week. Amazing. As it chanced, the family incl the gorgon Slade was in his dressing room; I had nothing to do with it, but was treated to the ridiculous spectacle of J. going backwards & forwards between D. & Deni C., & his family, when there should’ve been nothing else to happen but make an immediate date for the conference. I don’t think D. ever quite got over that double betrayal of professional behavior. J’s death is in The Telegraph, so at least that’s settled.

Weeded 8.30 to 9. a.m. Mowed between ten & eleven, before the full sun gets round the trees, & left the mowings on the grass.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Still no rain. Taking great pleasure in the Gilbert White Journals which I suddenly started again on Thursday. Mild, beautiful rhythm, amazing to think what was happening in Europe, & England so perfectly tranquil. Leafing through the Mary Wesley biog. How messy such people’s lives are!

S’s secretary rang, suggesting July 22, a Saturday. Bother.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Cooler, thank goodness. First obituary of J. in Telegraph. Am happy to say D. appears in headline, & adequately in article as his co-author, & ‘the actress D. R.’. Not that either of us cared much about SD but I wouldn’t put it past the Slades to ignore D. if they could. Amusing, as his only real success was with her. His amateurism told painfully against him without. Photo like a preserved corpse, & some years ago at that.

Watered.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Woke to find goodish rain falling, & obviously for some time before. Much better than nothing, but will not be enough to help in the long-term. J’s obit in Independent satisfactorily anodyne, & same preserved photo. Another installment of the Aquilegia Clementine came. Did I say a box of a dozen Aqui came last week from goodness knows where – saying sorry for not sending ‘white’, & here are the ‘whites’. No address to send them back. So planted them in the old green window box & put them in half shade. And then my order of six lavenders came. Is it the same firm? Oh dear, how mechanical & impersonal all these mistakes are!?

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Potted the six lavender in separate pots, with tags, so that I can plant them to height if they survive. At least three were almost dry. Perhaps they went astray like the Aquilegia.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Watched a bit of the party the Queen gave for two thousand children at Buck House. Perfectly done. A stage had been put up, large enough for two thousand sightlines, & no balcony. At first I thought it just a bit of a pros & a platform, but it proved much more, when Mary Poppins ‘flew’ in. (Plastic perf. by the way.) But overall, it was an excellent mild panto type affair, just right for the occasion. The Queen’s handbag stolen, a chase, ending with the handbag presented to the Queen, on stage. She opened it took out the spectacles, flourished them triumphantly to the ecstatic audience, & made her usual perfect speech, specially so thinking of her audience. It was simple & short.

H. rang. Good talk. Told her I couldn’t read her pastiche. She said ignore it. No doubt hurt, but there you are. I had to. Oh for rain.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Good, rain of night, & still going on at ten. Better than last week, as its gentle but quite substantial rain, perfect. And the first day of Wimbledon was cancelled, except for an hour of play.

Later. Even better, and still raining at 7.30.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Following the rain planted the last bit of Asara Europaeum. Behind the Laurus Tinus – the Vinca minor is already spreading, – the old Astrantia, still in a pot from last year’s inertia, & the Stuchy lanata ‘Silver Carpet’, which isn’t, as it’s got the usual tall flower shoot. S.C. is supposed to be just leaves.

! Seem to have forgotten –

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

To Tesco’s. Dark all day & v. dark at six o’clock. Thick cloud. Rang Oddbins as usual. Rudely a new manageress said they knew nothing of me or my card number. Odd after five years or so. Put the ‘phone down, & started ringing round. Long funny talk to J later, during which she suggested Nicolas, branch in Chiswick, opposite the Café Rouge she went to the other week. Rang them, charming French man, encouraging, after amateurs at Oddbins. Order, – ‘we only have two ‘Bombay Sapphire’ – tomorrow!

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Watering (with can, from tap or pond). It’s going to be 80° today. Ling-ling, seems alright if a bit overblown. She took the Mary Wesley book, & letters to the Oddbin’s chairman, British Gas with my transfer still dragging on, & K., to be sure he can manage Sunday for my b’day after a fortnight in studio. Over run? Stand off for my day & back? No.

Later. Piquant. At about 7.50, as I was thinking of dishing up, the bell rang. I nearly didn’t answer. It was Simon! With a glam carrier bag & his briefcase. In a flash I realised he’d mucked up the date for our dinner. July 22. Broke it to him, told him he could pretend it was my senile fault, tho’ I did say to the secretary ‘Saturday? I don’t care for that much’. In any case the restaurant wasn’t booked. I said – & meant it, with pleasure, – I’d knock up a dinner, but he respectably refused. Sat down & accepted a gin & tonic, tho’ I offered champers or white wine or red etc. We had a catching up, a bit about J. Slade, & so on, & he said he didn’t mind because he’d obviously done a lot today, & fairly horrendous timetable for tomorrow, including reading something at Graham Payne’s memorial service! And almost for the first time I saw him relieved that he could go home, because of packed days ahead. (Interesting that he accepted a g & t.) On the sofa, his svelt figure of late had some bulges. More of the same, I wonder. Got him a taxi, that dear Moroccan driver outraged me by taking telephone calls to the point that S. came back out of the car to me again. Modern life is crude. His glamorous carrier bag held no present for me! Poor chap.

Friday, June 30, 2006

Watering 8.45. Tiring filling & walking with, the watering can. I can only water each new plant, not the whole bed. I just hope the first growth of the new border will not be too much hurt. Heat hell. 85° today, so no garden until sunset, as it is little shaded. Tonight had my g & t on the platform, there for nearly an hour, reading Cecil Beaton. What a card he is, & a John’s man too. Am at last reading Andrew Martin’s latest, saved up like the Magnus Mills. It’s the writing I go for, for railways are hardly my thing, but they are with him.

The captain of the English football team has a style too, ‘we have to forget the past at the end of the day’. Which is superfluous, do you suppose?

Saturday, July 1, 2006

Watering 7.30 a.m. Wimbledon. Russian tennis player, Dementiera. Rather rude. Telegraph death col. SHALLOW Violet. (née Cakebread.)…

H. rang, a World Cup refugee. Lovely talk. How repellent the ‘hype’ on sport these days. As usual, no dictionaries have been consulted, ‘utiep’ & ‘over’, ‘above’, ‘too’. ‘Hypertrophy – enlargement due to excessive nutrition’.

Sunday, July 2, 2006

89°. Stifling. Felt a bit ill. Did nothing.

Watered 7.30. ‘Under the weather’, is no figure of speech.

Monday, July 3, 2006

89°. Garden doors won’t close, let alone lock.

One of the July 7 victims spoke. He lost both legs, one eye, spleen. The compensation was calculated on bizarre & shocking principles. I couldn’t take down each sum in time, but the sum awarded for the legs was, let’s say £110,000. For the eye, because of the leg award, the award was reduced by more than half? was it? & an even harsher reduction for the spleen. I wish I had got the exact figures but I did get the final total – £118,000 to carry him through the next 40 years. Who are these people who arrived that these decisions? I suppose the same as those who decide to pay women less than men.

Tuesday, July 4, 2006

Watered 7.30 a.m. Garden doors open – actually cello-taped together against errant breezes. Thought I wouldn’t sleep, & be murdered in my bed, but slept through rather better. Got two numbers from the dear ironmongers, Greenford, just up the road. Rang the first number, John Gould, a good strong voice, ‘I’ll get back to you’. It’s now 9.30p.m., & he hasn’t…. A bit worried. Being murdered in my bed two nights running is a bit daunting.

Rang Nicolas with a wine order. Their wine list is completely French, except for a little other, & a list headed Other Alcohols. Ordered Pouilly Fuisse, but they hadn’t got the one I wanted. But they had got the Saint Veran I wanted, & I ordered six Macon Villages, as well, in a case of six, in case.

Author John Haylock died. An obituary made his works sound interesting, I am ashamed to say I have never heard his name till this day. Or perhaps not so ashamed. We’ll see.

Wednesday, July 5, 2006

Rang other number, ‘Dave’ – I sometimes think all workmen are called Dave – Scots accent, in middle of another job, but could get to me ‘about eleven’. ‘About eleven’ rang to say he’d be delayed, rang at twelve to say when would I be free this afternoon, I said ‘after four’, thinking of my rest, he said, ‘so when are you going out?’ I cleared that up, & we settled for four. About twenty past twelve, he rang to say he could make it in about ten minutes…. On the doorstop, plump, shortish a few teeth missing & a strong scotch accent. Already on the ‘phone to someone else. Left him to it, a few banging’s & scrapings, ten minutes, & he called someone else again while still on the doorstep, so no doubt made one or two further calls. Nevertheless, in only ten minutes he called me in & said ‘try it’, & he’d realigned the doors, the lock worked as well if not better than it ever has. As he packed up, he said ‘I’ve been here before’. ‘Really’, I said politely. I’d never seen him, but possibly K. had employed him during the move… when we first went out into the garden and he pointed to the right hand side & said ‘who owns that part?’ On the way out he turned & said, ‘I was wrong. I haven’t been here before. I read about it in a book’….. I saw he was a simpler soul than I first thought. Found later he’d left a tool behind the bread-maker. He charged £32.

Then the drinks order didn’t come…. My new firm, oh dear. Ordered a case of St. Veron, & six of Macon Villages, as they hadn’t got the Pouilly I wanted. Eventually rang, got a harassed younger voice, who said could he ring back after customer left. Then told me their van driver simply hadn’t turned up, it seems it’s quite uncharacteristic….. I said it didn’t matter, send it tomorrow, he said that was good of me, & thus it was left. In the middle of my main course the ‘phone, ‘I have your wine order for you’. ‘Oh’. ‘I can be with you in ten minutes’. The bell rang almost at once. He was obviously just outside the door on his mobile. Have I ever treated anyone as both lots have treated me? About equal parts of stupidity & carelessness.

Thursday, July 6, 2006

Not quite so hot. Ling-ling brought me an order of eggs & cream. Rain.

Friday, July 7, 2006

The worst heat has gone for the moment. Blessed rain.

Saturday, July 8, 2006

9.15 taxi for Tesco.

Started re-reading Kinky Friedman with pleasure.

More rain.

Sunday, July 9, 2006 Monday, July 10, 2006

Rather sick on Sunday all down the side of the bed, & felt quite disorientated having to look at the paper on Monday morning to find what day it was. Pains in my leg made getting up difficult. Really. Had a little soup today, Monday. Had to cancel my dinner with John N. I am gradually feeling better, but I felt quite worried for a bit.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

I am still disorientated slightly. I find it difficult to connect things, which makes me panicky. I feel stifled, mentally & physically. Forgot to wind watch etc. Slight meals.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

No sleep at all. John N rang, very sweet. K. rang, lovely funny talk about Simon. Offered to come over altho’ he’s in the middle of a v. busy time, but my concern for his work came first. Every now & again, I feel panicky. Why? What is different since Sunday? A tiny stroke? Goodness knows. J rang, & was kind.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Ling-ling. Thought she was doing the kitchen. Another result of not thinking quite straight. A letter from Christopher Slade, telling me of a legacy from Julian. Some pictures – the design for D’d dress in WEWK by Peter Farmer, two caricatures by Julian & a couple of photos of D. Also a legacy proper of £3000. I can just imagine the Sense & Sensibility discussion that produced the bequest.

Civil letter smoothing over any difficulties. Will send cab. I wonder if they have any inkling of our professional disapproval of J.

Friday, July 18, 2006

Still hardly sleeping, tho’ improving, tho’ eating about half.

K. rang, after all, they can come tomorrow. How lovely. I don’t care about the actual date, but this one is a bit special.

Huge bouquet from S? No, from John N. Plus two expensive boxes of wine, & gin. Meursault & Puligny Morirschet. Favourites.

A necessary shopping trip much helped by J. offering to come with me. I still feel rather wobbly.

Saturday, July 15, 2006 Sunday, July 16, 2006

Hot. The present J. left with me was a silver bookmark the sort you slide over the relevant page. Very handsome with masks of comedy & tragedy in gold? at the top.

They arrived about six, bringing with them for reasons I never quite got clear, S’s present, eight bottles of Bombay Sapphire, & three window boxes with little red roses, that I told K. to take away with him, as I have literally nowhere to put them, & don’t want anything more to water in this hideous weather.

Having them here made all the difference, & saved my life. Twice, when we were alone, he asked how I was, in that unmistakable way that gives great comfort that no one else can give. I was warmed thro’ by both of them.

Today I’m eating & drinking normally, tho’ still suffering much from the heat. What would I do without him?

Monday, July 17, 2006

Stay absolutely quiet & try & bear heat. Rang Slade’s, at ten, & happily got Jane, who recognised my voice at once, extraordinary after twenty? thirty? years. Was able to arrange a pickup of the stuff at once. Rang for cab, at about ten to ten. He said straightaway. However, the cab didn’t come back till well after eleven. Not that I minded, but the driver, new to me for a wonder only asked £10. That couldn’t be right, for the distance or time, so gave him £20.

The three caricatures, – two double backed – are of J. Grenfell, G. Lawrance & Wendy Hiller & Robert Morley in The First Gentleman. All three are rather cruder than the one of me at Cambridge, & that, & the subjects suggest that they were drawn before Cambridge. Two photos of D., one of the set I’ve got from the 70s, safer with me then elsewhere, & a lovely one taken in the dressing room, in profile, looking in the mirror, in the dress shop pillar box & dress.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Hideously hot, but got through.

Completely forgot the best bit, Peter Farmer’s design for D’d dress in What E W K. exquisite, tho’ frame & mount ugly.

