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Monday, 23 December 2013

Overindulgence in oatcakes

Monday, December 23rd., Cadogan Square, London.

I am already getting a bit tired of Xmas. There is a whole cupboard full of parcels for Virginia, waiting. And I have already opened some of her parcels. 

It takes me so long to keep level with my mail that I can't begin to work till heaven knows what time. However I did a lot of work yesterday and Saturday. The weather however suits me not. I'm glad we aren't going away for Christmas. That's something anyway.

I am experiencing a surfeit of mince tarts. Tertia and Margaret brought a load on Friday and their mince tarts are unsurpassed in my experience - indeed unequalled! This means mince tarts at every meal. I can only get along by eating no meat, especially as I have had a lot of oatcakes given me: which monopolise my breakfasts. I adore oatcakes: yet was I glad to have eaten the last one this morning.

I lunched with two statesmen at my political club recently. One of them told us a story about a man who had seen a suicide hanging. The man was asked by my first political friend: "But why didn't you cut him down?" The reply was: "Because he wasn't dead." My first political friend applied this story as a parable to the Tory party. He said he didn't want to cut it down until it was dead. My second political friend agreed with much fervour. I remarked to both of them that they might have to wait quite some time. I did not go so far as to tell them that in my opinion the Tory party will easily survive all other parties in this cautious and compromising country. All political parties in all countries disappear sooner or later, except the Conservative, and the Conservative is immortal because it is never for long divided against itself. How many times in Britain has the Liberal Party split? The first and most powerful instinct of Tories is self-preservation. They do not really want anything but the status quo. They are deeply aware that united they stand - not otherwise. And every Briton is at heart a Tory - especially every British Liberal.

Additionally for December 23rd., see 'Eating companions' -

Tuesday night Rickards dined with me, we went to "The Blue Bird" at the Haymarket, and then to Gambrinus, where he ate an enormous sandwich and drank stout.

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