Saturday 11th January 2014

January used to be a quiet month. Whatever happened? In middle-age, far from ascending the sunny uplands of peace and resignation, one is more and more frantic. Estate affairs, the official car with Xenon driving lights to be MOT-ed, the Glyndebourniana ballot form to be submitted, the invitations to the Gay Mother’s multiple 90th birthday parties to go out, seeds to be ordered, the missing stair rail to be replaced, not to mention Christmas present thank-yous. I can’t even think about Tuscany. And marmalade! And Dainty Lady TV, of course. By rights, at this moment, I should be revising the Harrods, Harvey Nicks and Selfridges Sales.

But my meditation on Greatness’s Nature: at the New Year’s Eve party were some young people, brought by Harry Rollo. They didn’t like me. Both seemed to be in the costume-making line. To one, I said, ‘My friend, Val, that’s what he does. He’s unsurpassed. Jasper Conran gave him some sketches.  But it took Val to make them into frocks for lovely actresses to wear.’ ‘Oh I’ve passed that stage,’ the youth announced. ‘I’m more on the designing side.’

So my meditation on Greatness’s nature. What is achievement? What is this ‘stage’ this person claimed to have passed? This morning I re-arranged my china cupboard slightly and took a bed valance to the cleaners. Some would say these were chores of great dreariness. But I see no difference from passing Acts of Parliament or writing novels. One does what one choses to do. By irony, if you’re keen on becoming Shakespeare, Tolstoy or Nelson Mandela, that kind of greatness will probably elude you if you take no pleasure in small things. Most have greatness thrust upon them and really are only interested in whatever it is they are interested in.

By the way I forgot to mention two important recent observations by Poor Little Rich Gays. Prince Dmitri Hersov (blasted by ‘achievement’, wracked by Blue-Chip responsibilities)denounced blue Christmas lights. I so agree. Cold. And the Blond Multi: he was prostrate in an armchair at the new country demesne. I said, ‘What is your January diary looking like?’ He signed: ‘I’m retiring from public life. Like Princess Diana. Such a good idea.’