Forgot to record that, when the pictures arrived, & there was no cheque, I rang back, & was amused that Jane said the money would take longer, with that unmistakable upper-middle- class snap that money produces.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

36. S.C.

Hardly slept, & felt stifled, went from room to room, could settle nowhere, didn’t know what to do, & felt panicked to the point that at six a.m. rang that card number in my wallet, like a credit card, Doctors Direct. Not such a direct doctor, as nobody was available till eleven. She gave me another number. I rang it, a little while later they rang back & said, ‘within the hour’. Rather more than an hour later, a call, ‘here is the doctor’, a Scots voice asked me what was wrong, & I could tell once that he was preparing a ‘phone consultation’. I heard myself acting pathos, ‘please come’, & amazed myself by my panic. It’s the atmosphere, it must be, the air. Anyway, he came after another hour & proved to be a very pleasant thirtyish Scotsman, not the incomprehensible foreigner I’d been expecting. Sounded me, blood pressure, & gave me fifteen tranquillizers he’d brought with him. £165. Here ten? minutes. Anxiety. True, but it must be the heat & air.

K rang 7.30. On my g & t’s, so could pretend. But oh….

Thursday, July 20, 2006

It came on again, in early a.m., & in the end by 8.30, I decided to ring K., & forced myself to wait till ten to nine, comforting myself by the thought that he doesn’t sleep late these days. He was wonderful. Just took it, & began to cope. ‘Leave it with me for half an hour’. Rang back said he’d be ‘over in an hour’ – it was a bit more no wonder – & arrived with a big new air-conditioner & installed it. And, above & beyond all that, was amused & kind &loving.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Lovely long talk to H., when I was halfway through her book. Full of laughter. I’ve picked it up wondering if I’d already read it, & if not, why not? So perhaps it was a tiny stroke. J. rang to offer to go to the shop tomorrow, but I said I wasn’t going quite yet to.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Really solid rain round about dawn.

Dear John N. rang, a loving talk. So I could thank him properly. The heat! ‘I’m in pants or sarong’. They’re on the top floor. Told me their itineraries? Tell Sept.

Reading the Arnold Bennett diaries. Helpful for panic.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Some improvement.

K. rang. ‘Thursday would be easier then today, but if –’. Make it Thursday’ this is for the doctor he wants me to see. He’s away on the 18th. A difficult thought, but if I see this doctor I’ll have someone. Rang J. re-Tesco.

Monday, July 24, 2006 Tuesday, July 25, 2006

5.30 a.m. Watered & found new plants in better heart than expected, as am I with the new air conditioner etc.

K. rang p.m., negotiating with doctors.

Does time move faster & slower some days with other people? It must, I suppose.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Light rain for half an hour at 5 a.m. K rang earlyish. Dr. coming today & K. leaving a session to be here! Said he’d be here at 12.0 & was here at quarter to. Dr. pressed bell at 12.0 exactly. I’d had a chat with him on the ‘phone at his request first, – odd – said his name was Lee. ‘Oh, is that Lee or Leigh’? ‘Actually it’s Li’. Turned out to be sturdy young man (35), Chinese features, ok accent, cheerful, positive. Like all doctors, used to slow wits & not quick enough to notice quick ones soon enough, but otherwise no complaints. Took my blood pressure – a bit high – I’m to take those tiny little daily aspirins – all right, but actors rise to occasions, & so does their blood pressure no doubt. A possible little murmurous something in the heart but possibly not permanent. Various questions, no prescription bar the aspirin, but wants to see me before he goes on holiday on August 9. They’d gone in time for a glass of wine & lunch near normal.

K rang dead on cue at six-ish, just after I’d woken from an excellent 2.0 - 6.0 snooze. Wonderful thoughtfulness. Felt calmer.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Shaw’s b’day. He died successfully, so I suppose I can.

Dr. Li rang to see how I was, & I suggested Monday week for the appt. he wants before I go away.

At last this wretched hideous weather that almost everyone seems to find wonderful, seems to be breaking at last. Mentioned grudgingly by most of the young forecasters as if we lived our lives on a Caribbean island & rain & shade were totally irrelevant nuisances. This evening there was a bit of thunder here & probably violent storms elsewhere, all the same, we had good solid strong garden soaking rain from 6 – 7.30 at least. I started dinner.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Bad night. Dozed off at 9.0 – one drink too many, no doubt – having lain down for a moment (sic) after picking up the vacuum water-jug. Woke at 12.30. Couldn’t face a whiskey, obviously. Restless, tho’ not as bad as last week. Eventually read, dozed about three? & woke at 8.0. So I suppose I had enough sleep, tho’ it didn’t feel like it.

Talk to Mary L. after a bit of a gap. Calm, fatalistic. Sending her more whiskey if I can get round to it.

At last they say the heat wave is finishing. But August, and the most ghastly and empty dusty month of all is still to come. And he’ll be away.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Similar night, but got five hours sleep one way & another, – better than Arnold Bennett. Negatively cooler, that is, I haven’t had to turn off the angle-poise light because it was like having an electric fire by my face. Rain tonight they say. Picked up Nancy Mitford’s letters, & took comfort from the wit & the pain & my youth.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Had a sudden burst of restless claustrophobia, & went straight into the garden at a quarter to nine & weeded a good chunk of the new bed before the sun came round. Felt better.

Rank K. 12.0 I left a message yesterday as to whether he was coming today, or later in the week when I might have to be at the doctors or something. Said it’d be end of the week, so I’ll arrange doctor for tomorrow week. Told me of first crowd noise at the new Arsenal ground. Not a sound! How odd sound is, as it’s about the same distance away as the old one, but in the opposite direction. I keep forgetting to ask him how all this will increase the value of his house, what with the luxury houses round the old pitch.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Weeded, & felt a burst of senile energy. Ordered a cab, dressed & went to Waterstone’s & Tesco’s. W v empty & much the same books. The holiday exodus is ridiculously obvious these days, oh the masses. Only find, the Trevor Roper/BB letters. How many people have bought that? And how bored by it might I be? And Then Tesco’s & home not too finished. I think it’s the first time I ordered a cab only an hour in advance. It’s being cooler.

Thursday, August 1, 2006

Shocked to see in The Independent that Adam Raven is dead at 52. Rang H. at once, as she has been close to Susan Raven, – in later years, reluctantly close. A.R. had bipolar whatever it is, & although violent at one or two points was apparently mild & amenable as a rule. A painter, of a sort, & earned something from that, I suppose, judging from the one or two shows mentioned, though I guess they were arranged thro’ Susan’s friends & money, Susan being Kilner Jars……. What a pathetic mess their lives have been. A love-less fuck by Simon Raven, whom I knew enough to find it impossible to imagine him having a loving fuck. Susan was crisp & brittle to a generously self-confident degree, oh what punishment! She has looked after Adam most faithfully – plenty of money not hurting – &, although she will be very sad now, there may be a little brightness in thinking that he will not be left in perhaps alien hands, as he would if he ordinarily outlived her. Obit. by someone called Turville. Seems he was on a cruise ship with a companion – no, he wasn’t gay – & was found dead in his cabin in Barcelona.

Have already sent it to Hazel, but the last sentence something like ‘the consul finds that his heart has not been returned after the autopsy’. Rang H. at once. Both very shocked, & was glad I could, as they don’t see the papers till later.

Rang one of the hedge cutter numbers. Said he’d ring back. Did, & said he’d ring back tomorrow, to say when he come to look at the hedge, also tomorrow. Other number, answer machine didn’t work, but he rang back all the same & had to put him off.

Wednesday, August 2, 2006

Cooler again. Weeded 8 – 8.45 a.m. H. rang to thank for cutting. Another good talk of sympathy, pity & laughter. Susan & her crispness has certainly had its come-upness with a vengeance. She has acted, from what H. tells me, with great courage and principle, but oh what an end. Still, as I said to H. she may find a little shaft of light. If she’d died first, as, at seventy?.. she might be expected to do, I am sure that, despite all the excellent arrangements that her brains & her money might have made for him, she was still leaving him at risk. After all, his end, as it was, was disorganised enough. So she may have a gleam of relief.

Thursday, August 3, 2006

Hilarious item on London News. A house in Hackney, lived in by a ‘recluse’ for the last forty years, a lower class Duke of Bedford. All we could see of the house was like a bomb site. Tunnels, you see. Some of them went not only right across two pavements & the road, but sixty feet along it. Already the buses have had to be rerouted….. So far, sixty tons of rubble has had to be gingerly removed.

Hedge cutter rang, day late, when I’d already engaged the answer machine – failure one. Mowed poor starved dry lawn with high blades just to tidy it.

Friday, August 4, 2006

Feeling low & a bit panicky. K at weekend? More heat with August, hottest of all stretching ahead? Forced myself not to ring him till seven-ish & at 6.15 he rang! Tues eve ‘more suitable’, for dinner, & I was glad, so I will see him after the doctor, & have the weekend to get ready.

Saturday, August 5, 2006

Calmer. Got thro’ day well. Reading Benjamin’s letters a help. Ordered wine. New firm questionable. Rang H. at five, long talk, noticing that I was in a bit of the state, talking more quickly & animatedly than usual. The forecast does suggest it will be really cooler after Sunday. Heat lasting longer in the south-east of course.

Watered the new plants at 6.15. so hard with only watering cans.

Sunday, August 6, 2006

Quiet today, doing little bits here & there & dreading tomorrow, one way & another. A shop because of Tues night, doctor & hedge cutter.

Monday, August 7, 2006

Slept more than I thought I would, & found I was only tokenly nervous despite the possibility of an immediate ‘I’m afraid you must have all your internal organs removed at once’. A good omen, my favourite driver, Paddy, so no difficulty there. Dropped off the suit I mail ordered foolishly & the heating pad from Joan Plowright’s junk room at the charity shop on the way. A converted shop at Ken High St. end of Earls Court Rd., no 41. Very smartly done, up-to- the-minute, perhaps more rooms upstairs. Dr. Li came to greet to me ten, fifteen minutes before my apt. All surprisingly anodyne.

Listened to my heart & chest again, took my blood- pressure again, told me of the sort of murmur – some other word – asked the other youngish fat doctor to do so too, ‘as he was going to be there if I wanted him’, as Dr. Li was going on holiday, & he said the same. I said ‘should I do anything about it?’ ‘No’. Only new test, a blood test. Unbelievably he spoke sideways again to the other doctor, at me not being able to find that entry in my diary. Said again about an NHS doctor as ‘we had no insurance’. Out in quarter of an hour? with a bill for this & the other day, for £210.

To Tesco’s & on the spur, decided to buy & get Paddy to take, Mary L’s whiskey, as all part of the tiresome day. Satisfactory

Drank a whole bottle of John N’s Meursault, smooth as silk, with the aspara & poached eggs. Slept.

Hedge cutter Jeff Green, was thirty-five minutes late & I saw at once it was all part of a defeated life… thirty-fiveish, good looking to the point he could go straight into a soap opera, (but no higher), & cut the hedge perfectly, ‘how long might you be?’ ‘it’s the bagging up that takes the time’. it took him an hour & a half, & the hedge was perfectly cut, & perfectly cleared up.as he left, he said ‘you have got my number?’

Lovely to talk to K. Dinner tomorrow.

Tuesday, August 8, 2006 Wednesday, August 9, 2006

He’d said something about ‘six’, so was ready, but, in the end he rang at seven-ish, & said he’d got to drive someone somewhere, & wasn’t quite finished, so what with one thing & another, I said ‘aim at 8.30?’ ‘Right’. Work comes first. In the end he turned up just after eight. Rather hot, but went straight to the air-conditioner & put the castors on. ‘What do you want?’ ‘A gin & tonic’. Dinner, cold gammon, gave himself a big second help. Told me about the group he is been producing for some months. Irish, you see. The album is finished, & has been for some time. Yet they were arguing today over a ten or five seconds pause between sections of a song. He told them he had to go & see his old father, ‘he is very difficult, get angry & frightens me etc’. Hysterics, – from me, I mean.

We talked thoroughly through the doctor’s stuff, & agreed to go no further with the private dr., or any other! We arranged how I can ring him in the U.S. tho’ I won’t see him till Sept the s’thing. It doesn’t matter. No real son could be more loving or more perceptive. This has been one of the half dozen nights of my life.. I am settled.

And today, as he stayed till eleven I’m getting over it.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Wrote it in a letter to him and enclosed a card, stamped, for him to tell me the sort of times I can ring him if he can…And an added paragraph, as another ghastly terrorist scare & crisis unfolded on television. If only he needn’t go, but I must give no sign of that.

Ling-ling asked for £60 advance again. First this year isn’t it?

BBC1 & ITV wiped off all programmes to parade a continual repetition of about a quarter of an hours actual news, of 24 Muslims arrested, terrorist outrage imminent & foiled, etc. Etc. All this for three hours. Airports in chaos, all flights cancelled etc. Etc. Well, I hope they are guilty this time. How hysterical everyone is nowadays. If this were the war, there wouldn’t have been anything but the news for five years.

K. rang. Not going to Ireland this coming week. Nothing to do with the situation. Wonderful. Told him the contents of the letter I’d given to Ling-ling to post. He was touched.

Friday, August 11, 2006

I don’t think this terrorist show is going to run long. Too little incident, ropey casting, boring first act.

Still no rain. It was forecast on BBC, & that idiot Peter? said it was raining there… only a mile away, isn’t it? It wasn’t here. Bitter.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Still no rain. Tho’ widely forecast. Tesco’s at 9.15. Shopping is an event now.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Heavens, the day K would have gone to Ireland & it’s the thirteenth. Rained a lot of the night & pretty steadily today, wetting gentle rain till about five. A good two inches in bowl, though that is not meteorologically two inches of rain.

Longish talk to H. No response from Susan Raven, & no death notice in the Telegraph. H. not surprised, tho’ I would have thought there was a conventional side to S.R., which might have demanded that. Possibly she’s outlived any relations who would mind.

Huge queue at Heathrow, outside in the rain, issued with pink mac’s with pixie hoods.

