Monday January 10, 1977

Anthony Eden,
1st Earl of Avon, KG

Peter wakes me at 6.30am to say I've been parading around the bedroom sleepwalking. Sleepwalking??! I don't believe it, mate. Michael Rhodes isn't that sort of guy. The snow is coming down in the volume that Bing Crosby likes to sing about and Lynne sits grumpily over her egg on toast watching it. The drive over to Leeds would be a sombre - even macabre - affair indeed were it not for Noel Edmonds and Radio One. Lynne is even worse than I am on a morning if you can imagine that. Horrid day at the YP. Poor Lord Avon is breathing his last down in deepest Wiltshire - 20 years to the very day since he resigned as Prime Minister. Poor sod. He married Churchill's niece, you know, Clarissa. Also, this Prince of Wales/Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg thing is brewing up again. A pile of shit if you ask me. The Grand Duke [of Luxembourg] comes to Sandringham EVERY year to kill grouse and other wildlife, and just because he's here at the moment the papers are saying he's discussing the marriage arrangements with the Queen. Laughable. Charlie Boy will marry an English bird - I'll bet you a quid on it. Back to Pine Tops at 6 o'clock. Hear some scandal. Chris is knocking about with Carole again. Eek. Tony rings to say he's off to the Hare with Stuart and enquires whether I want to attend the WH Smith dinner tomorrow. This is a must. He says he went to the Boat Show for the weekend _______. Gossip is hilariously out of control at the moment. Lynne and I go to the Hare at 9 o'clock and meet Tony, Stuart, Martyn, Carla, and Stuart's replacement at Smith's and a new member of the Oakwood Hall Male Voice Choir. Only have a couple of drinks. Bid farewell to Stuart who leaves on Saturday for three years in Paris [C/O Madame Guichard, Residences Les Dauphines, 6 Rue Renault, La Defence 6, 92400, Courbevoie, Paris]. We may never see him again. Don't like parting with friends. Will write him a few daft letters. Home at 10.45. -==-

Sunday May 2, 1976

2nd after Easter. To Mallory Park in Derbyshire or Leicestershire. It's at Kirby Mallory anyway. See a few good motor races and get a glimpse of Noel Edmonds, who was surrounded by nine million female admirers (Christine and Carole included). It is nauseating the way women find him so attractive. (Jealousy).

Leave at about 4.30 and come back to the Menston Arms where Carole has an accident with a ham sandwich and slops the filling all over the carpet. Move hurriedly on to the Black Bull in Otley. From 9 o'clock until 10.30 Carole said nothing at all. Everyone remarks on her sullen, dull witted appearance.

Home at closing time. Carole fell out of Chris's van and hurt her leg. What a state. She was still covered in the remnants of the the Menston Arms sandwich too. She's so accident prone.

Get home where Sue tells me David L is in hospital again. Lynn is going on at me for not having visited him since he started being ill, but David isn't the type to appreciate wailing friends and relatives at the foot of his bed. However, he'll have to grin and bear it tomorrow because I will descend on the hospital with due ceremony.

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Monday January 14, 1974

Climb out of bed at 7.30. Listen to Noel Edmunds until 8. Get the usual train. Very busy at the YP.

Surprised that we have no file for Lady Patricia Ramsay, who has died. This woman was one of the last surviving granddaughters of Queen Victoria, and she broke the tradition of marrying within the royal circle. Instead she married the son of the Earl of Dalhousie, disclaiming her royal rank. The Queen, still at Sandringham, has ordered Court mourning to be observed by the Royal Family until after the funeral of Lady Patricia. I think the Countess of Athlone is the only surviving grandchild of the old Queen, and she is on her way to South Africa at the age of 91. Still obviously a lively old soul.

See the tv all evening. Depart to my bedroom with a book on the modern monarchy by Sir Charles Petrie, Bt, which is not what I expected. In effect it's a copy of all the other books on the British monarchs since 1837. Traces of Wheeler-Bennett, Pope-Hennessy, Nicolson, the Duke of Windsor, and Strachey are all evident. But it entertains.

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