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Talking of establishments reminds me that I've made a note not to miss Lenny Bruce at our own Establishment. He is the latest in Lon- don of the American entertainers who specialise in the sick kick. Kenneth Tynan has seen him twenty-three times, apparently, and much ad- mires his penetration into the 'secrets of the psyche.' I'm especially looking forward to that sweet piece about the couple who have been miserably married for fifty years until the happy day when they discover that they've both been suffering from gonorrhoea all the time. This brings them together, natch. A pity it's not something hip, like the' pox. But at least it's nothing square, like halitosis or weeping eczema. I certainly hope that Bruce's act is as good as Mr. Tynan's recollections of it, and that it won't be just another of those way-out enthusiasms to be poured away like wine that doesn't travel. I'd hate to see him arrive at the condition Sir Herbert Read reached long ago in his advocacy of modernismus: always to be seen at christen- ings and never at burials (Cyril Connolly's crack?).
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