Everyone is back in the routine now. Christmas is over after what seems like eight weeks of merry making and festivities.
To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley at 8am. The only thing worth reading in the papers today is the tale that Lord Grosvenor, son of the Duke of Westminster, will probably marry Princess Marie-Christine of Belgium. You may think I revel in trivia and poppycock but that's how I was made and none of you can do anything to help me. Some people read only the sports pages, others gloat over grizzly court cases - I just happen to like gossip and high society news.
While I'm on the subject of scandal, you may as well hear my opinion on the Douro-Hunnicutt affair. I categorically state that Marquess Douro will NEVER marry Gayle Hunnicutt, the actress. I'm willing to put my shirt on it.
Carole rings at lunchtime and I tell her of Uncle Harry's offer to 'put us up' for the night on Feb 7. She likes the idea.
My lips cracked again today. I think the cold weather is responsible. Uncle Harry isn't the only guy who may be quiting these fair, damp islands for the eternal sun and paradise of the Continent. First Englebert Humperdink, then Elton John, Rod Stewart, and now Uncle Harry! Denis Healey's taxes are driving all the talent from these shores and I don't think he'll realise what a national loss it is until someone of REAL genius departs... like.... er...er... ME.
Dave L rings at 7pm to say he can't make it to 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' tomorrow. Carole rings again at 7.10 and I inform her we're going on Wednesday instead. We were both pleasant and cheerful with each other.