Monday, August 14, 2006

John N. rang. He’d been worried because he’d left message & I hadn’t answered, & then I left that querulous message, mentioning ‘doctor’…. Then he found he’d dialed the number wrong. They’re off up north to what’s-her-name. Austria was freezing. After the visits, he’s going, for the Tate, for five days at the beginning of September, to China.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

A bit of banging upstairs & a H’smith & Fulham van outside. Hmm. A bit claustrophobic again, but a very good night. Slept through, a rare event now.

Gardened for necessity, but also for pleasure & whatever is the opposite of claustrophobia. Started on clipping back in the Choisya on the platform, & more or less finished it. Also started on the fearful invasion of the Virginia Creeper from where? Managed over half an hour, & must try to make this a daily discipline.

Going on with the Betjeman with life-saving enjoyment.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

At last cleared up the mess round the woodshed, when the heat drove me indoors weeks ago. Despite the very good rain at the weekend, the soil is bone dry again. Feeling down & restless & slightly panicky again, but only for a time. Being 80, I believe.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Ling-ling. No money. Cleared V. Creeper off the biggest of the tree ferns. A biggish pile. Must keep going.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Quiet today with much pleasure in Betjeman. Even more pleasure in rain, rain & more rain. Kept me out of the garden. Good. But about five I had to turn on both air-conditioners & fans driven by claustrophobia. It’s not particularly hot, so it’s not physical, but mental. I hope being 80 causes it & having claustrophobia carefully instead of something worse. K rang, dinner, Sat or Sun. Said Sun.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Bad night, which means I’m noticeably stiffer & more tired. Cab at 9.15, to Waterstone’s in Ken High-St., A. N. Wilson’s Betjeman, a detec. of which I only read two chapters & put it in the Oxfam bag, but an unexpected treat, a book of Betjeman’s radio talks, not before published. Good. Also a new novel, Andrew O’Hagan’s ‘Be Near Me’, which has had reviews extravagant enough to make me buy a new novel by an author unknown to me, – his third.

No garden because good rain, which is supposed to continue tomorrow.

Turned on the Prom, & there was an earnest young Russian bass, booming a longish phrase, with the subtitle, ‘Oh, my Russian people, I know you are internationalists at heart’. Hadn’t the heart to hear more, or even look it up.

Sunday, August 20, 2006 Monday, August 21, 2006

Arrived without A., as she was a bit swamped, not, as I thought, with work but ironing everything for his three weeks in Nashville. For once I was glad, as my stupid nervousness wanted him to myself if he was going to be dead by the end of the week. Told him everything I felt, as well as the absurd nerves lately. He said I could ring every day. He’d forgotten to bring coffee – went to the Co-op for it, Alto Rico – as I’d left a message. Mended the fan. In high spirits. Many shrieks. He is so sensible. That’s why I’m nervous when he goes away. He wriggled his fingers at me at the car window. Oh, I hate planes.

Today, Monday, a bit low, but stable because I can ring. Started the Trevor Roper & B.B. Letters. Heavy. A suspicion of ‘written for publication.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Read through A.N. Wilson’s Betjeman. I’m afraid he is becoming more & more superficial. Talk on flyleaf of having ‘consulted the huge archive’. Little evidence of fresh material. Particular mention of Penelope’s letters. Are there half a dozen new ones? I don’t think so, & don’t think I shall keep it.

Expected K. to ring with tele no’s, but no. No odd panics, just worry.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

S. Times wine delivery, new Pinot Grigio. We’ll see. Slept badly. In v. early a.m., three, three-thrity, Andrew O’Hagan’s Be Near Me, which has had such rapturous notices that I bought it. Hm.

In wills column John Nick’s ma’s will. Over a million. Just the two boys…

Rain K. Gave me Sharon V’s telephone numbers, mobile & all. Said goodbye, I hope hiding my fears. Has to have a cab at 5.45. Wrote to him in Nashville, as soon as I put the ‘phone down.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Slept reasonably, thank goodness. Pangs all day going through the journey with him. He thought he’d get in about ten our time, & persuaded me not to sit up.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Letter from Hazel, with pictures of the cover of the J. Austin related book, ‘Mrs. Hurst Dancing’, & a photo of Geoffrey’s nephew, Oliver Gilbert, just left Central. Interesting list of characters, Melchior in Spring Awakening, & R III!

Rang H. to thank her, & found her fresh from a series of exhaustive tests for heart. Had a breathless attack during the talk. They really do seem to be fixed on illness. I thought it was Geoffrey who’d cornered the heart. How often G. goes for scans & days in hospital, & next week ‘Geoffrey’s mowing the lawn’. The sort of lawn that needs a machine you sit on.

Just as I was beginning to feel worried, A. rang to say he was all right, thank heavens. I didn’t quite get what had actually happened, as A. does not narrate, but I did catch that he missed his connection to Nashville, & with, I take it other delays, the journey took twenty hours. She said, laughing, but piercing my heart, ‘he was more worried about telling you than me’. Poor boy. I was beginning to imagine all sorts. Later. And she left me a little worry, ‘he was a bit ill’.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Tesco’s 9.15. Boring. New driver, difficult accent, poor chap, why does no one help them? Possibly funny, but I think many customers would thinking cheeky. At least he has a liveliness.

Going on with the Trevor Roper. What feline malice! Rather satisfying that he embodies ‘Oxford’ to me in my time. I am also pleased that my idea of Bernard Berenson is fully confirmed by the footnotes & linking paragraphs. He writes eager for gossip to T.R. About some Oxford elections, with everyone jockeying for position. Hamish Hamilton has seemingly let T.R. down badly & is weak, vacillating etc. Etc. B.B. is very sympathetic. The next link has HH unable to account for T.R’s behaviour, & BB. is very sympathetic. What a crew.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Nerved myself to ring K. – & got an answering machine at, eleven thirty a.m. their time. (How odd, this page is reacting as if it’s wet.)

John N. rang, back from their Fiona holiday. How odd it all sounds! Now she has her own house, but seems to reduce it to chaos & dirty dishes. Dinner is possible.

Sally Ducrow rang! I’d quite forgotten she was coming in August. Rallied bravely, & asked her to lunch on the day she suggested, Tuesday. Why didn’t John mention her – she’s staying with them. Looking forward to it & apprehensive – the usual mixture of these days.

J. rang & K. didn’t.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Sally D at 12.30. For me, such a success that the bell ringing to the cab I’d ordered to take her wherever she wanted, I thought must be an hour early, quarter to two instead of to three. I had not forgotten how charming & forthright she is. She is now fifty-nine, looks younger, & is now living with a younger man of forty-six. She lives in Cannes now, & divides her time between sculpture, and, for a limited time in the summer, cooking for especially rich families. I wish I saw more of her. His name is Fabrice Guerin, & he is Captain of a ferry. She brought me some cherries & peaches, actually ripe.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

John N rang. Off to China. So dinner at the Brackenbury on the 12th. So I booked. Ordered china pillar at last for umbrellas & sticks, & new, oven glove. Slept till 5.30 in the afternoon.

Ling-ling half an hour late, arrived just as I was getting a bit worried. Then the barber was an hour late or more. I’d put off lunch, to irritation point & finally rang. He said he’d be a while yet. I snapped, ‘just give me time to have lunch’. He arrived during the last mouthful. Tired.

Friday, September 1, 2006 Saturday, September 2, 2006

A tiresome two days. Was sick on Thur – Fri night, or morning. I don’t exactly know when. Brought the old washing-up basin into the bedroom to be safe. Felt detached, not really here, & didn’t eat anything all day. Slept four hours in afternoon. Found my left knee, which is a little stiff, kept painfully giving. Why? Then the bedside angle-poise on which I depend completely for the papers, & for reading generally, especially to sleep, went. That’s the second to go. They should last for years. Felt very lonely, & up most of the night, feeling really sick every half an hour or so. Never before. Old age, I suppose.

In the morning, against all my nausea & tiredness, I decided to go down the road – in a cab, of course – & buy an Angle-poise at the lighting shop. Ordered the cab, it came, went out to take it, & fell. A sharp pain in my lower right back, & a slightly wrenched left wrist. Could have been worse. Bought a lamp the girl said was Angle-poise, but a smaller model. When I got the box home, it was a different make altogether, spindly, needing to be assembled, & when assembled, & I’d pushed the bed aside with terrific weak efforts, didn’t work. Did eat lunch, thank goodness. Went for my rest at two thirty-ish & to my amazement & worry, woke at quarter to nine, with three phone messages from J. Very touched that she’d been concerned enough to do so. Told her of fall, she expressed too much concern, as almost everyone does. They almost never take the evidence of the victim, perhaps not surprisingly as it is seldom accurate. Accurate victims suffer.

Sunday, September 3, 2006

Well, I wasn’t accurate. Writing from notes today, I put today’s rest into yesterday. Today’s rest was 2.30-ish to 8.45. Yesterday’s was 2.15 to 7.30. Bad enough. And the three phone messages were today from J. So I got in a muddle of unreality. I think I’m coming out of it now. Back still v. painful at sudden movements, but hope it will improve fairly quickly as it’s only an injury.

Monday, September 4, 2006

A bit better if a bit stiffer. Rang J. & asked her to buy lamp, as she was going shopping – Peter Jones & so on. Later she rang & said she got a lamp, & tho’ it was not an Angle-poise, ‘it was identical to me’. Aren’t people extraordinary? I’d said, ‘an Angle-poise or nothing’. I said I’d send a cab for it tomorrow. Later realised I needed a shop & decided to go myself, after arranging the cab every which way.

Thursday, September 5, 2006

Much better physically, expedition no effort. Tesco. Back here, lamp does look similar, but it isn’t so solid or so immovable in any position. And the metal shade gets so much hotter that you can’t touch it to move it that special inch. Still it will do, till I can venture for a new one myself. I should have known, as it was only £30.

Rest at 2.30, woke at 8.15. This must stop.

Wednesday, September 6, 2006

Sat up for rest with both lights on, & outside the bed clothes. Irritatingly I hardly felt sleepy. A treat in the post, a three CD set of John G’s ‘48 Hamlet, sent me by S., also enclosing a timetable of his work from late August to the end of September – October emptier – & into November. A ridiculous schedule.

Looked at garden. Still 81°, must wait for real autumn, before radical weeding, or more plants will burn up & when will the hosepipe ban be lifted, if ever?

Thursday, September 7, 2006

Ling-ling a comfort as a constant at a time of flux, with K. away & me feeling down & so on. J. rang & we had a talk, tho’ didn’t mention ‘Angle-poise.’ Rang Selfridge & found they have two different sorts of A’poise….

Struggling with Empsom. Fearfully dull, clumsy letters for the most part, academically turgid to a degree, but every now and then mildly pleasant & pleasantly written letter. Mind you, that’s not saying much, by his standard. So far the majority of the letters are a couple of printed pages too long & I think the editor, John Haffenden is a polytechnic type ass.

Left answer machine message for K., tho’ he doesn’t seem to get them. I feel a bit guilty I haven’t rung before – he might be worried.

There are 193 different countries.

Friday, September 8, 2006

K. rang, & he hadn’t had the message. Gave a technical reason I didn’t understand or bother about. Oh, it was so lovely to talk & tell him about my fall & other troubles. There was such feeling in his voice over that, & not ringing – not that I expect him to. He told me of Arlete’s movements, – a week in Portugal, &, just lately, she went somewhere & did a parachute jump! He was fairly horrified, but I’m sure she wouldn’t see why. Much as I love her, I have always known that she lacks the sort of imagination that goes all through horrors when someone you love might be in danger. I didn’t say, of course, but he was a bit hurt by it. Work goes well, & it isn’t too hot. And he was there, with me, with all his thoughtfulness & sweetness of nature.

Saturday, September 9, 2006

Going to be hot again this weekend in SE, eighty something at least one day. Ridiculous. Had rest, but didn’t oversleep. H. rang. She’s had some sort of verdicts, it might be angina. I was amused that she began by asking how my back was. I do see that it would be very difficult for Geoffrey if she became really ill. All the same, she got too breathless to talk after a few minutes.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

On a sober religious programme, albeit a popular one, an equally sober middle-aged quiet American academic, a professor of a University I’ve forgotten, was interviewed quite unsensationally at quarter past ten in the morning, & told us that the Bush administration had arranged the Twin Towers horror themselves so that the US public could be persuaded to support the war against Iraq & Afghanistan. It seems a survey of the Yank public showed that 50% – looks more impressive than a half – agree with his conclusions. Well, I have to say, I’ve wondered. Didn’t write the other day, I found it so unlikely there haven’t been so many more attacks if the Al Qaeda is anything like it’s painted.

Rang dear John N. to confirm Tues. He’s v. tired after China.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Ordered four items from the new Foreman & Field catalogue. Rather dashed that someone rang back that the biggest item wasn’t available till the next week, so they said they’d send the whole order a week on Friday instead of this Friday. Hm.

Then rang Nicolas, possible new drinks firm. Spoke to pleasant young man, only been there a fortnight, so ‘someone’ will ring back between two & three. The only fact I got from him was that they had ‘two bottles of Bombay Sapphire’, just like last time, – they never have more than two, obviously. Had to ring back at five, & .The French manager. Never-mind the two gins, they had no Saint Veran. I don’t think he likes selling or stocking anything.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

A lovely evening with John Nick, so lovely I forgot to ask a couple of practical questions. A bit of a hiccup at the beginning, he rang to say he was so hot & sticky he was going home after his meeting at six, to have a shower & change. Would he get here in time for us not to lose the table? He’s coming in the car etc. Etc. Rang Brack’ might be quarter of an hour late. In the event, my aged fussiness was idiotic, especially as Brack’ was only a third full in the first part & completely empty all night in our part. Philippe is in the new restaurant in Wandsworth, & it’s the long thin streak of nothing. Service v. slow, but food as good as ever. Some staff laid off as empty? 1st, oyster? mush with garnishes in a delicious delicately pale pure green creamy sauce, 2nd Ballotine of chicken, breasts stuffed. Lovely. Told of his three days in China.

