Wednesday 4th April 2012

India is held over until tomorrow, which is also Aunt Lavinia’s 80th Birthday Party at Shoreditch House. I’m not to be in pearl grey after all.

Feeling that I had not quite caught the Blond Multi yesterday, I realise with horror that I have not paid tribute on the occasion of his 50th birthday.

He’ll hate it, of course.

It was Laura Malcolm, that commentator on French affairs and possessor of the one of the largest known Bruce-MacBain-designed premises, who first saw in the Blond Multi a 1st World War Captain, marching direct from public school, commanding absolute loyalty from his platoon.

It would not have been his glamour alone nor his fine manly figure that would have bound the men. Nor his knowing to leave them alone at mealtimes and just what unintrusive enquiries to make after their families. Nor his superb cuffs and uniform, no doubt kept at a peak even in the Trenches.

No, no or rather yes, yes: it would have been his miraculous Poor Little Rich Gay quality that would have inspired utter devotion, the extraordinary gift, perhaps only sensed by his men,  of being in certainty, determined on action, clear in decision yet at the same time mysteriously agonized. They would have glimpsed the painstaking humanity as the Blond strode ahead quite dependable.

I also failed to mention that the Multis took the Passion very well. The Photo Multi has always loved Bach and other high music; the Blond too moves to embrace it.