_. The weather continues nauseating. Blunt, Blunt, Blunt, and more Blunt, and even more Blunt. Blunt in the morning, Blunt in the evening and Blunt at supper time. It's the poor Queen I feel sorry for. She has been used disgracefully by Cabinet ministers down the years. They asked her to retain Prof Blunt after his confession. She really ought to have Sir J. Hobson [Attorney-General in 1964] exhumed and hanged at Tyburn.
The Press pursuit of Sabrina Guinness seems to have died down. As if we were ever going to see Queen Sabrina anyway. Reading Anthony Holden's biography of the P of Wales, serialised in the Sunday Times. I do feel sorry for the future King. He leads a lonely and aloof existence. Just to dine with his mother he has to arrange the meeting three weeks beforehand, and this is with them both living under the same roof at Buckingham Palace. Before visiting Charles in his palace suite the Queen always telephones first to make an appointment.
Bed with Adolf again. The war is now blazing and Dunkirk is in full swing.
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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ... -
Moorhouse Inn Cold and quiet. Dave Glynn phoned tonight but Ally and I were in the cellar, and when we phoned back Lily said that David has...
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