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Wednesday January 10, 1979

For two nights now I've dreamt about death. Not my death, but the death of unfortuate beings very close to me. I find it disturbing. I'm not going to explain here. Putting the details on paper would be sickening and tempting fate, and all that. It's probably all due to the vast amounts of Scottish cheese I've taken to devouring every night.

Thick snow today. I attempted to shovel it from the drive at 7:45am but didn't get very far.

To the YP with Jim, Jenny and Alec (Muriel's brother), and Donald Best. The discussion in the car was Princess Margaret and the saintly Lord Snowdon. They all disagreed when I said Snowdon was the first to stray. Evidently, it's still the fashion to abuse the poor, defenceless woman.
Kenneth More: nauseating

Sarah and Carol went off to a literary luncheon at the university to see the actor Kenneth More, and James Burke, the tv personality. Both nauseating, in my opinion.

Just me and Kathleen all day. It's just not done to talk about sex, play cards, or laugh raucously in Kathleen's presence, and so I hid behind a filing cabinet with a great heap of photographs.

Dad has announced that he wants to read Kipling. Has he said this before? Probably at the end of 1978? I suggested that he reads Crossman's journals instead - but the shear size of the volume puts him off. Besides, he has an
James Burke
aversion to the intellectual, middle-class type of Labour MP of which Richard Crossman and 'Woy' Jenkins are prime examples.

Sue and Pete went down to the Shoulder of Mutton to make a final farewell party for Gus and Frank, but only Chippy materialized ~ with his 'girlfriend'. They came home at 10:30 covered in snow. I don't suppose Gus will get much of that in the Golan Heights. To bed at midnight.


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