on hot summer days. They love each other totally, and uncovering that really was revelatory for me. The more I read about her – and in the end I finished an entire biography, non-swanks! – I couldn’t believe how their love was so exactly like my own love for Andrew.
As couples, we were like peas in the proverbial iPod. Victoria and Albert used to eat meals together – and so did me and Andrew. Victoria and Albert used to sometimes go out together – and so did us. Victoria and Albert stayed married until the day he died – and so did me and Andrew, or nearly. Victoria wrestled the whole of her life with weight issues bound up with a lack of self-confidence – and so did me. And, just like I, Victoria eventually went to live in the United States of America, where the people respected her honesty, admired her for her amazing work with WeightWatchers and literally took her to their hearts. The list goes on and on.
SARAH, DUCHESS OF YORK
Albert Einstein. Let’s face it, the guy didn’t know the first thing about science.
GERMAINE GREER
March 12th
Violet and I attended pre-luncheon drinks with the Somersets at Gloucester. Then on to the Gloucesters in Somerset. The Devonshires had brought Kent along. Halfway through the luncheon, the butler informed us that Lady Avon was at the door. ‘Tell her to join us!’ said Gloucester, drawing up a chair for her. She sat down and was halfway through her main course (medaillons de veau, pommes Lyonnaises, épinards à la crème – all perfectly eatable), entertaining us with fulsome praise for a new lemon-scented shower gel, whatever that may be, when it emerged that the butler had misheard. She was not Lady Avon at all, but the Avon Lady.
ANTHONY POWELL
In the operations room at Downing Street, the telephone rings. Prime Ministerial aides sigh knowingly. They know from long experience that when a phone rings, there is sure to be someone on the other end of the line.
It is a call for the Prime Minister from someone very important, perhaps even a VIP. According to seasoned observers, Tony Blair has matured in office. He is now very adept, very professional with a telephone. And today is no exception. He takes the telephone receiver in his right hand, and places it to his ear. This way, he can not only hear what is being said, but speak himself, knowing he will be heard down the other end.
‘Hello. It is good to speak to you,’ he says in a clear voice into the telephone receiver. Whoever it is on the other end will probably have heard him, loud and clear. By saying, ‘Hello. It is good to speak to you,’ he is signalling to the other person not only that he is now on the ‘other end of the line’, but also that he is pleased to be able to speak to him. A born diplomat, this morning he is also proving himself a highly skilled politician.
SIR PETER STOTHARD *
March 13th
Riding into New York I was struck, not for the first time, by how busy it is, and how many skyscrapers there are: it’s the city that never sleeps, a bit like Beijing or Vladivostok. Dublin’s quite like that too.
CHARLEY BOORMAN
March 14th, 1960
TO HAROLD MACMILLAN
Darling H,
You were such an absolute poppet last night in Downing Street listening to silly me rambling on about Larry’s deceit – and you so dreadfully, dreadfully busy, too! But if Larry hadn’t promised, absolutely promised, me the role, and then reneged on that promise, I would never have burdened you with my worries, particularly when you were so busy trying to sort out your little Balance of Payments.
I can’t tell you how much I value your friendship – your powers of oratory, your command of politics, your urbane manner, those splendidly coarse yet effortlessly elegant tweed suits and, perhaps above all, your magnificent moustaches. Promise me you’ll never shave them off. They look so very becoming on you – and one dreads to contemplate what lies beneath. My best love to your darling Dorothy, too. She looked so very lovely in that pretty floral dress last night.
Your dearest,
Johnny
JOHN GIELGUD
TO DADIE RYLANDS
Dearest Darling Dadie,
One feels so dreadfully sorry for them both. Harold, perfectly hideous in tweeds, is now something desperately important in politics. He does go on so. I fear that moustache of his has gone to his head. He asks my advice on the Balance of Payments. I tell him that Tony Quayle would be excellent in the lead, with Peggy as second fiddle, but he pays no heed. These politicians are so one-track minded.
Dorothy M was clad from top to toe in the most hideous fabric, poor darling. Had I not known better, I would have taken her for a large pair of curtains and attempted to draw her shut.
Big kiss, Johnny
JOHN GIELGUD
March 15th
Mauritius in March, so many years ago. I was wearing a rather low-cut bathing suit which displayed my bosom to maximum advantage! It was unconventional in those days to wear a rather low-cut bathing suit to a formal dinner party! But then I have always been a rather unconventional sort of woman!
Needless to say, the eyes of the men at the table were literally glued to my cleavage!* So I decided to divert their attention by insisting on a round of silly games!
‘I know what!’ I shrieked, delightedly. ‘Let’s play hunt the thimble!’ And with that I withdrew into the sitting room, and got darling Mrs Stokes, who once cooked her perfect sherry trifle for Adolf Eichmann, to place a thimble down what many have been kind enough to describe as my remarkable cleavage!
‘Hunt the thimble – ready, steady, go!’ I whooped as I returned to the dining room! In fact, I tried to make it easier for them by pointing at the likely area! But sadly not one of the gentlemen looked up, thank you very much!
On closer investigation, I discovered they were otherwise engaged in plopping their ‘members’ (how I hate that word!) on the table to see whose was the largest!
Then they all got out their felt-tips, painted funny faces on them and re-enacted the Battle of Omdurman! ‘I know when I’m not wanted, gents!’ I exclaimed, good-heartedly dipping into my own bosom for my thimble and retreating upstairs for an early night with something milky and a copy of the latest Vogue!
LADY ANNABEL GOLDSMITH
Find corpse in upstairs guest bathroom. Freak out. Sell house.
KEITH RICHARDS
March 16th
Oh Jasus. Oh Jasus oh Jasus oh Jasus. Oh Jasus. Will you look at that? asks Dad. I look down at me plate. Oh Jasus, he asks, was there ever a child like him for the greed and the gluttony, the gluttony and the greed? And now the others are staring at me plate, and they’d take a pitchfork to me head out of jealousy