A little disappointing, no intriguing detail or personalities, but then that’s not his gift. Dear Joyce seems more stable. Back here after I settled down to look at family photos, brought at my request. All framed! His father, his pathetic father, rather good-looking, a surprise. Joyce has her father’s face almost exactly. Fascinating. What a good friend.

Still so heavy & muggy & humid. Nearly 80°. Thunder & rain all night, I hope, & all day.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

K. rang again, such a treat. I can go on with life so much easier after. So fascinating, doesn’t say much, reminds me of D. no stories, mention of other people he is working with, no picture of the day-to-day life. But, like D. he’ll tell me bits, bit by bit, when I see him. He’s off to another musician before coming home & will ring me on Sunday morning when he’s safe back. And without me asking! Another little puzzle sorted, – he’s going to France three days later to work, not with A. to look for a house. A relief.

The Empson very heavy going. So many of the letters are indifferent academic articles, & really repellent insults abound.

Rain, a lot, but that humidity & heaviness & mugginess & over 70°. Temperatures still crushes.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Told K. last night of Frank Middleman’s death. I’d forgotten he knew him, & he was touched. We both found we couldn’t remember his partner’s name. Amused on two counts, first because in F.M.’s Obituary in The Telegraph, he had told whoever it was, that he had a room in the partners flat & ‘that was all’. Hm. For forty years & well known in the profession, a couple. What was his name? A tall noble looking actor who played the savage in ‘The Little Hut’ & many elder Regency statesman. On second count, K. forgets names too, at half my age!

As well as K. not going house hunting, had a real pleasure when I answered my bell. There was dear Charlie from upstairs, back – tho’ I didn’t say – after a good many months, surely there was that big row. ‘I’ve been very busy’. We shook hands. Did I say I had a card from Michelle & C. – tho’ I thought it was the son – warning me there was a party this weekend, for the son going to Nottingham Univ on the 23rd. I don’t feel so apprehensive.

J. rang to say lunch on Sat. – I actually broached D’s letters. She said done half of them. Such a relief, as K. will ask me.

Abandoned Empson three quarters of the way through. V. unusual for me. Could not persevere any longer against such boredom & unpleasantness.

Perfect start to the day. Message on the machine. ‘Oh, glad I’ve got machine’ (probably midnight in US.) ‘The name was Geoffrey Toone. Toone’. Shrieked.

ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 194

September 15 2006 - January 1 2007.

Friday September 15 2006

Necessarily quiet day, for a possibly tiring one tomorrow. For a start, there is the party upstairs. Despite their very considerate card, I am bracing myself for disturbing and prolonged noise. After all, it’s a party for a boy going off to university. Then there’s lunch with J in K High St. I couldn’t miss the chance of help with a shopping day. Still, close, and muggy.

Saturday Sept 16 2006

Well! I hardly know whether it was better than my fears! First, J called at 9.30 to cancel, as she has so often done. Partly annoying, because I’d arranged some good and useful shopping. A diary, books, globe artichokes at Waitrose, which the huge Tesco never has, just as it’s got rid of those thumb sized courgettes, the only eatable size, but I must say partly pleasant, - nowadays any excuse to stay seated is a temptation.

As for the party, I am still wondering. For a few hours, it was almost as bad as if it was bad, as I kept waiting for the noise to begin. After all, they’d asked to be forgiven for the noise beforehand. But when I’d had dinner, I went into the hall and could only just hear a few people talking. I’d at least expected some music, perhaps muted by the two false floors. Nothing but voices – no words – like background party noise on radio. It was sensible of me to listen. Now I can relax.

Sunday Sept 17 2006

K rang at five to ten this morning in the taxi from Heathrow, safe back, croaky, tired, invigorated. Gardened.

Monday September 18 2006

On some TV programme someone said there are 400 churches in London. Surely that’s an absurd underestimate, even if they mean only Anglican…

Gardened. If only dear K knew how he invigorates me, and gives me strength!! To go on with my life. Oh this drought, - despite quite a bit of rain, I dare not completely weed!

Tuesday September 19 2006

The charm of London life. To W’stone’s in Ken High St. and Tesco’s at Brook Green. Perhaps I should have turned back at the beginning… The cab was quarter of an hour late, a very unusual occurrence. The ‘phone rang and the controller said the cab was outside, but the driver could get no answer! ‘He never rang the bell!’ He knocked on the door! ‘Not loudly enough to be heard.’ Went out, a young driver I hadn’t had before. We set out, and almost at once we were in a jammed Uxbridge Rd., v. unusual. Addison Rd was even worse and Ken High St. was solid both ways. It took half an hour – more – to get to Waterstone’s. Bought the new L. Woolf biog., two unknown thrillers, and the paper-back of a Camilleri I already had in hardback.

Ken High St. still solid both ways, - it took us 20 mins to get to Olympia, a 3 min coast. Got to S. Bush Rd, and – got across to the Tesco’s approach when someone let us through. When I paid, the woman cashier had the vapours halfway thro’ cashing up my bill, and they had to find someone to finish it, after a pause. I quite excepted something to happen on the way home, but, apart from having to take Goldhawk and a bit round the back street, it was straight forward. By this time, I’d come round to the driver – a sense of humour, as well as common – and he only asked ‘whatever-you-usually-pay’. I gave him £20 and the £5 tip. We left here at 9.30, and got back at 11.10. What’re the distances? Mile and half.

Wednesday September 20 2006

Gardened half an hour but still hampered by the drought. It is still too hot to weed all the cover of the five main plants, all I can manage to water with the hose-pipe ban. Although we haven’t had at all bad rainfall, the ground still goes dusty after a day or so. Oh the oddness of today! Young man with clipboard at door, in what at first I thought reading-the-meter mode. His English very poor indeed, almost totally incomprehensible. In fact, I would not have tried to understand him, if I had not so recently left London Gas and there had been a bit of toing and froing. He pointed to some figure – one naturally thinks there is something wrong with the bill. I toiled to my desk and got the last EDF letter. He made no more sense over that. I toiled again, and got the last two gas and elec bills. I still didn’t know which he represented – not a word could I disinter. At last I realised he was from ‘a French firm’, and wanted me to change. I was angry at the waste of energy despite the notice on the bell, and said ‘Oh you’re a salesman’, packing the word with contempt, and shut the door on him. Poor chap. Still far too hot. Have I said about the Booth biog?

Thursday September 21 2006

Ling-ling. I mistook room again. I must get hold of the new order… after 3 yrs. She hadn’t bought the three things she listed. Gave her £10, in case it was that, tho’ she had said on the ‘phone that it wasn’t.

Yes, the Booth. It’s been in my little to-read book-slide for – years, perhaps two, three? A life of Junius Brutus Booth, the English actor who spent the great majority of his career in the (fairly) primitive US. It sounds to me as if his English accent and education made him first rate to the Americans, tho’ only run of the mill here. The book, by an American academic, Stephen Archer - professor of theatre at Missouri University – heavens, is not quite so ponderous and out of proportion as that would suggest or as I thought when I first tried to read it, and gave up for easier reading. This time I persevered, and it’s honest uninspired accurate work. The poor chap died before Edwin Booth’s real success or John W.B. shot Lincoln. J. BB took to drink in advance.

Friday September 22 2006

Finished the Booth, a decent bit of recording, little more. Rained from midnight, when I saw it, through most of the night, judging by the puddle out front, and the soil in the garden, and most of today until five, so a good soaking. Now if we could have this for the next two or three months, at least twice a week, preferably most days, we might get back to something like normal. I’m afraid that it will be too dry again by Sunday.

The Forman and Field order arrived, - I’d almost forgotten – attractively presented, but not impressed by the feel of the Beef and Mushroom Pies, crust soggy. Froze it, and the sausage, put the salmon pâté in the fridge as it’s in a jar with those clamps and dated 10 Oct, and the roulade of duck and partridge wrapped in bacon, which I had half of tonight. Not as special as I’d hoped, only acceptable. Started the Woolf (Glendinning biog. Longueurs, but then…)

Saturday September 23 2006

Autumn equinox, perhaps these tiresome 70º temperature will at last start to fade away. And so I hope, will my mild attack of food poisoning. Pangs every twenty minutes from six-ish, no sickness or diarrhea, but threatened. Had no lunch. Put the rest of the ‘roulade’ in the bin. Really got into the Woolf. Wondered, but had a full dinner, gin and all, and the pangs vanished.

Sunday Sept 24 2006

Rang John N., poor boy, so busy, but I do need HH and C’s no. So sweet when he rang back, and gave me address of his Arcade, off Bond St. Can I dress the part? At £500 a pair of spectacles? Opened the curtains, a four or five spread of pigeon feather on lawn, good. Now a spread of red fur and paws.

Monday September 25 2006

Message on machine from John N. HH and C number one I’ve already got, so they kept it and moved. Rang, got the sort of young man I can talk to. A restful beginning. Well, everyone likes their own dialect.

Even lovelier, K rang, back ! two days early. Shrieks over R. Everett. Sian and Charlie at weekend? I might pop over.

Tuesday September 26 2006

Tesco. That wicked driver, who so overcharged me. So he’s still with them, but Pat has somehow kept him away from me. I hope I was natural. He is still self-conscious – he’s an idiot. So amused, in the fragmentary ‘Book dept’ of Tesco, more or less the ten best selling paper-backs. I was riveted by a hardback, lying on the shelf, Rupert Everett’s autobiog. Just published. Sticker on front, Tesco’s price £9.97, publishers price £18.99.

HH and C rang to check credit card numbers so added some of that lovely birthday Meursault. K rang re doctors bill, £100 for call out, but he’s had a bill from a Dr. Clark for £400 odd. Fraud? Mistake? No Dr. Clark. Said I’d come over for two g&t’s if they’re there. Terrible night. Actually no sleep. Rest not too long, so a possible night.

Wednesday September 27 2006

Good. Woke to pee once, and woke at five. Rupe’s biog. unexpectedly much better written and organised than I expected.

Mowed lawn for the weekend - possibly K, definitely the rain.

Thursday Sept 28 2006

First drinks order from Haynes Hanson and Clark. No Meursault alas. It’s finished, - perhaps as well as it’s no doubt pricey. Ling-ling, with new loo-brush etc. that I gave her money for. Gave her back the change. Going on with Woolf. Not a very distinguished affair, as well as the fairly crushing tedium of his committee and political life.

Friday September 29 2006

Had to ring K re weekend and shopping. Could tell it was difficult (gin), so said – let’s make it next w/e, and I’ll have this one quiet. Even he doesn’t quite realise how far ahead I have to plan now. At eighty one can’t dash out and buy dinner for three at the last minute.

Thank goodness it’s really getting cooler at last. Today I turned off both fans and the air conditioner for the first time since June. We’ve been in the early 70s since then, and enough rain too. Heavy showers at last.

Saturday September 30 2006

Letter from bank from someone calling himself Relationship Manager. Claimed to have rung before, and would I ring him next week. ‘Unable to make contact’ – thought I was in the whole week, expect for Tesco’s, not to mention nothing on the machine. In addition, no reference number, my name spelt wrong and no account number, not to mention nothing in the letter of the nature of his job, or what he could do for me. Was it to tell me of the sort of fraud K and I talked of the other week, and K’s £400 doctors bill?

Still sleeping badly so turned to some Grafton for easy and respectable reading.

More or less continuous showers.

Sunday October 1 2006

Found I was worrying about the bank letter. Rang K to ask his advice. In genial mood. He took the whole thing out of my hands, and said he would ask his ‘Relationship Manager’ whether ‘Brendan Murphy’ is a bank employee. I don’t need to do anything. He is so good. How rare are people who take responsibility.

At last it’s getting cooler. It must have been over 70º for months.

Monday October 2 2006

Amused and irritated. Waited all day not able to settle. Rang him at ten to seven, very apologetic and clearly busy, ‘it’s on my desk.’ Told me to ring at twelve tomorrow. Music is a world apart.

Tuesday October 3 2006

Tesco. He rang at half past eleven and confirmed details. On tenterhooks, again, not able to stop myself worrying that my money had all gone… gave up worrying and had lunch and my rest. Message when I woke – all cleared up. His rel. man., writing to me, tho’ he only really deals with clients with over £100,000. ‘Me’ said K. Ha. Relieved. Said my one had been sacked, or was about to be. Pot of lavender on platform below kitchen window knocked over third time. Fox? The ‘scarer batteries’ went some days ago, but now I could replace them. Was it that?

Wednesday October 4 2006

Neil rang! Over here for ‘a few days’, to pick up a lot of my stuff from his elder brother. Wants to see me, of course, so asked him to lunch on Friday. Interesting. Last we heard, he and Lynda were coming fortnight visit. This seems to me the last whimper of N’s wish to come back to England, dear simple soul.

Thursday October 5 2006

K and I missing each other on ‘phone, three times. K can’t even ring during Neil’s lunch, as he’s got a three-girl group for three days that he’s producing, classical-pop. As well as that, his uncle has died. The one that’s his god-father, and he’s got to go to the funeral. Fortunately they only live, or rather die, in Bagshot. Talked of other things, then took thought, and said, ‘How old was he?’ ‘I hoped you wouldn’t ask that… He’s 80.’ Shrieks. Rang John N re Neil. Neil’s having tea with him after me, and seeing the Holbein exhibition. Surely it’s a long time since they met. John off to some dinner-party. Such a relief as it’s puts an end stop to our lunch.

