Diary

18 April 2009

Catherine Blyth opens her diary

I discussed this circular altruism at the School of Life in Bloomsbury, where curators, writers, and philosophers were debating ideas. By dinner, I was buzzing and somehow set fire to my shoe. I left to celebrate another successful British business in the West End. Mamma Mia!, the Abba musical, is ten years old. The film takings alone exceed £454 million. Everyone wants a sequel. Except Björn. Or is it Benny? One of the furry ones, anyway. I joined my husband at the Café de Paris for the after-party. No stars, just a Song for Europe reject wafting about, longing to be recognised. Hell, Benny and Björn don’t need celebrities. I took this as a sign of their down-to-earth attitude. They gazed at the dancefloor from a balcony, like two wise hobbits. We went up to join them. A goon in black tie sent us on our way.

Home for Easter to the middle of Middle England, Northamptonshire. We were greeted by a pile of bricks where once stood the George Inn. Now one pub remains in a village formerly possessed of a train station, two butchers and six public houses. Northampton used to be the centre of Britain’s shoemaking. Today its chief employers are Carlsberg and Barclaycard. Froth and credit: perfect emblems of our age. The pub has its memorial; some wizened daffodils tied to a fence, flanked by two crushed Carlsberg cans. The note reads: ‘RIP the George. Thanks for the memories.’