We have reached peak summer, literally. And the weather is probably the Brexiteers’ best argument, since it would be madness to go abroad. This is the great week of summer parties in London, including the US Embassy and the FT. Last week was the V&A summer party, described to its director Tristram Hunt by one disbelieving guest as Civilisation set on Love Island. The reason was that millennials prefer pink carpets to red ones and drink slightly less than their elders, and worse. I am not saying there is a London/country divide, but we take our pleasures differently in Norfolk. Our neighbours were busy organising their stall for the village fête last weekend, with its celebrated attraction: hammer the nail into the log. A few miles away, my brother, a parish councillor and cabaret artiste,
was off to his fairy fête, dressed as Game of Thrones meets Widow Twankey.
This is an extract from Sarah Sands' Spectator Diary, which appears in this week's issue