Wednesday November 21, 1979

_. 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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Monday October 1, 1979

_. Read in a Sunday newspaper that Sabrina Guinness is to accompany the Prince of Wales to a ball at Wilton House on October 27. Miss Guinness, they say, was recently observed renting a tiara from the royal jewellers. Is this it, perhaps? Is Guinness good for him? Geddit? Are we going to have an Irish Queen? [Well, she's probably a Londoner, but of Irish stock]. The opinion in the office is that she is going to be the one. However, all HRHs affairs follow a similar pattern. We will all be in the dark until an announcement is made by Buckingham Palace and then the balloon will go up.

The revolting 'Horse of the Year Show' dominates the tv every night, driving innocent people to the pubs and restaurants.

[Crossing out] Sorry about that. I don't like crossing out. I was going to say that Maria brought the children to see us this evening, but that wouldn't have been true. We saw nothing of her or the children.

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Wednesday August 8, 1979

_. Margaret and Jim came here this evening instead of the traditional Thursday because they are venturing to Redcar tomorrow. They do not enthuse about the prospects of a wet day at the races. I bet they end up at the White Cross at lunch time.

I have neglected my royal deliberations recently. What with the Queen's victorious visit to Zambia and the escapades of the Prince of Wales and Prince Andrew with the Guinness sisters I have had ample opportunity to lecture, but have held back. You must forgive this boring patch.

I retired to bed at 12 full to bursting with pork pies and salad sandwiches. I will resemble Orson Welles before long.

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