Beaverbrook

Tuesday, February 23rd., Hotel Winter Palace, Menton.

Beaverbrook arrived with Morris Woods from Nice. Max talked with us for about an hour, and then Max dashed off again, to Cannes, to meet his mother and Gladys. He said his heart gave an extra beat now and then; but he wouldn't have a big (or a little) doctor for the disease. He had bought James Mackenzie's book on the subject, and stood by that. He said that he was a sure mark for any big and strong-willed doctor, and feared to enter on the career of an invalid. I suggested that he should visit a doctor anonymously; he agreed that that might do. He was playing golf daily. Freddie Lonsdale was with him. Max was going on an Eastern Mediterranean tour in the Mauritania on Saturday night from Villefranche. He had taken five cabins and hadn't yet invited any of his guests. He meant to invite them tonight.

Additionally for February 23rd., see 'Writing for a living'

Today I publish my first book, "A Man from the North". I have seen it mentioned in several papers among "Books Received". Beyond that, I have scarcely thought of it. The fact has not at the moment interested me. But during the last few days I have been several times naively surprised that some of my friends are not more awake and lively to the fact than they seem to be. Perhaps it has interested me more than I thought?