Wednesday 28th September 2016

Harry Rollo and Mercury Mr Kitchen came round: I did Ottolenghi. It was just ourselves; just you, me and Alfred – that’s an in-joke. But as it happened I saw Alfred the following week, now in a winter torment apparently and accompanied by his Official Hostess, looking fabulously Heidi but with that higher colour that comes from the fight against Death which she was clearly winning. It is she who says, ‘You must come to dinner… just you, me and Alfred.’ Whether anyone ever does isn’t known.

But that’s another day. Harry mentioned that the daughter of Keeper of the Queen’s Pictures (a previous one) casts spells. She put a curse on a world-famous film director and he didn’t make another film for ten years. ‘That’s funny,’ I said, ‘because Cousin Paquita’s mother was the wife of the Royal Librarian and she was a White Witch.’

So clearly witchcraft is rife at Court.

Also pieces of metal: for it was after getting back from Buckingham Palace that my eye started playing up. Worse at night. I spent hours trying to put into words the symptoms but the nurse at Moorfields cut off me off: ‘There’s a piece of metal lodged,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to get it out.’ Which he did with a terrifying spike.

So for the journey to Salisbury the next day I wasn’t in top form: it’s horrid having something wrong with your eye because you can’t see it. Plus if it gets infected you could go blind. I managed to get Val on the phone from the car. At least he’s alive – but not heard of since. He’d been clamped to the lav for weeks. Quite unable to get on with the curtains for my back bedroom. Lord knows what will become of that fabric which cost £400.

I only just got to the Court in time for Anthony Mottram’s mother’s pre-funeral family concert in the public drawing room of the retirement housing complex. She was enthroned in the front row rather than in her coffin. It was her idea – the pre-funeral designation – mainly as a way of getting her sons to buck up and give the concert which they were reluctant to do owing to advancing years and having less puff. ‘You’re not to call it that,’ other residents said beforehand. ‘Don’t say anything about pre-funeral.’ But the family acquited themselves well: how many families have four instrumentalists of high or even international standard? I was mobbed by Court Lady residents: ‘Dainty Lady TV!’ they said. ‘Would you like to meet Lady Primrose?’ Lady Primrose is the star resident or some of them, not quite as blazing as Anthony Mottram’s mother. There was a tremendous tangle of zimmers and walkers parked by the door. One lady, departing afterwards, heaved her zimmer over her head to free it before setting off.