The ringing grooves of change

            My new friend the Earl of Belmont suggested recently that I might perhaps write something in my blog about royalty so yes I think I will. I should perhaps explain that Belmont is not an Earl in the accepted sense but he rather fancied the idea, so, why not?

My piece about the Duchess of Cornwall is due in the next issue but more importantly Christopher Sinclair-Stevenson has sold my idea for a new book to mark the 60^th anniversary of the Queen's accession to John Murray. Well played John Murray; well played  Christopher; well played me. I first came up with the idea years ago and in a sense my worst fears have been realised because I am aware of at least four other books which were signed up ages ago and to which I have notionally lost ground. I remain, however, quietly confident. This is probably silly and arrogant but I feel I have been working and preparing for this book most of my life. If I can't write this I can't write anything.

            So that's the royal story, specially for the belted earl. It bears out my theory of 'reasonable expectation" which says, broadly speaking, that if you come to a bend in the road and you can't see more than a few yards ahead it is reasonable to suppose that the road continues around the corner and you continue to drive in the same manner as before. There have been moments in this latest royal saga when those who don't share my belief have despaired. I, however, have urged doubters to tighten their belts, hold on to their seats and all will be well in the end. And so, however, belatedly, it came to pass. And no I am not crowing.On the other hand I wish everyone had shared my confidence.

            I am about to write letters to as many royal contacts, experts and so on as I can think of but if anyone reading this feels they have something to contribute do please letg me know. My email address is tim@timheald.com and I look forward to hearing from you. I've also made the cover of "The Lady" magazine with my story on the Duchess of Cornwall. I hope that my role as the magazine's "Royal Correspondent"  will help with the book.

            Thursday is election day and Penny and I aim to vote first thing and then whiz to Par station. I'm not sure either of us know how we're going to vote. I have voted Liberal at every election for which I've had the vote. After all I was on the candidates' list when Thos D.Nudds was in charge of us. He really had known Lloyd George and the great Garth Pratt was the party's candidate in Rochdale when Cyril Smith was still mayor and a member of the Labour Party. Strange to see the Prime Minister commit a classic gaffe after a confrontation with a voter who was originally full of pro-Brown intentions. I am torn because I don't particularly care for the local Lib-Dem candidate and even less for the campaign which has been waged on his behalf, gloating about the fact that he is a 'local' whereas his Conservative opponent is some sort of interloper. God knows what this has to do with suitability for government. Rather the reverse. Besides I like our Tory candidate whose original selection meeting I attended. I told her I would do anything for her except vote. I might yet do even that. We shall see.

            Meanwhile I have been carrying on with "Yet another Death in Venice", the third of my crime novels featuring the return of Simon Bognor, now knighted and head of SIDBOT, aka the Specials Investigation Department of the Board of Trade.    Tomorrow I am due to have lunch with Christopher S-S to talk, among other things, about Bognor. I do hope he likes them. I'm sorry but I intend writing more. I want to know what he's up to. If, for some reason Christopher doesn't share my enthusiasm and interest, then... There is no trade quite so dependent on the opinions of others.           

            As always when I feel slightly disoriented I have been going through my diary to find out what I have been doing. A problem I find with advancing years is not such amnesia as a related problem which concerns fitting events into a time frame. I seem to be reasonably good at recalling things that have happened over a reasonably catholic period but I do have the greatest difficulty putting a time to such events. In my case I am also increasingly bad at recognizing "celebrities" and am not much the wiser when this is painstakingly explained. And I have increasing difficulty remembering my passwords. As for "security" questions I have increasing trouble remembering my mother's maiden name nor the fourth letter of my password (especially when I can't remember my password.) It might help if remembering such things made me feel more secure but I feel as threatened as ever.

            On Friday 9^th I see that I met Gage Williams and Tim House at Fowey Hall Hotel. The former is a retired Brigadier, the latter C.O. of the 6^th Battalion of the Rifles, and a man of Dorset who like me was born in Dorchester.We met to discuss the charity cricket match we are (or were) to play in aid of the Army Benevolent Fund. Apart from the cricket a highlight was the Salamanca Band which was to play and beat retreat. I had been looking forward to this for over a year. Anyway, suffice it to say, that the Rifles have withdrawn and I have resigned as President of  the Fowey Club. End of story which I am sure has many sides of which mine is less than one. I'm sad but, well, as I say 'end of story' and time to move on. This doesn't make me any the less sad but crying over spilt milk won't refill the bottle. Goodness, how philosophical!

   Or defeatist?

            A week later I went to see Ma in Wiltshire. Tristram and Beth came on Saturday and left after lunch on the Sunday. Afterwards we went to the new bungalow of her old friend Conti and had tea. Somewhere along the line she lost her handbag. Vanished into thin air. A minor miracle. On Monday Penny and I looked at a house in Crewkerne, lunched at a pub in Bradford Abbas and I dropped her in Sherborne. It's pretty Sherborne but there is lot of skewed history there: Mould and Edwards is no longer an old-fashioned grocer's; the Three Wishes is stripped pine and baguettes not linen table cloths and scones; the Abbey Bookshop has no caxtonian printer in the attic let

alone Bert Chamberlain to operate it. Next day I drove to Dorchester to see father's medals in the military museum at the Keep. Then publishers' lunch; publisher's tea;Christopher Braun for work on his brother's book. Next day two GCVOs and the Dame at the Palace and an ex Presidential lunch to say goodbye to Charles Collingwood and hello to Stanley Johnson. And so the weary traveler wound his way by train to Cornwall.

            Bog standard month. Fatigued very; election looms; volcanoes back; flooding in Tennessee; so-called England cricket team lucky to beat the Irish at rounders. And somewhere taking part or looking on: me. Time passes. Pluc ca change...