Friday 29th August 2014

I don’t know where I’ve been all week. The Multis in Tuscany are making cocktails out of the swimming pool water for economy and some of their villa units have been found in the breakfast area not at breakfast time, recalling the grave offence described by Verily Anderson in ‘The Daughters of Divinity’ of being found in the Sunday Coat Cupboard not on a Sunday. The girl in question was sent to the Headmistress to whom she insisted, Caligula-like, that she was a horse. So she was let off, because anything horsey went down v. well at Normanhurst.

I was going to tell you about the Gay Mother’s plan to remove a hebe but it’ll have to wait. I was with her last weekend.

Val has made an important discovery.

He goes: ‘Did you know that Gandhi was a little bit Scottish? We’ve been saying all these years Mahatma and actually it’s McHatma! Apparently his old Mum was Morag from Dalhousuie. And that was a tropical kilt round his waist!’

Scotland is much in our minds at the moment because it might go independent. Suddenly nearly everything and everybody of importance is being found to be Scottish to try and make them feel more loved and less likely to vote ‘Yes’.

No more has been heard from Val of the titular Abbess of Aleppo and her novices who were one minute crossing the Alps to save Tuscany and the next praying violently in the capella at Gatwick Airport for shrinkage in the delay to the Multis’ plane for Rome – that was two weeks ago. Also its wheel was bad. After 3 hours waiting in the Club First Lounge where they met old business associates by chance who said they longed to die now that they’re retired, the Mults finally boarded. Then the wheel was found to be bad and they had to wait on the tarmac for a replacement to arrive from Valencia. They didn’t gain the Hassler until gone midnight.