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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.
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