Subject to change

My last week in London and it is just as well. One more would most likely kill me. The least frantic event was the one that Simon Phillips and Roger Moore threw in Harry’s Bar for Unicef, as worthy a charity as there is, following the Masterpiece Fair at the former Chelsea Barracks. I sat next to Britt Ekland, still sexy and still working, but my high moment was finally meeting Sir Roger’s youngest son, Christian. Many years back Christian had designs on some young blonde friend of mine, but I checkmated him by telling her she would end up in the pokey as he was 13 years old. (He was 18, and his now father-in-law, a most charming Syrian gent, has been reading The Spectator since the Sixties.)

Writing a weekly diary with metronomic regularity can, of course, bore the reader. In my 33 years of doing it in these here pages I have tried to vary them.