Saturday 20th February 2016

Lord Arrowby did his usual thing. ‘I’ll come down to Borough Market at 9.30 in the morning to be with,’ I go last Friday by text message. No reply. But such is the deep trust between us, I knew he would be there. And he was. Clearly visible to the general public through the window in Indian Buddhist garb for the Western market by Dries and Paul and Joe. The day before he had worn a Dries tapestry coat to a meeting of shuddering Greatnesses, who, with him, stalk the highest corridors of power in our Land. ‘We can’t all be in the metropolitan fashionable set like George,’ one of the others said. ‘I’m the only one who lives in a flat,’ Lord A confided in me. Now, listen carefully: current polls are 51% Remain, 49% Leave. Undecideds are crucial and will only be persuaded by rational argument. Thus Lord Arrowby briefed me. Be grateful, Poor Little Rich Gays: this comes from the highest quarter of our Land. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Otherwise we had a wail of a time recalling the more lurid aspects of boarding school life in front of the fishmonger. And further exciting talk, not to be overheard, such as is customary amongst men with drives and juices. Lord Arrowby’s parting shot re: the saddle of his bicycle you would not believe.

While I was with Lord Arrowby, Robert Nevil WhatsApp-ed to postpone dining that evening on account of a sudden cold. Lord Arrowby was not convinced. The next morning I phoned Robert Nevil. He remembered to cough once, then was very talkative while walking to deliver a birthday card to a neighbour. I think more he was a bit breakdown-esque and couldn’t face a gruelling evening alone with me, Adrian Edge. Since the passing of his mother, Robert Nevil has been involved in estate affairs, like me, Adrian Edge, and has been wracked. Also he’s engaged on a great work. It’s called: ‘No More Commies: The Spirit of England As It Shines through the Pony Club.’ Bizarrely he has insisted on writing it himself rather than letting me do it. I can envisage quite a few passages nevertheless: ‘Penny, Fiona, Bunty and Bob (a girl) led their ponies to just the spot where they would be sure to see the Queen Mother’s car passing. It was a liquid June morning and you could feel England.  The musksquash were braying deep in the woodland, as were the pee-wits and the curlews. Oh the hedgerows of England, dabbed with soft colour, such as gladioli and pampas grass…’

Lord Arrowby by Dries van Noten. NB It was a Different Dries Coat that Lord A Wore to the High-Level Summit