Thursday October 27, 1977

Phoned Chapel Allerton Hospital at 11.30 and spoke to a nice nurse who spoke for a while about Carole. She is extremely ill and today underwent tests for some nameless disease which everyone is keeping quiet about. No point in passing on any messages either, because she's too drowsy to comprehend anything.

I contacted Christine this morning (10.20am) and we arranged to go to the Fox and Hounds tomorrow night. This should prove exciting and pleasant after the stagnation of recent times.

Thatcher: grey and toothless.

Denis Healey presented a Budget yesterday and by the look of things I'll be getting a £20 or £30 tax rebate at Christmas. Better than putting your feet in acid I do suppose. It's chilling to hear that Mr Healey intends presenting three or four more budgets before going out of office, which means that the nauseating government may be with us until the Spring of 1979. Poor Margaret Thatcher will be grey and toothless by then.

No Squash this evening. Sarah must have gone off the idea, but I can't say I'm heartbroken. Sarah's ups and downs get on my nerves and hitting balls against a brick wall are not the top of my priority list at the moment.

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Monday November 8, 1976

Boring, miserable day. I am pleased to be able to say that the government may have to go. The pound is now worth two pesetas and even as I write, it is falling to one and a half. It seems to me that each time our beloved Chancellor of the Exchequer farts the whole economy quivers and slides a little more into the abyss of Hell and Damnation. Margaret Thatcher must be out of her mind wanting to take on this country in its present condition. The Queen, very wisely, has escaped from this ruined nation to Luxembourg. I could quite understand Her Majesty if she decided not to bother coming back. She cannot be all that proud being sovereign of such a third rate nation. Our bloody economy is about equal to that of Namibia.

Lynne comes up at 8 with my wallet and pair of shoes. She only stays minutes because Lil will have her tea on the table.

Read 'Edward VIII' by Lady [Frances] Donaldson. As you are no doubt well aware by now he [the king] is one of my favourite historical characters. I cannot understand the guy at all. Is this why I am forever reading about him?

PS - don't think I'm looking for sympathy but I have a ghastly hangover all day. The wine, you know.

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