Horribly cold again. Snow hindered my arduous journey to the office. Sat on a smoke-filled bus coughing and spluttering with all the regular 40 cig-a-dayers.
YP hideous. Kathleen is so frustrated, we have decided, because she's been sharing a bed with her mother since before Christmas owing to the presence of a dreadful cousin with a heart condition.
Lady Hartwell is dead. The daughter of the brilliant F.E. Smith [Lord Birkenhead] and wife of the Daily Telegraph's proprietor.
Weather news: winter here with a vengeance. In Scotland last night temperatures in some parts fell to minus 27c. The floods in York and Selby have now frozen over and the windsurfing in the Shambles has given way to ice-skating. I know it's a bore to talk about the weather, but the recent blizzards and floods are the worst in living memory and it would be quite wrong for me to ignore them.
The Prince and Princess of Wales are to visit St Gemma's Hospice in Leeds to open a new wing on March 30. I'd like to see Diana in the flesh.
Visited book shops at lunchtime. I'm into Ken Follett at the moment. Home at 6. Bought fish and chips and watched 'The Hound of the Baskerville's' [1939]. Good stuff.
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