Wednesday 2nd June 2021

You may remember I wrote to the Prime Minister, who is called Boris Johnson, to ask why we are being kept alive. No reply, of course. I thought it was normal, even expected, to question government policies, whatever they are. Isn’t that what parliament is for? What if I, and others, don’t want to stay alive? Have we got to?

Just recently my nerves have been so bad, I’ve longed to die. A bit better now.

I should have mentioned that the Nizam doesn’t like soufflés. He also didn’t like the soda bread I made to the recipe Laura Malcolm found, didn’t like so badly he bought a different loaf.  Robert Nevil let slip about the soufflés, omitting through lack of recall, perhaps, that the reason it is known that the Nizam doesn’t like soufflés is that soufflé was the welcome dinner on Christmas Eve when they came to stay, made by me in my desperate struggle with the strict Hindu diet.

Those were candle-lit days, long ago now.

The Nizam does like Egg and Chips. But not when the chips are over-ovened to a crisp because the non-Hindus are tormenting some bits of chicken and not paying attention.

Robert Nevil and the Nizam have returned to their proper home now.

I attended the Press Preview of the Field of Cloth of Gold Exhib at Hampton Court. This morning it was Diana’s Wedding Dress at KP. I saw the Royal Helicopter on the lawn at the back of the Palace. A man was lounging in it. Eventually he strolled over to the crowd waiting behind the fence. ‘You’re very welcome to wait,’ he said, ‘but we’re not going anywhere until this afternoon.’ It was then 11 a.m. So Royal.

We had a reunion lunch with the Laird and Lairdess in a pub near Newbury. I attended a concert at the Ragged School with Kalesnikov and Mark Padmore sang Winterreise. Then I was with the Gay Mother for nearly a week. But all the time racking strain and worry.

Maybe it’s easier to be ‘locked’. I was told by a young person that everyone he knows dreads going back to work. They would prefer to stay forever with TV at home being paid for by the Government. I’ve always thought having to do a ‘job’ perfectly ghastly. Such an intrusion on one’s time. Now I find I was right. Nobody loves their work. All the rubbish about ‘passion’ for producing school prospectuses or whatever it is people do. I’ve already had outfit worries and exclusion worries and schedule worries. When ‘locked’ I was spared all those.

But mostly it’s the destruction of society and the dread that it will never end or be re-destroyed all over again. When we’re at the worst it can only get better. When we get better, it might plunge again, especially if Dr Susan Mitchie and Professor Christina Pagel have their way. It’s got beyond a question of who is right and who is wrong. There’s no doubt that we have been treated as units in a public health scheme, deliberately tortured by propaganda and fear-mongering, considered incapable of making up our own minds or taking responsibility, ostracised and vilified if we dare to even question the orthodoxy. The real horror is that the vast majority have fallen for it, those leaning Left who ought to be in the forefront of rebellion, leading the way.