Monday April 4, 1977

Thoroughly ordinary sort of day. Just routine at the YP and usual at home. No telephone calls or great news other than the astounding information that the Duke of Beaufort is 77 years old today!

Piss off Michael. You don't half talk a load of shit at times.

                                          POEM

Duke of Beaufort.

Good Old Duke of Beaufort,
You're Seventy Seven today,
with all that luscious parkland,
You're a C*nt with a capital K

(c) MLR.

No, to be honest, I don't like being vulgar. Besides which I'm a leading fan of all dukes of all age and varying fortune. It's quite a while since I made such a silly entry as this. Yes, indeed.

S H I T 


Oh sod it! You've guessed by now I'm doing all this just to waste space. I can't bear to see blank pages in the diary. I bet Evelyn Waugh or Samuel Pepys never did this. Mind you, that's probably why they're famous. Publishers like Michael Joseph or Lord Weidenfeld will be far from enthusiastic by my contribution on this page.

Retire to bed at 12.15am on the morn of my 22nd birthday.

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