Diary – 7 May 2015

I am writing a play about Dr Johnson and his Dictionary. It will be performed in Scotland later this year. Five out of the great man’s six helpers were Scots (the only Englishman, V.J. Peyton, was considered a fool and a drunkard) and it’s timely to think of all those Scotsmen working away to consolidate the English language while their descendants try to define the general election. As a fully functioning Willie (‘Work in London, Live in Edinburgh’), I am startled by the zeal with which the SNP plans to take its revenge on Westminster after a decisive ‘no’ vote in the referendum. The Scottish rugby team is often accused of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory (witness the last-minute penalty try in the Italy game at Murrayfield), now the plan is very much ‘arsy-versy’ — a phrase Johnson omitted on the grounds of vulgarity. When a lady praised him for the absence of foul language, he replied: ‘Madam, I hope I have not daubed my fingers. I find, however, that you have been looking for them.’

Volume four of my clerical detective series ‘The Grantchester Mysteries’ is published this week and so it’s time for the book tour. I’m off to Bath, Warwick, Cambridge, Ely, Durham and anywhere with a nice church or two. This is all good fun but the relentless geniality can be exhausting. I remember an Anglican bishop once being told that his fee for an American lecture tour was going to be $5,000. After his talk there would be a chance to chat to folk at the buffet supper afterwards. ‘Oh,’ the Bishop replied, ‘if I have to meet people, my fee is double.’

What to wear? I like a bit of dandyism but once a man’s waist goes beyond 36 inches he is pretty much ‘too fat for fashion’.