Friday October 6 2006

Neil very late, one o’clock. Happily John N had rung at 12.30 to say he’d ring Neil before 2.30 to make arrangements for their meeting and where Neil should go after all, the Tate is a big place. So I ordered a cab fro 2.30 before N arrived, remembering him staying till 1.30 despite K going at 10.30. Lunch after he, like, it seems, all his generation, emptied the peanut bowl in one perpetual scoop. Lunch, omelette with fairly thick asparagus tips and some diced bacon. He refused anything else, except wine. I suppose to protect his preserved tanned set Californian appearance. Lynda is doing well, and has taken up another doubtful ‘medical’ discipline as well as reflexology, and is, I imagine, the main support of the family and the reason they stay there. Chloe is at San Francisco Univ. and will/may come to England on a post-graduate seven months. I encouraged him to think of Bristol, (not London), which he seemed to favour. How long ago was it that young men were sleeping on the lawn under her window? The elder, what’s her name, he finally described as mentally sub-normal, is still working at a supermarket and living at home still at 23. That’s bad enough, but she has a boy-friend, a drop-out, who sounds a comfort choice as he’s more inadequate than her. Scenes, and screams. This whole passage sounds like the sort of scene in a ‘soap-opera’ that makes me go out and put the vegetables on. Perhaps the most fascinating moment was his production of a page torn from Susan Stuchbury/Greg’s diary with three other long almost forgotten names – S.S, Jessie Faber, Jean Duncan, Robin Tuck. Well, bores go to memorial services. Surely it was next week, in my diary, and the form I filled in to say I wasn’t going. It seems there was an interruption of the usual kind round Covent Garden, a black tramp with a rose – sounds quite respectful. And what sounds like Adrian Slade dealt with him with very heavy-weight ‘tolerant’ hands. Three or four rows of Slades !

Julian’s mem service. Why did Neil go?

Saturday October 17 2006

Now the drought is well over, started (10.30) weeding the new border at last. Soil in good form, moistened right through, and the five main shrubs in good heart, the camellias both have really good bunches of flower and leaf buds, although they’re still only single stalks more or less. The laurustinus is sprouting well, and by next year should be about 3’x3’. The coronilla is a surprise already, 3’x21/2’ and a flower or two, delicate grey green foliage which will look beautiful in later years against the solid green bank of anallias. The hypericum has recovered well, we’ll see. So my laborious hand-watering had been worth it. Only tiresomeness when weeding, I have to be careful not to get the low autumn sun in my eyes. That hasn’t changed with age.

Sunday October 18 2006

Weeded for three quarters of an hour at 9.45 a.m. Half the bed done. Soaked feet. I see Claire Tomalin has written a life of Hardy, and a new volume of C. James memoirs. Something to look forward to. Saw squirrel for the first time for some months.

Monday October 19 2006

Set Squirrel trap. Rang H and a long talk to Geoffrey. Interesting that I feel I won’t mention it too much to H. who rang back at 5.15. Has got something for her angina? Good solid rain. Set squirrel trap sprung by who? Bait gone, trap shut, trap empty.

Thursday October 10 2006

Did I say H wants a new brown liner? I last got her one, well, long before I moved here. Rang J to ask whether there was a Leichner stockist still between Covent Garden and the Strand. Was it Frizell’s? She says Charles Fox in Travistock St. and gave me a number. Heavy rain till p.m. No weeding, and worse tomorrow. Good, but also bother.

Wednesday Oct 11 2006

A certain sort of thunder is like the house on the other side of the road falling down slowly.

S’s secretary ‘phoned to ask me to lunch on Friday. ‘Rather short notice’. He still seems to have no idea how rude I find it that he doesn’t ask himself. Pretended to her I was already committed but I couldn’t have done it, what with Ling-ling and the garden, at such short notice.

Thursday October 12 2006

Ling-ling as usual. Gave her some grapes after she’d gone. I found she’d thrown away the apple-twigs I’d put in the hearth basket for that lovely smell on the fire. odd of her, as I suppose she must known I’d put them deliberately.

Leaflet to say filming on Monday evening – a feature – looks at a bit ropy – happily no 45 and 23, or 43 and 25. I left the leaflet on the stairs with a parcel I took in upstairs. The Clive James more or less up to standard. Slips, down very easily. Started on the Hardy.

K rang. Tuesday dinner. Just him, well, for once, I’m glad, it’s been so long. Oh such comfort.

Friday October 13 2006

Weeded 8.15 – 9.00 a.m. Doing well. Later a whirl of activity. Laundry. HH & C drink delivery. Took in another parcel for upstairs. Then there was the post, many voluminous catalogues foretelling Christmas, a card from dear John Nick, thanking me again for my wedding-present, and described the table-lamps they’ve bought with it, in detail. Very thoughtful. Final treat (sic) the very glossy (free) mag. West Side, for us H’smith, Fulham, Chiswick. Presumably the solid half, estate-agents, pays for it.

Saturday October 14 2006

Weeded new bed 9.15 – 10. Planted the window-box full of columbine, to go with the plant that survived the drought. Good. Fills a good corner. Made a good deal more grape-juice. Washed what’s left of hair. Put Rupert E’s biog., the Lionel Shriver book, and the catalogue item, a coaster with magnets that ages wine! £39.95, on sofa for K. Clever price, only clever thing. Still too warm.

Sunday October 15 2006

Finished new bed. Good. Started on hellebore bed, partly stifled by wretched Brunnera, with its huge leaves, crept in from some ill kept garden.

Hardy and Tennyson enjoying a joke at the Savile. T showed H a misprint in his own work, which particularly pleased him, ‘airy’ changed to ‘hairy’. I’ve always known T was a good sport.

Monday October 16 2006

Rang K, re car and anglepoise. Rang back. Two words from each, iconic laconic.

Mowed five-fifteenish, as dry as possible, but still more or less bent under the machine, wretched weather, with grass still growing. Mower twice as noisy and vibrating a lot. Should be grateful I suppose, that it didn’t blow up. After all, it is six years old…

Sorted seeds and planted four unknown in big bowl revivified for the occasion.

7.15 still no sight or sound of filming. 9.30. One or two figures at 43 door, with a light. Good.

Tuesday October 17 2006 Wednesday October 18 2006

Perfect evening. A ‘phone at quarter to seven. Thought he was just starting after delay, but no he was stuck in traffic by Lancaster House before S. Bush roundabout, and rang to warn me. Happily the delay wasn’t as bad as he’d thought and he was here about five or seven mins later. Charged in with two loads of tonic water and the black anglepoise he’d mended, his hair so pulled back in his pony tail so tight, I thought at first he’d cut it. Because the surprise he said he had for me, was that he was wearing a collar and tie and a dark grey suit. (Not the Carr Son and wool one I gave him – I asked. He answered with a ‘no’. I guess he can’t get into it anymore!) The tie and shirt I’d never seen. When did he buy them and wear them? Dear funny thing.

It’s two months since we’d seen each other, and we were a bit silent at first, out of pleasure on my part, I hope on his. Took him into wet garden to look at new border, all weeded, both with torches, 20’ long and 4 or 5 wide. I think he was impressed that I’d been able to do it. He walks a delicate sensitive way between garden knowledge (little really) and inheritance (so delicately touched in). Off to Brackenbury. Took off his jacket – tie he’d taken off at home. Sign of times in every way, since he would look wrong at Brack. I don’t wear a tie, there or anywhere much. Last time, I think, was in Jermyn St, where they sell ties. He went to park car, I forgot to post letters in pillar-box so happily placed outside. Went to dear table, blank wall for good ear, poor ear for rest of right hand bit of restaurant where this time there were at least a couple of parties of two and four. He liked the menu, tho’ he wondered about the ravioli in his leak and onion soup. We both had the sea bass, with a delicious macaroni of finely cut veg. underneath in a pigeon sauce, which he left. (I wondered with a mad little laugh, whether he was slimming.) No pudding, coffee. Back here he had a sizable Scotch, the talk at the Brack was wonderful to me. I told him of D as I don’t think I have before, and worried about being boring, but he held my hand and his face had that melting look of understanding and sympathy. He paid! Back here, he erupted into an animated presentation of the girls pop/classical group he’s been producing. Very contrasting characters, one posh. I can see he relishes bringing them on. I wish I understood more about music. Told me (again?) his programme music brings £100,000 a year.

Today. Wednesday. I can write this and read, and that is all. Rain, thank goodness.

Thursday October 19 2006

Lin-ling not paid. Caroline de Woolf rang re Slade will and Christmas in King St. Half forgotten, James C, had a bit of royalty. During talk asked about Felix. Hyde Park Mansions now needs a cleaner. First thought of Ling-l. Then thought again, the De Wolfe’s are just the sort, or Felix is, to busybody if she is an illegal immigrant. So spoke to J and asked about Feely. Rang her and she jumped at it. J had told me she’d worked for Peter Yates for years, and they had bought a house in Hollywood to be near their two pretty grown up children who work there so… she works five mornings a week for them. What on earth does she do? Well, I expect it’s a large mansion flat, but how can they bear it? Rang De Wolfe’s, and C was on the ‘phone. Left a message having told Feely to ring about one o’clock when, according to dim girl, C would be back!

Rang Book Search at last, and found him eager and leaning forward. No doubt little trade. Listed the Sayers Vol. III, Hilary Spurling and Paul Scott Foster’s Letters Vol.III.

Friday October 20 2006

Rang De Wolfe’s. C not there. Told girl whole position. Not a word since from girl, C or Feely.

Saturday October 21 2006

Dear H rang re make up. Guess what, they sent the wrong soil first. Wonderfully wet, too wet to garden, tho’ relishing the Tomalin Hardy in bed, last of Sue Grafton, and C. James.

Sunday October 22 2006

Still too warm, oh for a frost. Rain, rain, so good. Last night, in bed finished the last Sue Grafton, S for silence. Read it when I bought it six months ago, and found I hardly remembered it. Such is age, and recent memory. I must admire her resolution in setting herself this very big demanding task, she’s got to S, wonderful. It feels pretty near the end of the alphabet. But there are actually eight more novels to be written. And she’s sixty-six.

Rang John N. at 5.0, thinking it a possible home time, but no answer. His life must be wonderfully full now. Went to look at new border under umbrella. Struck again at the size of the Coronialla after one summer. Took down the collected Hardy poems. How could I have forgotten the 1930 edition, a present, on the first night of Ghost, B’ham Univ. 1934 from Joe Burrows, D’s first lover. I’ve always loved him because he remained calm when she bled rather. He left her on the grass in Cannon? Park, was it? – and came back ‘quickly’ with cotton wool, san. towels etc. and stayed with her until she felt comfortable and then took her home. Odd how sex is properly manageable to some of us.

Monday October 23 2006

Rain again. So good. Left message on K’s machine asking how long he needed the Cannes flat. His message was clearly on his mobile, as it kept breaking up so badly I only just made out ‘4-5 days.’ Curious how he is not all that good with machines. Look at my poor mobile and new remote TV control! Long slow rainy day.

Tuesday October 24 2006

No word from the De Wolfe front, so I was relieved that J had rung Mrs. Yates who said she’d ring Feely. It seems that they still want F. for three mornings even when they’re in Hollywood! So it’s in both interests. Shall now wipe all those selfish people from my mind. In post from J a repro of a warning about a Belize scam, ringing you under a ‘Delivery’ label to say they couldn’t deliver a parcel. And if you ring the number you’re ringing Belize, so it’ll cost you £15 to find it’s a cheat. However, I don’t see what they get out of it, since BT will get the £15. I presume there is a further dimension to the deception. J didn’t seem to have thought of that. All the same, I’ll keep the message from the Fraud Office. No harm in noting what it says, in case. Is there a fraud officer? Finished the Hardy. Well worth it. Written with her usual clarity and perception. Rain all a.m.

Wednesday October 25 2006

Rain most of day. Peter Barkworth dead. I seldom rejoice over death, but P.B was a harmful creep. We shared a dressing-room in The Sleeping Prince in ’53. He was under contract to Tennents and had had two v. high profile parts, in ‘A Woman Of No Im.’ and Dark is Light Enough, and was furious that his next stint was a nonspeaking footman, with me, lowest of the low. His pomposity rating and, in particular, a really neurotic ‘getting ahead’ belief, were more like a hectic fifty year old, and he was 24 or so. (Age?) It was my second, and my first real job. My first at that tiny cellar – the Watergate – too small and cramped for any life backstage, - in two holes in the cellar wall for dressing-rooms. At the Haymarket for rehearsals! Vivien Leigh spoke to me later on in rehearsals about a film, I think it was, - I had talked to everyone at Cambridge... Peter B told me off for presumption. ‘It may harm yr. prospects if you are too familiar.’ On tour, troubled in case of a different protocol, I told Daphne Newton, a tennent regular content with small backing parts and regular income in that large and secure institution. She was so cross at his presumption, she told John Perry.

Years later Peter B had played some very carefully successful and conventional roles – his favourite Edward VIII in Crown Matrimonial. Took to teaching, God save the mark. Books on acting – ‘The right way to turn off a light switch.’ He was gay, I suppose living with someone. No one mentioned. Painful. Wrote to S who had a good old moan about him a while ago when they met at the Guildhall over student perfs. So amused, as the letter was in the hall-chest waiting for Ling-ling, S had rung during my rest, saying much the same back. Poor chap, ghastly schedule, going to Malta twice in the next ten days, including a film festival in his honour... Hoping to have dinner in middle of November.

Thursday October 26 2006

Getting a little colder, but not enough. The grass and the weeds are still growing. First frost out in country miles way tonight but still fucking 19º today. Supposed to be single figure in London tonight. Hm. All the same, it is gradually, a point here and there, getting to what it should be. All the same, apple and mint at the top of an apparently dead-for-winter stem.

Friday October 27 2006

No laundry. Rang two hrs later. The Banham lock was on. Well, laundry-man has a key. Says he hasn’t. Hm. Banham key lost. £30-40? Laundry under royal patronage. Doorbell, parcel? No, flowers for next door on right. In pyjamas, imitation of decrepitude, ‘I don’t know them.’ No doubt he found someone else to take them in, but I am ashamed. But my whole self shrinks in horror at knowing any of my neighbours. I have no time for more.

