Wednesday 5^th August 2009

 I regain the capital. I find I cannot remember who my friends are. ‘You’re a sad and lonely person,’ Simon Limpney screamed down the phone at me. This was some years ago. He sounded just like Dawn French doing that send-up of The Omen.  I think it’s The Omen. Anyway she’s tied to a bed getting more and more satanic. Eventually her tongue comes alive.

 No word from Anthony Mottram, no farewell text before boarding for Malaysia. Lord Arrowby has gone abroad but it is not said where – maybe he has joined Lord Mandelbaum in Corfu. Lord Arrowby is just like Lord Mandelbaum if you imagine Lord M as: younger, terribly attractive, with hazel eyes, sparkling, with a fun-loving side. I don’t think Lord A is involved in politics. I’ve only the vaguest idea of what he does – but it’s terribly important.

 Granny always took a dim view of August. She said the light in July is blue but in August it goes white. I agree. August is a non-month. It is the true winter of the year, not January or February as is commonly believed. The trees have gone dull. The garden is tired. If you look in Hello magazine, and there are pictures of people at parties in August, you think: this can’t be happening, they must all be dead or something.