Whilst messing around with the EP at work I see that the headlines of last night's paper concerned Lord Snowdon and Mr Hamilton, the repulsive Labour MP who should have been shot years ago. It appears that Lord Snowdon has written to the publishers of Hamilton's new book 'My Queen and I', and has has asked him not to publish it. Obviously, he's been instructed to do this by Her Majesty herself or by Princess Margaret, who receives some obnoxious insults in the vile publication, and it is quite understandable that the Royal Family are hurt by it. I for one, absolutely refuse to read it. William Hamilton is so disgustingly low, it would be impossible for most normal people, even certain Labour members of Parliament, to stoop to his level.
Home at 6 o'clock to discover that I've mislaid £2 since last night. After a frantic search I fail to discover it, and sit about moping, pestering myself with worry, and tearing out large chunks of hair, screaming and biting my nails off. Quite upset really. Chris rings at 8.30 to say we may have got in somewhere for the holidays. The travel agent in question is ringing him back at 9.30. So I'll report on the details later. My fingers are crossed with expectancy.
Three hundred and twenty six years ago this day King Charles I was brutally murdered by his captors. A foul day ineed that was. What with William Hamilton's new book and this anniversary I cannot envisage much joy and happiness at Sandringham this week.Her Majesty may well be quaking in her boots.
Chris rings at 9.30 to say we have managed to get a place in Majorca for the weeks we wanted. Not too happy about Majorca, but Chris was assured it's a good place where we're going. More developments tomorrow.
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