Saturday 14th May 2016

Still frantically trying to buy antiques and improve the home as well as garden. Tonight I go with the Gay Mother to a hog-roast in the village in celebration of a gift. But I must recall my visit last week to Wilton’s Music Hall. Some of Lord Arrowby’s friends who live in council flats and write revolutionary poetry were staging a perf at Wilton’s Music Hall. When out of the council flats they sing and dance and banter. Lord Arrowby, when out of his flat, tends to be at Buckingham Palace in deep confab with the Queen’s Private Sec.  Space is tight at Wilton’s. I was pressed close to this Lord in the narrow seats and so experienced at first hand not just an admin bulwark of our country but a sporty bulk as well.  Lord Arrowby engaged the lady on his other side. This was Babs from a council flat down the Commercial Road and mad keen on all the shows, dying to go on at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern now she’s retired and available. She explained that her singing is awful; there’d been complaints. Some directors had told her how awful she is but still she is hell-bent on engagements. She will perform regardless so will surely be fabulous. Lord Arrowby arranged by technology a connection to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern there and then. Babs would have been up for any adventure. She’d have run away on the spot with this handsome athletic administrative powerhouse of our Nation had he suggested it, which is unlikely. And never have known beyond the general allure of power that this Lord does indeed stalk the highest corridors.

The show began: the first part was a ballet about time in which she absolutely climbed on top of him and then he had to get up with her still on board. It was rather thrilling. In the interval Lord Arrowby mentioned the different types of love. He said they’d been referred to at his school. He used a very rude word. My God, this Lord was skittish what with talking to Babs and being with alternatives. ‘That’s eros type of love,’ I said. Babs had mentioned a fish and chip shop nearby but it seemed we weren’t to go there. ‘Then there’s brotherly love and platonic,’ Lord Arrowby said.

I knew I was going to love the next part of the Show because it was Diana and Marilyn. And I did. It was totally thrilling and glorious and wonderful and when it was over I just wanted it to start all over again. I couldn’t tell you what it was about or what happened. Marilyn was a man but Diana was completely her with the kohl and downward manipulative look. They danced away and there was music and their real voices laid on the top. What an absolute scream and uproar. Arthur Miller came into it and Camilla Parker-Bowles. There was a wistful kind of tragic air. I always said Diana would be back and I was right.

The great striding manly Lord strode out of the theatre and there was time for a final glass of wine before his car and back to papers in the flat. No fish and chips.