Thursday 13th October

After that Royal Academy pinnacle, it was off to the Far West to attend to estate matters and spend some days with the Gay Mother. I took a damson consignment down. The Gay Mother at 92 is working hard on her fish frying technique. At one time she said that only I, Adrian Edge, could fry the lemon sole to perfection. But suddenly I was abolished from the duty and she took over. With her efforts though she was dissatisfied. Crispness had not been achieved. There was a low period. Now she triumphed and added a fennel sprig, both decorative and novel as to flavour.

That was the first evening – the sole as it should be. The next day I went officially to the county town on estate business. When I got back she’d been pureé-ing. A fine quantity of imperial purple pureé had materialised. The damson is a kingly fruit. It is named after Damascus where there was much Royalty – as well as gorgeous silk cloth. She’d also been telephoning round the neighbourhood offering damsons. I was to take them to neighbours. I got mild coffee poisoning as a result. In one house I criticised their washing machine for its bowed front in my delirium.

Cousin Smurry lunched on the Saturday – thank God she liked the guinea fowl and the damson purée for pudding. Then on the Sunday the Gay Mother decreed a walk after tea to see what latest outrages the pheasant shoot had committed. On the way back after prodding of the dyke in quest of missing wild flowers, I went ahead. Turning to monitor the Gay Mother’s progress, I saw that she was down on verge, sitting and marooned. I helped her up. She’d been trying to pick up litter and tripped on a tiny tree stump. At that moment a neighbour came by in a car and stopped for polite conversation while I plucked the leaves off the Gay Mother’s back. As on the stage, you can adjust costume or wipe up a spillage without the audience noticing. Back in the house, the Gay Mother found she’d cut her foot and her hand was bruised. So it was off to the Minor Injuries unit which was full of youths in football outfits who were either gashed or their ankles twisted. They had ‘mates’ with them. They’d never seen such a pair as the Gay Mother and myself. I was wearing Zara black skinny jeans and my v old Prada iridescent light Spring coat. We were back home in time for Poldark.

The Gay Mother’s Damson Quota: Note the Historic Larder Setting

The Gay Mother’s Finished Purée Triumph: Angus Willis Level of Bowl Styling: Heritage Formica and Sugar Tin, 1956