Low life
Dear Diary
Jeffrey Bernard
IWas deeply disappointed that Hitler's diaries turned out to be fakes but I wasn't in the least surprised. He was far too unstable, I thought, to keep a diary and anyway the madness and evil of his day-to- day existence was always going to ensure that he wouldn't be forgotten. He's always held a morbid fascination for me and even now, when 1 see a photograph of him, I feel a sort of unbelieving and bewildered horror such as I experience when I'm drinking cof- fee in Maison Valerie and find myself sur- rounded by women dressed from jumble sales and reading the Guardian. But a,nyway, when I told you the other day that I'd been sorting out old papers, letters and snapshots, 1 forgot to tell you that I found two diaries. One for 1975 and the other for 1978. Sadly, the Sunday Times are unlikely to offer me a single, lousy penny for them — they like to keep their diaries benign and bland — but I do think I ought to now own up to a few entries before they're unearthed in 30 years' time in the cellar of the Coach and Horses and have doubts cast on their authenticity. As I said, Hitler was far too unstable to keep a diary; to address such a book, day in and day out, the author needs both feet firmly on the ground plus the sincere intention of plodding towards the grave with a sober, realistic tread devoid of fantasy, anger, paranoia and self-pity, simply recording the beauty and wonder of the daily round.
With that in mind I find it rather strange that my entry for Friday 4 April 1975 should read, 'I find it almost impossible to believe that anyone can be as unhappy as I am. Can misery cause insanity? Saved by a 32-1 double at Sandown Park.' Happily, I must have come back down to earth a week later, when I see I wrote, 'Met a very nice girl called Valerie at a party in Hampshire. She asked me what sign I was and when I said Gemini she said, "So was my father. 1 killed him in a car crash and when they took him to hospital they found a dozen french letters in his pocket." I cheered her up by telling her that he must have had a lot of love to give around. Driven back to London with John Le Mesurier by a man whose hobby is flying a Spitfire.'
Well, whoever it was who said — and I think it was me — life is ghastly and boring and the good days are the exception and not the rule, got it right. I doubt very much whether Hitler ever spent his birthday, 20 April, like, 'Went to launderette and sat there wondering where on earth Miss Right is.' On the other hand you wouldn't be bowled over with surprise if he'd written as I did for 22 April, 'Had tea with Caroline who told me that she's "very serious" about a major in the Household Cavalry.' But when you can't get any lower you have to surface and by 1978, three years later to the week, the launderette had closed, Caroline had vanished into Knightsbridge Barracks and Barbara had appeared. 'Bar- bara came over for lunch and then we had a row in bed. She kept on talking about her shopping expeditions while I was feeling terrible about being skint. Eventually it was
all right and she drove me to the Chelsea
Arts Club. In a very tense foursome, part- nered by a dentist, I potted the last four
colours to win a good game. After, in the ladies bar, talked about insanity to Bill Redgrave and Freddie Deane.'
There must have been many days even in Hitler's life when he wouldn't have bothered with such trivial entries. Why bother to record,
'Eva came over for yoghurt tea and then drove me to the Chelsea Arts Club where, partnered by a dentist, I shot four people.' Yes, life is dull but there are odd, underlying mysteries in the most pedestrian of diary jottings. More from mine. 'Went to Sunday Times and spoke incoherently to Magnus Linklater about trip to Chantilly. Tea with Barbara who gave me book of love poems then delivered piece on Les Blair to Bob Smythe at the Radio Times. He mentioned Joan of Arc and I said she was such a bitch, if she was alive now she'd be a sub on the Radio Times.' A very silly day by the sound of it and matched only by a never to be pub- lished entry made by Hitler: 'Went to Nuremberg and spoke incoherently to Keitel about trip to Moscow. Tea with Eva who gave me Shirley Conran's book on gardening. Delivered Mein Kampf to Frank Giles at the Sunday Times. Got advance on expenses. He mentioned Chamberlain who is, I believe, a sub on the Sun.'
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