Monday March 17, 1975

St Patrick's Day. Snowed today. Bloody weather. The Yorkshire Post today carries an article of some hilarity. Namely, the gathering at Ampleforth Abbey of a merry band of gents - the Knights of the Order of St John of Jerusalem. You're thinking that nothing amusing could possibly be drawn from this article, aren't you? Well, you're very wrong indeed. Oh, indeed, yes. Because staring up from the picture around which the story is based, is the very familiar face of our old pal, Chris Monckton, a knight of the venerable order. Along with his dad, Major-General Viscount Monckton of Brenchley, and 48 million other upper class religious freaks, he is partaking of 'three days of prayer and meditation in preparation for Easter'. I'm not going to say any more on the subject. Instead I'll just titter away to myself.

In keeping with the traditional Monday evening see the tv. Then sit around in bed with 'The Luck of the Bodkins' by P.G. Wodehouse, which I obtained from the library on Thursday or Friday. Can't quite remember which day it was.

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Friday September 27, 1974

Carol and I are alone all day at the YP. She discloses to me that one of the new journalists, who seems to be a bit of a drip, is the eldest son and heir of Viscount Monckton of Brenchley. If I'd have known this last week I'd have doffed my cap or something when he approached me in the search for some things that had gone missing from his desk.

On the subject of the peerage, I see in the YP that the Duke of Roxburghe died yesterday after collapsing on his grouse moor. The new duke is a 19 year-old soldier who is in Cyprus at the moment. He is the youngest duke living at the moment. (I bet that piece of information gave everyone a tremendous thrill & rivetted you all to the diary, tongues hanging out in anticipation for more tales of an equally seductive character).

To the Hare and Hounds tonight. Carol and John are still deep in the depths of new romance, though I must say most of the passion seems to come from Carol, __________, as I discovered at one of our parties last November. Denny baby sits tonight and is not with us.

All go to Wikis where I accidentally stand on the toes of an attractive young lady while dancing, which results in my spending the remainder of the night with her. She's called Sarah Jane and lives in Otley and is a personal friend of Dave Baker's. Quite a pleasant diversion anyway. Come home quite alone in the rain at 2.30. Clad only in my trousers and shirt sleeves I was rather soggy on my arrival at the Rhodes ancestral pile.

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