Lovely long funny talk to H about the make-up and so on. Long rain p.m.

Saturday October 28 2006

Shopping trip to Ken High St. (and lunch with J.) was, unlike life, totally successful. That is, I bought every item on my list at the shops I expected. Cab dropped me outside Holland & Barrett, where I bought all four tubes of Sarakan toothpaste. Waterstone’s two Robert B. Parker detec., just as amusing as I’d hoped. Pestle and Mortar, for four boxes of Quies ear- plugs. Rymans, for my 2007 engagement diary, only slight wrinkle, only black available. These days can’t rush elsewhere. Lunch with J delightful as ever. She returned my Powell – John Aubrey and his Friends, in a neat brown-paper jacket. I did give her a nudge to return it. I don’t care, people are careless, even her. Service really poor, actually brought me the wrong dish, penne instead of spaghetti. I might have done better with penne. It’s some time since I had spaghetti, and I managed it badly one way and another. My teeth don’t meet as they used. I hope I didn’t put her off too much. Oh, as well as the Powell, she gave me a pleasant little leaflet listing all the events of his (John Betjeman’s) Centenary year. Slipped it into The Collected Poems. She had a date at 3.0, but very kindly came to Waitrose for a bit of top-up shopping, and helped me into a taxi. Exhausted.

Sunday October 29 2006

I put the clocks back but the early dark is always a shock.

Rang John N. Got Simon, with whom I seem to be able to have much easier – and longer – chats since their marriage. Said John was about, but I said I wouldn’t bother him for the moment, as I know how desperately busy he is. Was able to make a useful link telling S no answer from Sally D. A bit of indigestion. I think it’s something I’ve eaten, as it goes off if I simply stop.

At last. Frost on Thursday. How sick I am of the sun.

Monday October 30 2006

Forgot the Garrick which J also brought – the house journal of the Garrick Cub. Whole front devoted to Henry Magee, good heavens, and the rest of it, with its unknown names, and pointless articles, quite confirming its total lack of interest or style.

Claustrophobia cured by a conjuror of some sort on TV, or possibly a magician. But, I am a conjurophobe, a deliberately barbarous formation.

Brought window-boxes into the kitchen to save the pelargoniums from the frost. I hope.

I think the Univ. son upstairs had a black friend for w/e. Away on bikes at 7.30 a.m.

Tuesday October 31 2006

Tesco. The driver in the red car with the wonky legs. Is his name Paddy? On dear, I forget names so easily these days. And a name or a date or a fact so fast in the very short term. For instance, I must look a name or address up on a sudden impulse, and forget it on the way from the book-room to the sitting-room. Sent Jeremy Dore his cheque, and a ‘phone message for the fourth vol. of D. Sayers’ letters, mentioned in the end-note of Vol.II. Where will this end? I think she died in her earlyish sixties so she must have died in the 1950’s. Sitting in the hall chair, as I’ve already noted, leafed thro’ some possibly forbidding theological passages, tho’ her arguments are so clear.

Still 68º in here at ten to eight. 5º tonight?

Wednesday November 1 2006

Right on cue, it’s cold at last. What a relief. Radiators on in the morning turned off for my rest, and haven’t turned them on again yet, seven o’clock.

D. Sayers so fascinating and comforting in rationality. They only obstacle which does need a little skimming is the whole Dante Translation sequences. Now this is not at all that they bore me, except that I have never read Dante either in Italian or translation, and therefore I can’t follow the discussion with either clarity or profit.

Lunch was specially delicious, though it’s one I have often. Asparagus tender but whole, three ‘Old Cotswold Legbar’ eggs poached – funny coloured shells, slightly solid whites, but toothsome orange yolks, - altogether specially good, just right.

Thursday November 2 2006

Ling-ling. Long chat to J. Told me Joan P is blind in one eye and half-blind in the other. Sad, especially when I think of the first I heard of her from Julian S: ‘bright boot-button eyes’, I think, and ‘must be in every Slade-Reynolds production.’ Rang K re weekend, screams. ‘I don’t want to be a bother’, got under his skin, to the point that after we’d rung off, he rang straight back to hurl ‘bother botheration’ etc etc in the manner of those comedians, what’s their name? More shrieks. He’s got that gadget where you just press a button for your six or more most used nos. Much flattered years ago to find my button was first.

Friday November 3 2006

Quiet day. Thinking of the weekend and the garden and K.

Much enjoying the Sayers Vol. III. Gusto, brains, humour, relish, a clear head and humility. Not to mention a First.

Saturday November 4 2006

K rang, backwards and forwards, scrambled egg for lunch? Perfect. Then rang back to say ‘Moules?’ ‘Moules?’ ‘marinière.’ Love them, but – mopped and mowed and said yes. I do love them like crab.

Dear John N rang to say this was a good time. How good if we can have a regular talk. I find it’s a need of old age. Told me of taking Prince Charles round the Holbein Exhibition. Looked carefully and long at each picture, and had something intelligent and perceptive to say. He – J - noticed his cuffs were slightly frayed, and there was a small hole, like a cigarette burn – in the back of one sleeve, I think he said. Touching.

Decided to tell K no moules. How I love both them and crab, and the last two or three times, I’ve had such violent indigestion and I won’t be at home until later. Amused that he agreed without comment. Much more trouble them scrambled egg!

Sunday November 5 2006

Heavenly day, happiness unalloyed. Rare. Cab at 11.30. Rang at 10.45 to tell K about moules. As I said, v. pleasant driver I’ve had before, and he’d looked up the address, so I was all the more surprised that when we had got as far as the new Arsenal ground and passed the end of Bryantwood Rd. – ah, me – now turned into a cul-de-sac with metal posts – he lost his way quite decisively and we drove round, and backwards, and forwards, for nearly quarter of an hour, though we were only minutes from K. I think it was partly that Elfort Rd was on the page divide, and partly the new stadium was not marked. It’s also an oddity that no cab- driver has an ordinary A-Z. Always an unfamiliar atlas. However, I eventually realised that the new stadium was on Drayton Gardens, and the third time we went round, I got him to turn off into Stavordale Rd and the dear Elfort. I expected the door to burst open at first sound of the car, - no, I had to knock and ring - note on door – and there he was, much stubble, bags. It’s been a strain! We almost at once were in double harness, as it were. I gave him the bottles of wine. I went into the double sitting-room, to find Charley on the sofa, quickly followed by darling Arlete, and Sian ‘do we kiss?’ ‘Yes, we do’ I said. And K came back with a glass of white for both of us, but not the others, He knew we needed it, because we had to keep things going. Arlete and Sian are dears, but I was amused that, when K went back to do lunch, if I allowed it, silences fell. Charley looked much the same if two or three sizes larger. Later I suggested he might be tall, as his legs are looking long for his height. Kept the talk going gracefully, I hope. K came back and sat by Charley to draw him out a bit. He’s a quiet child, rather apt to bury his face in a cushion in a spasm of bashfulness. They’d taken him to Hamley’s, and, as I think only part of his haul, he had a rather beautiful toy seal, in a convincing fine yellow/grey/green coat, a rather cruder tiger. He showed these to me, but quite quietly, and not for long. K told of a pillow fight they had at some point, early in the day, I suppose. K was in boxer shorts and bare feet, C in bed-wear, too. Imagine. (He’s eight, now.) At some point, C opened the front door and ran up the road, happily a very quiet one. K ran after him, and carried him back home.

All amused at fantasy of child abuse. Didn’t bother to say Neighbours know little in London, and would think only that K was C’s father, or, with a little more knowledge, nephew. Talk went on, with K – not A! – back and forth to kitchen, setting the table and so on. Served it almost at once, as their train back to Swansea was at 12.30. A nub of ham on toast, with a couple of spoonfuls of scramb. egg on the top of the ham, and a delicious couple of spoonfuls of small salad mixed leaves at side. (Must stop him putting the hot egg on cold ham). They had wine with lunch! Struck, all through lunch, by our unspoken long friendship – what is it? Twenty-five, twenty-six? years – unspoken we joined together to make the day go, for the dear people with us. We all crammed in the car, I in front, the only bit I could get in, and Charley between the girls in the back. At Paddington the dropping off was quite quick. Sian didn’t seem to mind not being seen off at the actual train. I suppose it means little to them now. (How odd to think that old age time means Charley will be staying with K and A by himself any minute. I hope he won’t be a bore – you never know.)

K drove me home. A said she was keen to see how the garden had grown – well, she’s worked hard enough in it. We went straight out there, and I showed them the new border, K seeing it in daylight this time. Then she went and looked at the lemon ‘tree’ – bush, which naturally interests her, and looked thro’ the branches – and called me over, and said, ‘look’ and down at the base, on the ground, we’re two perfectly ripe big yellow lemons. I said, ‘Pick them’, as she could bend! Measured them, 9” circumference, 9” top to bottom. !! He took some wood from, after all, his wheelbarrow, saying scornfully, ‘Well, you say you’re going to have a fire…’ Two and a half of the best hours of my life. Only D to make it perfect.

Exhausted collapse.

Monday November 6 2006

Yesterday lovely and exhausting. Rising to all occasions is exhausting at 80. Felt couldn’t shop tomorrow. Wed slicing pots to fry, sliced my thumb. Two pieces of plaster. Booked the nursing-home.

Tuesday November 7 2006

Measured the lemons, 9” diameter, 9” from stem to stern.

Delicious peel slices more lusciously than shop lemons.

Gave HHC an order. That nice Macon and Gin.

Postponed shop till tomorrow, as I had a bad un-refreshing night. Rather gave up, but good meals.

Wednesday November 8 2006

Postponed shop again I had a really bad night. Didn’t close my eyes. Read a couple of John Harveys as I prepare to throw them away. Went to the book-room, as it’s a different position and a different book. George Colman the Younger’s Random Records.

During the day, ordered the four P. mlokosewitschii at last, from a six year old catalogue. Oh dear, the jokiness of people with no humour. They’re 2’6” in both directions. Two books say difficult. 7 flowered this summer.

Thursday November 9 2006

Ling-ling. The paeony plants arrived!

That is the quickest of any order of anything ever, and nurseries are usually the slowest of all. Smallish with two buds, but at least a good corm and not just little seedlings. Jeremy Dore rang to say he’d found the Paul Scott, the Grace Lovat Fraser and thought he could find Vol.5 of the Sayers! Some sort of compendium of bits and pieces and summings-up and I presume eventually Vol. IV. Letter from S, some more very funny bits about Peter Barkworth, and he’s taken over Falstaff at Stratford, ‘Merry Wives’, rehearsal. Not HIV I & II. Wrote to K a thank-you letter, hoped it would speak to him. ‘Unalloyed pleasure!’ A son for a friend, and friend for a son!

Friday November 10 2006

Poorish night, woke at two. Bed at 10.0. Tesco, that pleasant driver, with terrible English. Poor chap, how it will hold him back. I wonder how he survives, as a cab driver as it is. I bet some - most, - people get cross. To Tesco and really no busier at 9.0 than Tuesday.

Two things came back to me from Sunday that I should have noted. First, in the car on the way back, v. funny teasing of K by A & S. It seems when he drove to meet Sian and Charley on Friday, he got out at the station spoke to what sounds like the station-master, - didn’t he mention ‘green uniform’? – and said ‘Which platform does the 10:30 from Swansea get in at?’ The Station Master said politely, if rather tentatively, ‘I think it’s number 2, perhaps, but it’ll be at Paddington.’ He was in Marylebone. Dear creature. After all, it is only an eighth of the size. Do you know, I don’t think I, or anyone I know, has ever arrived at or left Marylebone station.

The second ‘thing’ is the size of his house. How long is it since I was there? Certainly eighteen months, perhaps two years. At any rate, long enough to have a fresh eye. At first glance, the house in essence like mine, seemed lower, smaller, than the houses round here. And ‘inside’ I was struck, as I’ve never been before in twelve, fourteen years? – oh dear how many? – by the small narrow rooms, compared with Manchuria Road, a more exact comparison with here. The double sitting-room is two or three sizes smaller and narrower. Why have I never noticed before?

Saturday November 11 2006

Two minutes silence today as well as tomorrow.

Woke at two again. Twice into garden to plan the border. I seem to have to look more than once to fix spacing of plants.

Sunday November 12 2006

How I remember the curious misery in the air on the 11th in the ‘30s without knowing what it really meant. For the first time, no 1914-18 veterans in parade.

Worked a.m. for ¾ hour. Planted the first of the four peonies, after clearing most of the ghastly Brunnera coarse weed.

On the news, over some financial scandal, and how many there seem to be nowadays – an early thirties Scots woman, who was speaking for those who have been defrauded said, with confidence and more than once, ‘Where has all the money went?’

Monday November 13 2006

K rang, to say ‘thank you, for your lovely letter.’ Such pleasure. Wanted the name of Hayes, H and Clark, to order a case of the Macon. More pleasure. And final most unexpected pleasure, a literary discussion. The Rupert E. Book, ‘It’s very well written isn’t it?’ You see, he knows. He isn’t my ‘adopted’ son for nothing. Rain. Good but –

Tuesday November 14 2006

More and more rain. So good, but I have three peonies still to plant, and the big border to start on. Still, I’m not complaining, we need it so much, and it speaks to my natured laziness.

Did I say the Paul Scott biog by Hilary Spurling arrived from Dore? 1990. Reading it for Spurling not Scott. He sounds pretty impossible in a polytechnic student kind of way, learning sophistication late and rather obliquely. We’ll see. What I want to find out is his attraction as a subject for H.S. I mean at best – Staying On – he is a minor second rate writer. Much mention of Clive and Ruth Sansom. They occurred a fair deal in Prim’s talk, I think. But what about William Sansom? Surely D knew them, too. But this Ruth Sansom seems to have retired to Tasmania, of all places. Can’t recall the real details. Rang Mary L. Briefly to ask, but she could tell me nothing, and she is not bad at such recollections. Rather flattered to hear she was off to have a private bottle of my wine with P. Green, because they are both browned off with the bar flies. I can imagine. Vin Italia, case of wine every three months, S. Times Wine Club use a lot, reliable. First case, 12 bots £35, and two more all white, free bots.

