Lembit Öpik and Matthew Green sidle up to me in a Westminster corridor in the most obvious way imaginable. "This is top secret," says one of them in a piercing whisper, causing three junior ministers to turn around and an Opposition whip to saunter over. I take them to my club, and it transpires that a little chap called Marsden, hitherto the New Party member for Shrewsbury, wants to come over to us. "He has to meet Charles Kennedy, but how can we get him to Skye without anyone noticing?" asks Green. Drawing upon my knowledge of British history, I immediately hatch a plan and order Lembit Öpik to book us tickets on that evening's sleeper. I then settle down with A Shropshire Lad: "High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam/Islanded in Severn stream." Isn't that good?
The new day finds me on the shores of a loch, with my Scottish place Brig O'Dread lowering picturesquely over us. It is a cold morning: the sort when a cloned sheep feels its arthritis. I explain to Öpik and Green that they will have to row the boat, and tell Marsden that he will have to dress up as an Irish weaving woman called Betty Burke. "Is this really necessary?" he asks as he struggles into the dress. I tell him that while this sort of whining may be quite the thing in the New Party, amongst the Liberal Democrats It Will Not Do. After that things go better: Öpik and Green put their backs into it while I entertain my travelling companions with a rendition of The Skye Boat Song. There is one sticky moment when we run across Black Peter, the notorious pirate - I fear poor Dr Brand has still not got over his defeat. He threatens to "splice my timbers" and "shiver my mainbrace", but when I mention that I am a personal friend of Sugar Ray Michie ("The Highland Hammer") he soon pipes down. Thus we arrive safely in Portree. Messrs Öpik and Green, and Betty Burke hurry off to Kennedy's surgery, while I take a taxi to the Sligachan Hotel and an enjoyable dinner.
How we enjoyed Christmas at the Hall! The lights on the tree flickered alarmingly, but I was consoled when they were awarded the Turner Prize, even though it was my "Sunset over Phil Willis" that I had entered. As usual I filled the dear pile with friends old and new: Hazel Grove, Paul Marsden (still in his dress, I noted), Sir Anthony Meyer, Happiness Stan Collins, Bill Hunter-Dunn (about whom John Betjeman wrote so movingly) Yasser Arafat (I decided against inviting Mr Sharon) and Rising Star were prominent in the party, and Ruttie (the Rutland Water monster) and Nancy my Elephant romped on the lawn. My Boxing Day walk around the Estate proved popular as ever: the whippers in were barely needed. As we passed the Home, Rising Star said "Sell um orphans, invest um profits", which I thought unfortunate: in any case, I have looked into it and the tax position is highly unfavourable. Sir Anthony Meyer proved an apt student of the art of pasting up a Focus and thoroughly enjoyed his stay. "There's just one thing," he said on leaving, "I didn't care for the Red Indian fellow. Too right wing. I do hope there aren't too many Liberals like that."
I wrote yesterday of my old friend Ruttie. Readers may recall that shortly after my defeat in the election for the leadership of our party in the Lords - and I still receive letters daily bemoaning that result - she was seized by a violent passion for Lord Rodgers of Quarry Bank. Despite following him around London, often waiting late into the night for him to emerge from the House or a West End restaurant, she was unable to, as it were, act upon her feelings. As a result she went into a decline, and like many a spinster decided to devote herself to the Church. These days she can often be found doing the flowers in St Asquith's or baking a cake for the choirboys' treat. The Reverend Hughes is particularly grateful for the way she takes the collection round on Sundays. Should anyone prove stingy with what I understand young people call "the wonga", she is not slow with a meaningful glance or a gesture towards the plate with a scaly flipper. Talking of the padre, I have it from an impeccable source that he is worth backing each way in the stakes for the next Archbishop of Canterbury.
The Euro has been introduced across much of the continent, yet here in Britain we lag behind. The plane is on the runway but we are still standing on the platform. The ship is leaving the quayside and we are yet waiting at the bus stop. The dirigible has flown and we are not in the engine room deciding on the direction but arguing about whether we should buy a bicycle. The canoe has gone down the rapids and we are still in the Bonkers Arms ordering another pint of Smithson & Greaves Northern Bitter. Yes, when it comes to Europe we Liberals have always been at the forefront of new thinking. Long may we remain there.
As I have observed before, the environment is all around us nowadays and, in all probability, here to stay. That is why I read the news of the thickening of the polar ice caps with grave disquiet. It is clear to me that what we face is nothing less than global cooling. In particular, there is a grave danger that the levels of the ocean will fall. I shall dwell upon but two of the more serious consequences. First, with a greater land area exposed, there will obviously be far more Focus rounds to be delivered. Have we the activists to do this? Is Cowley Street even aware of the need? Second, as the seas recede there will be a large number of refugee fish. I foresee that, in 20 or 30 years, every British home will be obliged to have a galvanised bucket of salt water in order to house the families of mullet or John Dory billeted upon them. Still, we had a school evacuated to Bonkers Hall during the war, and no doubt we should cope with one again.
The international situation is indeed grave, though we can be reassured that, with Mrs Bollard nursing Tehran North, there is little prospect of any of those ayatollah wallahs trying their tricks in the near future. As attentive readers will know, I am not usually one to agree with Blair, but he was right to decide that he and his delightful Japanese wife should visit Egypt to show solidarity with its people. For myself, I have decided to show solidarity with the people of the South of France, which is why I am writing this entry in my suite at the Hotel Splendide, Antibes.
Lord Bonkers was Liberal MP for Rutland South-West 1906-10