The Lost Diaries

February 3rd

This morning, I moved to pour myself a cup of tea. As I sat stirring that cup, or, rather, the hard, strong tea within it, my elbow moved back and for’d, back and for’d in a movement that danced to a mysterious rhythm. I was nearing the end of my stirring, and weary, when as fate would have it my elbow inadvertently nudged the vase on the corner table. In consequence, the vase fell off the table, and the dampened daffodils within it were hurled onto the floor, causing our maid, previously young and carefree, to slip as she passed by. She fell headlong onto my prone body, so that a passer-by, unaware of the incidents that had preceded this tragic scene, might have surmised with good reason that she was nailed to me, like Jesus Christ on the cross.

Alas, that is not what the second Mrs Hardy surmised as she entered the room a few brief seconds later. Instead, she threw up her hands and hurled cruel epithets of abuse at myself and also at the maid, who had, when the caterwauling came to a stop, aged most visibly, her hair now wispy and grey, with furrows deep in her face like time-honour’d sheep-tracks over old familiar hills.

This afternoon, a fresh cup of tea was brought to me, this time by a fresh maid with an uncomely gait and the severest of squints. The second Mrs Hardy looked on with an air that betrayed contentment. I am left in a state of unknowing as to where our first maid has gone. I suspect it is somewhere far away and forsaken, and that our paths are never more to cross.

Why me?

THOMAS HARDY

February 4th

To an exhibition of driftwood jewellery at the Commonwealth Institute. I am waiting for Her Majesty in the company of Denis MacShane, MP, a junior Foreign Office Minister. He is still recovering from the excitement of playing host to Her Majesty three weeks ago.

‘Have you noticed how she wears her hats so well?’ he observes, respectfully. ‘Always firmly on the head. And she’s brilliant with gloves, too. She knows where to put every single finger, one in each slot. I’ve never seen her get it wrong.’

She arrives in lilac coat and matching hat. She approaches a figure holding a labrador on a lead.

‘Ah,’ she says. ‘A dog.’

‘She gets it right every time,’ the Lord Lieutenant of the county whispers to me. ‘Marvellous with animals.’

GYLES BRANDRETH

February 5th

JONATHAN ROSS: Fand-asdic! You look fablus! Cwoor! You look gwate! Just gwate! Darn she look fablus, laze and gennulmun? Fand-astic! Wooh! I twuly can’t bleev you’re here with me today! Unbleevbul! Fancy a quickie? Fand-asdic! And you’ve also done all of us in this little countwy of ours the gwate honour of atchly coming to live amongst us!

MADONNA: Yes.

JONATHAN ROSS: Unbleevbaw. We all thank you fwom the bottom of our hearts for coming to live here. Jes thing of that laze and gennulmun –Madonna atchly living in England! Canyer bleev it? So er I guess you um must like it here?

MADONNA: Yes. Quite.

JONATHAN ROSS: Fand-asdic! Gwate! Thank you so much for answerwing that question! Hilawious! So now Madonna’s gonna tweat us to a toadly genius new song! Let’s hear it for Madonna, laze and gennulmun!

MADONNA:

Ah trahda stayur head, trahda stayon tarp

Trahda playapart, but somehow ahfugart

Ahdlark to spress my stream parnda view

Ahm not chrisjun nodda jew

Ooohweeoooweeoooh

This is American Lahf

JONATHAN ROSS: FABLUS! GWATE! FAND-ASDIC! Now, lez facey, you are the singaw biggest star in the histwy of the whirl of wall time ever. Thas quite an achievemun!

MADONNA: Wodever.

JONATHAN ROSS: Gwate! It must be litwully amazing being you! Tell us what you do on a nawmaw day?!

MADONNA: This and that.

JONATHAN ROSS: Fand-asdic! Gwate weply! Tellyawha, if I was Madonna, I’d get out of bed, stwip naked and just look at myself in the miwwor for hours on end!!! I mean, you’ve got the most FAND-ASDIC physique, you weally have! Gwate bweasts! Cwooor! If I were you, I’d just go STARKERS and look at them in the miwwor all day long – then I’d turn wownd and take a gander at that incwedibull bum! Is that what you do on a normal day, then? Is it?

MADONNA: No.

JONATHAN ROSS: Gwate! Um. So, Madonna, tell us about a day when you do somethin you weally want to do. Like, what would you do on a day when you do somethin you weally want to do – like, a day when you could do anything, so you decide to do not just anything but, like, somethin you weally want to do, f’rinstance?

MADONNA: Hmmm. A day when I do something I really wanna do. Hmmm.

JONATHAN ROSS: Yeah. I mean, like a day when you just wake up and you think, hey, I’m Madonna, I can do wodever I wanna do and what I wanna do today is to do, like, wodever I wanna do. Like, if I were you, I’d fondaw my bweasts all day, thas what I’d do! I mean, lez face it, you got twuly gwate tits, you weally have!

MADONNA: My husband and I might go to the movies. We read books. Go to a pub.

JONATHAN ROSS: Amazin! Laze and gennulmun, Madonna goes into our English pubs! Thank you so much, Madonna – you’re a world superstar, but you are happy to go into an English pub! Thaz fand-asdic!

MADONNA: My husband and I go down to the Old Bull and Bush with Burlington Bertie to spend our bobs and quids on a pint of ale and eat fish and chips with brown sauce served by Pearly Kings and Queens. Chim chiminee, chim chiminee, chim-chim-cherooo. And then my husband and I jump aboard a double-decker bus and rabbit in cockney rhyming slang with Mrs Tiggywinkle and the cheery local bobbies.

JONATHAN ROSS: Fand-asdic! And do you let them feel your bweasts at all?

MADONNA: No.

JONATHAN ROSS: Shame! Ha ha ha! Let’s have another bwilliand classic song. Les heawifaw Madonna, laze and gennulmun!

MADONNA:

Doan tellmedur staaarp

Tell the rain nodder draaarp

Tell the win nodder blow

Cos you said so

Tell meeee larvissun drew

Is jist somethin thad we do-oo-oo.

JONATHAN ROSS: Fand-asdic! Fab-lus! We are so deeply honoured to have you among us! Now, not only do you have the most fand-asdic physique – wiwya just look at that arse, laze and gennulmun – but you are a positive GENIUS at we-invention. Like, one moment you are, like wolling naked on the sand in just a wimple, then you toadly we-invent yourself and for the next album you’ve toadly we-invented yourself and this time you’re wolling naked on the sand – in a cowboy hat! Bwilliand!

MADONNA: I don’t stick to the programme. I reinvent myself.