Wednesday November 15 2006

Ronnie Stevens died aged 81. Curiously haunting. A dear chap, jokey, chubby, an excellent comic actor. Started in revue, ‘Intimacy at 8.30’ etc. We worked together on that Christmas Toad Of T. Hall at Brighton Her Majesty’s in 1952? We shared a bedroom in rather good digs. Someone asked how we were getting on. He said, ‘Very well, except I found that he’d got my Cosimax hot water bottle, and I’d got his Boots snug.’ I see form his obit. that he had a distinguished classical career, comic parts mainly. Had a round face, genial, smallish. Saw him once or twice over the years but not for the last twenty or thirty. Did hear his son had some illness that meant an earlyish death. Now I see he has died at Denville Hall. His wife died before him. He’s left two sons, and they’d asked instead of flowers, donations to the Cystic Fibrosis Soc. I have a sort of memory that’s what the son’s had, with an early death expected. Goodness knows, perhaps he lived, perhaps the two sons are later. Must ask Mary L. Perhaps he was in the Alzheimer’s wing.

Barber rang at last. Tomorrow. An odd fish, interesting.

Vin Italia arrived. Starling. A day after.

Finished the Paul Scott biog. Hm. Couldn’t be better done by H. Spurling. But why? Seconds rate author and third-rate person. Shall only keep it because of her, and perhaps not even then.

No coffee or whisky before bed.

Thursday November 16 2006

Woke at 12.30 a.m. Didn’t get back. Ling-ling. Barber. Scraped. Rest, woke at 5.0. Rain still going on and off, no chance of garden. No sleep tonight?

Friday November 17 2006

Woke at 2.30, so four and a half hours, not so bad, I suppose. Three or four little shivery fits, thirty seconds? of chilly tension spread over the day, no other ‘symptoms’. I’ve had it before, and nothing comes of it, odd. Years ago, I mean.

Afternoon rest, slept two-ish to six, annoying, but good from the rest point of view, I suppose, but I felt odd. Leaves turning at last.

Saturday November 18 2006

John N rang. In bed, ill, despite his schedule! Sounded in ‘Davey’ mood. Listened obediently, and told him of my shivering fits, so that he could feel comfortable with me…

He is a dear funny thing.

Hoped to garden and plant the other three peonies, but the ground is just too wet, after rain every day. Slept 2-5, bother. Shopping tomorrow.

Sunday November 19 2006

Tesco a.m., opens eleven. Odd experience. On way, took J the extra copy of Grace Lovat Fraser, and the two pages of the S. telegraph on the Lincoln property market. Her old family house is rented there. Tesco car park quite full but s’market more than unmanageable and no shortage of w’end difficulties. Snooze 2.10-7.10!! Hardly knew where I was.

Monday November 20 2006

Fairly blustery and cold over the weekend. So at last the leaves are down, the latest, I think, I remember. The front path and the visible road almost carpeted with ten inch plane leaves, which have all fallen at once.

Winnowing the detective shelves, threw away the John Harvey Resnick novels, something repellent about them. Re-read – a very different matter – the Georgette Heyer detects. Republished in the ‘60s from the ‘30s, went into five or six reprints, into the ‘70s, perhaps further for all I know. Formulaic, completely, like her Regency novels, virtually the same characters in every book of both sorts. Shall keep one of each for old time’s sake.

Re-reading again the Waugh Mitford letters. Formed such wit as I have, the idols of my youth.

Tuesday November 21 2006 Wednesday November 22 2006

Dinner with S at the Brack. Tiresome start, no fault of either of us. S’s secretary had said he’d be at the restaurant at 9, coming on from his rehearsal of Marry Wives, a bit difficult for me, as it meant eating rather later with possible indigestion, but didn’t say, of course. So I was pleased when he rang at ten to eight and said he could get to me by ten past. So it was worth coming to the house. Did the ice etc., went to door twice at a car, false alarm. (Unlucky, in a short quiet cul-de-sac). Always mean to sit quietly, but could not stop myself getting up and looking out of the bedroom window, sometimes standing. At Twenty past eight he rang to say he was stuck in traffic and would after all see me at Brack. Then I started waiting for my cab, back and fore to the window. Oh dear, my poor legs nowadays. The cab did come only ten minutes late, but with an unknown driver, still leaving me with a little unease about using my dear cab firm in the evening and still he knew the best way, and there was S and we were naturally full of the play. It is a musical version of M. Wives, oh dear. It’s true, M.W. is a slight play, but not that slight. (cf. Comedy of Errors – yes.) He seems happy, but isn’t he tone deaf? Talked of Rex Harrison as a model for his songs, sensible but R.H. spoke on the note, as it were… Judi D and Alistair McGowan, tho’ I didn’t let on I couldn’t remember quite who he was. All seems to be going well, but during rehearsals is a fantasy time, with actors and actresses about equally divided between euphoric and depressives, both states equally unattached to reality. Talked of his partner, Daniel, but difficult to tell what is really happening. Sounds as if he isn’t much there. And – I can’t believe it, S has two more boxers. Boxers of all things, big, hysterical, perhaps dangerous thro’ idiocy and indiscipline (of which they get plenty) and sheer size. Now his mother is still with us, though she had three falls, or whatever episodes, these last few months, and needed extra care, being in a wheel chair for some time, but with her usual tenacity, recovering to walk again. Although her mind has gone in a lot of ways, she is still able to comment on it, but not much else. This stage of the dinner was marked by a lucky chance for me. Before we talked of his mother, he was telling me of various jobs, and particularly, one of those, to us, utterly repellent, not to say professionally degrading jobs, a dinner given by some huge firm or organisation where yr (presumably) famous name can be harnessed to a witty speech and presentation of the firm’s prizes. The chairman introduced him as Mark Callow, among many other infelicities, but they paid £7, 500 for two and a half hours. I was just about to express a little of my distaste for such a job, when he went back to his mother and her difficulties. He told me how much her care cost him, and I changed my opinion of his choice of work. Her regular care costs are about £600 a week. Her three falls or whatever, and her extra care and rehabilitation, cost an additional £450 a week. I am so glad I was saved from saying anything. Oh dear, he makes me think of my own imminent fate. Not such a good meal. Pâté, a rather too raw pork core, which I left, sea bass – good, but on a base of delicate but under-cooked broccoli, stalks removed from my mouth unchewed, but then that is modish. Cheese. Dear S at his best, but I always feel the tension. The winding of the clock too fast.

Wed. Rest 2-6! Dark wet dry. Left message re S to J. More rain to come.

Thursday November 23 2006

Letter from S. Long press cutting, Charlie Laughton in Edith Evans and Ruth Gordon in 17th Century comedy. Hm.

Ling-ling, as usual. Took down the Mitford-Waugh letters. I always can.

Friday November 24 2006

Rest 2-6.20. Bother. Rain p.m. and night. Cleared the platform of my old stymied prunings. Dry-out at last?

Saturday November 25 2006

Torrential rain every now and again, during twenty-four hours at least of rain. The sort of thunder that sounds at first like the house opposite slowly falling down. Unusual in Nov. Pond completely filled again. So pure rain water for restocking with fish, in spring.

Sunday November 26 2006

Now Waugh letters. Rain all day, a bit more on and off long talk to H. She is in a bit better spirits, I think. I wonder if I help at all. Perhaps a bit, - that’s three bits – at least it’s from London.

Monday November 27 2006

K rang, full of apologies for so long, silly boy when he’s so busy and he gets lost. Much moved when I said about investing my little capital, that even his is only at 4 1/2 and mine at 3 absolut. safe, is best for me. Revealed his concern all the way round. Thinks he should have power of attorney in case I have a stroke or something when he can’t get at my money. Told him of news item of Euros suggesting we should do same as them, and forbid wills in favour of anything but family. His to Phil, mine to Donald. Heavens. If that happened, I’d have to adopt him. Ernie would understand because of ‘money’. He’s off to where? To work for the inside of next week. Interesting these jobs. Read him D’s ‘These Foolish Things.’ Told him of S’s two boxers. ‘What is it about these gay couples?’ So now for the over head bulb in the book-room. The move abroad? Talk about it with accountant re next spring? Odd.

Tuesday November 28 2006

Lists of lost property on London taxis. Largest, - and a surprise - 55,000 mobile phones, 16,000 lap-tops. How odd, when especially the ‘phones are surely like a part of their hand to all the people who use them, and laptops a central tool of their job. Lots of false teeth, - taken out for a rest perhaps. Most striking, a bike, but I fear it wasn’t the really titanic absence of mind one might have hoped for, but a comfortable alternative to the tip.

To Waterstone’s the Jessica Millford letters, huge, oh dear possibly. Two Robert Parker and some other detec. and a further charming little affair of Heywood Hill and J Saumurez Smith letters. Curzon St. Bookshop, stuff like the H. Hill – Nancy Mitford. New driver, polite, talkative, tho’ much impenetrable English, poor chap. His first day.

Wednesday November 29 2006

Saw in the paper – oh The Stage, I mean – the fees at Denville. £551 p.w. and £857 for Alzheimer’s wing, recently opened. So no legacy from Mary L then! Rang her, and found her in equable spirits, and settled that I won’t come and visit at Christmas. So expensive, and pointless as she has no capacity whatever for rising to an occasion, if me visiting may be so described.

Fine and blowy today and tomorrow, so hope to plant the last three paeony mnlosko, tomorrow if the soil is less sodden than today.

Thursday November 30 2006

Tested soil pre-L-l, not sure at 9.0ish. But 4 hrs later, through the crust, it was friable as well as moist. A relief. Planted them rather closeish together for now. Lawn sodden. Oh, how lucky I am in the garden here, a perfect combination of light and moisture – retentive. What would I do at my age with cottage soil. How wonderful tho’ it is in the long term – with a gardener!

Friday December 1 2006

Rain all a.m. and more for Sunday. Waugh letters. Oh, the monster.

Saturday December 2 2006

H rang, as now seems to be usual. In better spirits, as there is some question of a TV of A Glass of Blessings. Sounds serious, and the youngish director? Adaptor? Sounds also like the real thing. Her angina not controlled by the stuff they’ve given here. Oh dear, how interested they all are in illness. I said I’d send them the new Heywood Hill Saumurez letters, as an un-Christmas present. Charming, and read at a gulp. Oh the monster Mollie. (Calling E. Waugh a monster is only fun, - I must write about him, but Mollie F.G is really a monster of malicious intent.)

First time for months? years? didn’t feel sleepy at 9.30. Read in book-room till 10.45 after news and then in bed till 11.45 or so, and still slept till five. Can I be recovering my sleep?

Sunday December 3 2006

John N rang, and I didn’t hear, but rang back, so all was well. I think he will ring on Sunday. His mother’s gone and perhaps I’m a poor substitute. In a bit of a state as he flies to Miami at dawn, and is already feeling he must get ahead. Of course, the Tate would be interested, as Miami must be full of multi-millionaires and Rembrandts.

Slightly staggered to realise that Laura Waugh was three years younger than D!

Very dark all day.

Monday December 4 2006

Good day. Ordered 1821 Hazlitt’s View of The Stage, £150, and three copies of Fish Who Answer The Telephone. Hilarious notices by Bevis Hillier in ‘Spec’ and I realised the book had been compiled by the two directors of Jarndyce, a wonderfully funny booklist, all real titles, otherwise they wouldn’t be funny. ‘1996. Old Dykes I have known’. A geo-logical or geographical treatise… Paid gas and electric bills, both estimates, though the electric meter was read ten days ago. No sign of drinks order, from Thursday.

Garden looking good in lots of ways, tho’ Etoile De H sags from south wall and ground too sodden.

Tuesday December 5 2006

Tesco’s. Now they’ve stopped stocking my loo paper, and did I say it’s all rearranged again, poor little feeble new manager making his mark!

Letter at last from Sally D in Marrakesh celebrating her 60th b’day, good heavens. Flat newly decorated, (if finished by Jan) sounds all right, but will they want to let it for a week?

Wednesday December 6 2006

The books came. Most satisfactory. The Fish hardback unexpectedly. The Hazlitt calf, excellent condition, lovely for one of my half dozen favourite books. Also HHC drink delivery. Pleasant chap, cleared up wrong delivery last time.

Gardened for three-quarters of an hour a.m. Started on big bed, cleared irises, globe artich. a foot high.

Thursday December 7 2006

Ling-ling. Tranquil, except for a fair old clash of thunder at eleven or thereabouts. Gave her letter to K about Sally, as he comes back at the w/e, thank goodness.

Later. The thunder may have been a little part of a tornado at Kensal Rise. Heavens, torn most of a side off a house like mine, end of terrace, so less protected. But many roofs gone, windows out, brick walls scattered over gardens. Awful. A couple of hundred people turned out their houses tonight. All this in Kensal Rise. After all, it’s on the next page of the map.

Girl upstairs had a prolonged chat to someone in hall, why hall? After found the time switch light stuck. Happily, the bedroom was not so affected as to keep me awake, but I worry about repair and meter being switched off, and will I know how to get appliances going again? Still, think of Kensal Rise.

Friday December 8 2006

Hall light stuck all night, throwing a little light into the bedroom, but luckily not into my eyes. I was still worrying over the possible upheaval of repair when, after a faint in and outness, I realised it was out. Dear Charlie. Forgot the laundry till ten past ten, when I scrambled it in the box, went to put it in the hall, and heard the laundryman’s key in the lock. Put the box down very quietly, closed my front door and catch very quietly, and just escaped.

