Wednesday 11th March 2026

The Gay Mother took 102 years a few weeks ago.

Twenty-three persons crammed into the house for a fork luncheon. It was a bit better than one unripe supermarket brie on a table as at a student party. But you do wonder whether a packed mass is ideal for a 102nd birthday. Have many explored the territory? Why doesn’t somebody do a book: Party-planning for the Centenarian? It would sell and sell.

Aunt Lavinia’s dog’s lead got caught up in the bonnet of my new Offical Car. How? I hadn’t got round to opening the bonnet yet but was curious as to what would be under it since the car has no engine.

Someone or something set off the mousetraps as well – and it wasn’t a mouse.

As for the dog, it had on previous occasions dunged Sedgmoor Service Station (that was at Christmas) and vomited on the Gay Mother’s drawing room carpet.

Dogs are ornamental. But can’t come indoors.

Well, there were 23 persons crammed into the house. I was racked with guilt at having done no cooking – it was all bought in but styled. The Maharajah, Robert Nevil and Anthony Mottram styled and kept on styling all through the event. They were even washing up with Cousin Monica who accused the cutlery drainer of being unknown territory at the bottom: therefore best to put cutlery in handle first.

Anthony Mottram, as reported afterwards, had conversation: particularly with the KC about the Lucy Letby affair. The KC said she probably did it but should be retried.

I seemed only to encounter people as they arrived or departed. Often in the interval they’d gone off their heads. It was a blur really. Strange how at stand-up functions guests get lodged in odd places, such as doorways, even when in another room all the chairs are vacant. They must have been enthralled with their conversation.

It so happened it was glorious weather. The event really did take place, in the real world. The Gay Mother really is 102. Now she is online. When she was born the General Strike was yet to happen and Thomas Hardy was still alive. She was present at the funeral of George V and once saw Gandhi from the top of a bus in Knightsbridge.

She is bringing on seed potatoes in egg-boxes for the coming season in a cold part of the house. From out of the bathroom window, she’s seen a stoat.