Thursday 20th April 2023

We dined out in the Far West. One guest, over 90, was offered two sorts of artisanal cheese biscuits (the kind that can gash the roof of your mouth if you don’t watch out). One was normal grain colour, the other, black, the charcoal range. ‘I wonder if anyone ever manages to get rid of the black ones,’ he said, passing the plate along. Of this same man, the Gay Mother said, ‘He doesn’t eat greens. It’s a wonder he’s alive.’

The Gay Mother herself mentioned a daffodil she’d seen growing at Lady Sweetdriver’s. It was a coffee morning for charity. Lady Sweetdriver herself had told her its name. ‘I’ve had it in my garden ever since,’ the Gay Mother said. ‘But has it remained true?’ I asked. ‘So far, yes.’ But this coffee morning was fifty years ago at least. Lady Sweetdriver was gathered in 1995.

The Radio Times rarely gives satisfaction. ‘Why have I got to have that awful face starring at me?’ the Gay Mother says of any face on the cover. But with this issue it was Mary Beard within. ‘She seems to be determined to look as awful as possible.’