Kensal Rise is, I see, very serious. Many roofs damaged, more than a few completely off, whole walls ripped off, the room untouched with furniture on the floor and pictures on the walls. Long, funny chat to J still relishing E. Waugh’s letters. Rang Waterstone’s in Ken High St for the book to send H, and got an idiot girl engaged for Christmas, no doubt. At first claimed they didn’t send books. Murmurs in background. ‘Yes, we do, sorry about that.’ Either couldn’t find it or couldn’t work the computer. ‘Hold on.’ Went away for seven and a half minutes, and come back to say she couldn’t find it, as always. In that slightly injured tone, as if I shouldn’t really have asked for it. She’s acquired that skill, tho’ only there for less than a week. I put the poor animal out of her misery.

Rain all morning. Cold tonight. 2º-3.

Saturday December 9 2006

Rang Waterstone’s in Piccadilly, another little girl voice. She obviously felt confident with the computer to produce the impressive pauses between each clatter of keys. Eventually found that it could confirm that they had the book but that somehow didn’t give her enough faith to conclude our order. Another pause while she actually went to the shelf and came back with the book. The whole thing took about seven or eight minutes longer than in pre- computer days. Rang H to warn, and shriek.

Hoped to garden, but felt a bit off after bad night. Chat to J. I wonder if K’s back, but won’t ring. He knows I don’t worry. Back to Colman’s Random Reminiscences. I wonder if anyone else in the world is reading them…

Sunday December 10 2006

H rang as usual. The book a good joke. Colman diffuse and unorganized in that maddening 18th century way.

Rain.

Monday December 11 2006

Very satisfactory day. At 8.30 rang bank to transfer enough money to cover this tiresome three weeks. At 8.45 rang Peter Wood, the catalogue that arrived last week, and ordered the Munden Biog. - £150 - the Phelp’s had gone. (Peter Wood – how odd, and a theatre b’seller too. Saw in b’day list the P. Wood was 81. Wonder if he’s still twisting and plotting.

J. Rang. Lidgate, the butcher in Holland Park Avenue, always meant to go there but impossible to park. Most impressed, no nonsense, two pheasants, yes, delivery yes, today? Oh yes. Rang HHV and asked about getting some champagne to S for his first night tomorrow. Also easy ‘We can send it by courier.’ Veuve Clicquot, non-vintage, pour it down the throats of people you despise. Hoped deliveries wouldn’t disturb rest, and magnificently they didn’t. Two huge boxes of plants in hall. Must have rung the wrong bell. That was 11.30. And at 12.15, two pheasants, which look delicious, put in my hand in an elegant bag, £13! Perfect.

Tuesday December 12 2006

Sometime I must talk and write more about the last forty or so years, discussing the curious (and, I think, previously unprecedented) phenomenon that nothing is allowed to go out of fashion any more. Fashion itself, for instance – since the ‘60s there has been no ‘line’ that wipes out everything else. A photo of D in the ‘60’s looks ordinary, in a way a photo of our parents forty years ago, would look crystallised in antiquity. I must go into it. Just one clear example, why haven’t the Beatles, still viewed with ‘adoration’ and ‘awe’, not been utterly rubbished by the generation 20 yrs later, as has happened in European civilization for centuries.

A serial killer in Ipswich. Now a serial killer never goes out of fashion. They are the most conventional of people. Only difference this time, quicker – two or three weeks, instead of six months or twenty years. All tarts. I’m glad to see that they are presented in the newspaper and on television as real people, - most, if not all, heroin addicts, which they take to as if it was a large Scotch, and come to this ruin. Families speaking, some having no idea of what they were doing, five in all, in about a fortnight. Dreadful, and all the more dreadful for being banal. Tesco’s, nice young black driver, intelligent and quick, I found I talked most animatedly about racial difficulties, and fairly well, I think, as we both agreed things were better for blacks, - not so noticed as different any more – it’s Muslims etc. now. Hope I did all right, don’t think I made it special, one day we won’t talk about it at all.

Still no word from K that he’s safe back. Oh well.

Wednesday December 13 2006

Notices of S’s play at Stratford, ‘The Merry Wives – the Musical.’ The Telegraph and the Independent. Pretty awful, Charles Spencer – ‘It’s at such moments, stiff with embarrassment, that I wish I drove a minicab for a living.’ Paul Taylor – Indep. – ‘Woeful musical adventure.’ S. ‘A slightly brainier Brain Blessed.’ Does that tell him nothing about his mindless resonating in his sinuses? And He and Brain I suppose, don’t realise that they are indulging their sensations only?’

Put in Brown and Forrest order, and put new plants out in their pots to move around and plan, Jap anemone, Geranium sang. album etc. Very mild. 54º. Suffolk murders on news. Ispwich – ‘This is ITV. I’m Colette Macbeth.’

S rang 6.30 to thank for Champagne. Determinedly optimistic. Actually mentioned the two million advance due to J. Dench.

Thursday December 14 2006

Bad night again. Woke at 2.15, and never got back. Felt light headed and fit for nothing, afraid rest would be four or five hours, but was as usual. Ling-ling took the C’mas cards, the letter to Sally D, the Fish book to S and H rang after dentist, when she’d read the S. Smith. H. Hill book at a sitting to get over a tooth out. Phew.

Couldn’t bear it any longer, and rang K over my gin and t, to ask for Sian’s address, which I really needed, and used as excuse. Quiet, calm and didn’t apologise, for which I was glad. My worry over the shorted journey ridiculous to him, and I am thankful that he is sensible enough to ignore it. Going next week to visit an ‘old friend’ I’ve never heard of in Swindon, and will call in on Wed. with long-life bulb for book-room. Lovely.

Friday December 15 2006

Ordered Brown and Forrest. It’s no use pretending that I am not subject to ‘stocking up for Christmas’ syndrome.

Piccadilly line opened 100 years ago today. At first it ran only between Finsbury Park and Baron’s Court. How did they know I would live at both places forty or fifty years apart?

Oh, how young I was at F.Park, 19 or 20.

Saturday December 16 2006

Woke at 1.45 a.m. and never got back. Felt bad and scraped till lunch. Went round the garden, moved the plants pots in the new border, and, I think, made a better planting pattern. Heavens, I never thought I’d do such re-arrangement using a walking stick to balance me.

Pamela Anderson, a walking bust, had left her husband of four months – Kid Rock.

Sunday December 17 2006

Not quite so bad a night. Suddenly found myself getting into my gardening clothes at 9.30, and managed three-quarters of an hour. Odd how I always know I can or can’t. Cleared that huge foot high six feet wide mass of nettles between rose-bed and irises. Left it for butterflies. Sadly not a caterpillar, so shan’t try again. Cutting that nettle-mass down makes a surprising difference out of all proportion to its size. A good tough prune to look forward to.

John Nick rang in middle of doing Christmas cards, of which I should think he sends – hundreds? Much amused that he rang because he was writing mine, and wanted a break. They’re going to Marrakesh, too. What a fashion there is in such things. I can’t see what it does for any of the dear things.

Monday December 18 2006

Woke at 1.45 a.m. and never got back, despite the usual Scotch. Felt so stifled that I stood at the open French window for a while until I felt cooler and less panicky. Odd. Slept after reading for an hour or two and woke at 8.30. What a bore! Someone arrested for the Ipswich murders? Or just questioned. Rang HHC and butcher. Would have gardened, but rain again.

Tuesday December 19 2006

Tesco’s. That pleasant bright young driver again, about three times as intelligent as any of the others. They work on Christmas day. A day of ordering, even tho’ my Christmas is only me. At 9-1, rang Lidgate’s, for delivery today. Two pheasants, two partridge, delivery after eleven, when I would be back from Tesco’s. Hoped before lunch. No. Had rest all the same. As I got up, heard car, and saw Fortnum’s van going away. Never heard the bell, so had they delivered upstairs fruit? No butcher either, and was just about to ring when bell rang. Michelle from upstairs had taken the birds in, and had the fruit basket to show me. Looked respectable, even though it was the smallest one, a melon, a pineapple, grapes, apples, polished to look like wax, and so on. Seemed pleased. Now only HHC driver and Brown and Forrest smoked stuff, and I can close the gates for the Christmas siege.

Left a message on K’s machine asking what time he was coming tomorrow, as he hasn’t said.

K rang at 8.0. Coming for lunch, have I got something for him. Bacon and aspara. omelette? Would the smoked have arrived? Make bread? Tidy s-room. Told him to bring long-life bulb. Never said he was coming for lunch until now.

Wednesday December 20 2006

Got here after one, stayed till three-ish. Heavenly. Told me all about his work with the three-girl group, some of which I understood. They have no name yet…

Went into the garden briefly for a look at the new border, but did an elaborate shiver at the cold. We did have bacon and aspara. omelette, cheese, chicory. The Meursault from my b’day, John Nick. I suppose, if I were really his father, I wouldn’t notice these things – perhaps I would – but I take keen pleasure in him casually helping himself to everything – the walnuts, an After Eight mint, wine, just as I do him getting the steps and putting the new bulb in the book-room. Still v. busy, only having C. day off. ‘Lovely lunch’ he said.

Fog cancel’s all H’row’s domestic flights. No fog in road at midday, nor at 10.30.

Thursday December 21 2006

Gave Ling-ling her usual money and a second week, which she had off, and another £20 for Christmas. Rather troubled to find the three litre bots of tonic water to tide over Christmas had vanished. They’d been in a cardboard carrier with compartments, and the whole thing was in a Tesco’s bag, but still the weight of the full bottles might have suggested to her the bottles were still useful. Found them still safe, happily on top of the dustbin.

Both important deliveries arrived before lunch, HHC’s wine and gin, and Brown and Forrest. At last settled in alone, or not alone, with D. A little warmer please for the garden. Fairly cold, but good for weeds.

Later and drunker. I do hope I can keep going with the garden. I seem to be better now than a year or two ago, or was it the heat?

Friday December 22 2006

Such a relief, the usual bottle of wine from upstairs, but in a really pretty bottle wine bag, and a gold card. Usefully with the names of the boys on. A bit worried they might try a more elaborate pres., or ask me up. Horror. Happily not. Started the Jessica Mitford letters.

Saturday December 23 2006

81 year old widow breaches her ASBO order, and fails to turn up in court. Appro. sixty years older than the next ASBO holder.

No papers. Rang newsagent, pleasant Indian Woman tells me wholesalers have reneged in some way, and she’s suing. Curious.

Unexpected wine from John Nick, same delivery man, Saint Veran. Gardened. Cleared all those nettles from the rose-bed. There are those three pots of Madonna lilies from last spring, surviving.

Sunday December 24 2006

Felt a bit low. Days alone stretching ahead, tho’ I love being alone as a rule. Rang Hazel and Geoffrey after my rest, still, I think, a bit hazy, and I don’t mean drunk. Don’t think they noticed. Am rather ashamed to say that I pretended K&A had gone to Portugal for Christmas. Even more ashamed when K rang to ask how to cook celeriac and suggest dinner at New Year. So arranged them to come here for N.Y. day evening? Why? do I doubt him?

Monday December 25 2006

Government survey idiotically announces it findings. ‘Having many babies can be bad for parents’ health, especially mothers’. Fancy. Comfortable day thinking of K’s invitation. Didn’t garden, idiotically because they might look out, and feel the poor old man is all alone. They have more sense.

Tuesday December 26 2006

Gardened an hour in a.m. Planted the three Madonna lilies, in the iris bed between the irises and the artichoke. Then toiled away, planted all six of the jap-anemones, Honorine Jourbert in the new bed.

Hooded the lily of valley pots, to stop three wretched squirrels idiotically burying monkey- nuts in them. No papers. Rang shop to be told they were shut today. Disgraceful, as papers were published.

Wednesday Dec 27 2006

Woke at 2.30 a.m. ish feeling bloated and sickish. Kept feeling like being sick, but managed to put it off by walking up and down and sipping cold water. Felt vague and dazed, and dozed and lost track of time, so no garden. The papers came, a relief. Had a bit of asparagus soup for lunch. After my rest, was sick, about a cupful, and no more since. I think it was possibly something I’d eaten, as that seemed to finished it, tho’ I was ‘upset’. No dinner, and kept finding I’d slept two hours on the sofa when I thought it was five minutes, until I crawled into bed.

Thursday December 28 2006

Headache, otherwise all right, I think, tho’ illusions at night seem more real than they did years ago. Meals as usual. Went on with J. Mitford. Slept till six in rest.

Friday December 29 2006

Decided to ring Lidgate, and order a shoulder of lamb etcetera in case I give it them. Difficult with the heat in the kitchen. Much rain, sweeping across the country, but not reaching the south-east till the afternoon. Took the opportunity to plant the last few plants, three Geraniums – real ones – and the lily of the valley in the front at eight-thirty a.m. Feeling virtuous.

Saturday December 30 2006

To Tesco, Paddy driving. Perhaps fortunately, as I forgot my wallet, and we had to go back for it when we were more than half way there. I don’t get younger. Got salmon in case I take against the lamb, heat, time taken etc… The butcher’s order came right on time, 11.45 – a lovely looking-shoulder, but need a smaller one in future. Three cheese ¼ lbs, left them wrapped, started the G.P. Cooke.

Sunday December 31 2006

Decided to give them the salmon, yes, Dunlap’s G.P. Cooke. A rather better biography than most such of its period. Cooke’s diary entries are comparatively literate, as is the arrangement of the book. Literate, perhaps, but curiously flat production, or food or clothes, never mind any wit or criticism. Still, it strikes me as comparably reliable.

Monday Jan 1 2007

Prepared bit by bit, for K and A’s dinner. Tried to keep awake for my rest. then he ‘phoned and said he thought he ought to cancel, as he’d got a real cold coming on, and an important meeting tomorrow. Even with my very nearest and dearest, I felt relief. Isn’t it awful? Old, you see. So prepared to cook for me alone. Poor boy, I’m glad he’s not coming out.