Wednesday March 30, 1977

Princess Marie-Astrid.

More in the papers about the Prince of Wales and Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg. The Daily Mail announces that Misses Sheffield and Eastwood and Lady Jane Wellesley are all 'decoys' and that the prince has been 'in love' with Marie-Astrid for a number of years. A load of bullshit. The very organ that has led us to believe that the prince is having an affair with Davina Sheffield is now saying we've all been fooled. You wait and see, the next time HRH is within six hundred yards of anyone remotely female the Daily Mail will be ringing wedding bells and proclaiming 'this is it!'.

The princess is of course very eligible. Granddaughter of Leopold III, King of the Belgians; daughter of the ruler of Luxembourg, but Roman Catholic. Dr Cobweb, the Archbishop of Canterbury is meeting Pope Paul next month. What will crop up in their discussions?  Comment from Mama: "Oh he will marry a princess - it's as plain as the nose on my face."

Work unspectacular. No Sarah. Spoke to Delia on the phone and she reminded me about my birthday tea next week. Yes, 22 years - aarrghh! Who cares anyway? Moses supposedly lived a long and active life and died at the grand old age of 450 or something.

Ruth: 24 years old

Sit in front of the television until 10.45pm when the England v. Luxembourg football match drives me from the room to the sanctity of my chambers.

Nothing on the news. Saw Sir Geoffrey Howe make a reply to Denis Healey's Budget. No phone calls tonight. Tony told me, on the quiet, that Ruth is 24 and has been separated from her husband for 2 years. Blimey, the girl only looks 18. Martyn has yet to be informed of this. Does Ruth know that Martyn is only 18? Age doesn't matter though.

Have a P.G. Wodehouse session after wallowing in the bath. Must write to David of Gloucester.

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Wednesday February 19, 1975

Beautiful day. A crisp morning with the sun as big as a football following us all the way to Leeds. One would hardly believe it's 93,000,000 miles away, or something equally fantastic.
Margaret Thatcher picked her shadow Cabinet yesterday. Willie Whitelaw is the deputy leader, and the repulsive Sir Geoffrey Howe is 'Chancellor'. Peter Walker and Geoffrey Rippon have received the boot, as it were, and the prodigal Reggie Maudling's been forgiven all his sin sand receives the Foreign and Commonwealth job. Definately a right wing leap for the Tories but I can't say that I disagree. The country needs a good old Churchillian party.

Go to town with Eileen at lunchtime and spend £1 on absolutely nothing. Must be a sign of the times. I can recall the days when I got one shilling and six pence a week, and on Friday I still had change in my pocket.

Prince Andrew is having another quiet birthday today. The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh are of course out in the Bahamas; the Prince of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and Earl Mountbatten are in Nepal for the coronation of the King; Princess Margaret is on holiday in the sun, and Lord Snowdon is working in Australia. No one to help him celebrate. I bet they've had a job finding counsellors of state. The Hon Gerald Lascelles and the late Lady Patricia Ramsay will be acting in this capacity no doubt.

To the Hare with John, Naomi and Gillian. The latter young lady certainly knows how to keep hold of someone. Just because I got carried away with her in Peter's van last Friday she thinks I ought to be infatuated for life. Not on her Nellie. Chris, Laura and (Jane's) Helen joined us. Boring really.

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Thursday February 6, 1975

Pleasant day. Eileen and I mess about in town at lunchtime and I return home furnished with 'How Long' by Ace, a particular favourite record of Miss Braithwaite and myself.

Pleased to see the flags flying in Leeds and indeed above Guiseley Police Station, for the twenty third anniversary of the accession of Her Majesty the Queen. These anniversaries certainly come round quickly. Two years time and it will be the Silver Jubilee.

The Tory party fiasco continues. The revolting reactionary Sir Geoffrey Howe is now standing for the leadership, along with the Nation's Sweetheart Mrs Thatcher, William Whitelaw, one of the bulldog breed, old James Prior of whom little can be said, and an unknown person called Peyton, who was originally thought to have become extinct along with the Dodo and Lord Hailsham.

Do nothing at all in the evening other than watch the TV, and play my new record a few times. Bed at a relatively early hour.

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