DIARY KEITH WATERHOUSE

Wile I have never departed from the belief that it is right and proper that the rich should subsidise the poor via taxation, I cannot for the life of me see why the town should be expected- to look after the country, which is very good indeed at protecting its own vested interests. Yet first with the flotation of British Telecom, then with the de-regulation of buses, and now with the proposal to sell off the Post Office, we have had instant protests that country folk will suffer from the withdraw- al of uneconomic services. So they prob- ably will, just as they suffer from not having a Marks and Spencer in every Village or from having to travel 20 miles to the nearest McDonald's. It is part of the Price they have to pay for the country life. For our part, we city slickers have an equally long way to go for our cowslips and n is rarely that we get to hear the first cuckoo. But we do not grumble. We do not expect to find herds of cows in our muni- cipal parks, producing cheap fresh milk donated by kind country dwellers. We accept that the amenities of the country- side, such as long walks, duck ponds and wholesome smells, are not for the likes of us. lin_

vv ily cannot those who live inthe

country accept that such urban amenities as frequent buses, a telephone box on every corner and a moderately efficient and regular postal service are simply not Part of the rural scene? They might just as well demand an extension of the Piccadilly I-, me from Knightsbridge to Shepton Mal- let to enable them to shop at Harrod's. Of course the countryside must not be cut off entirely from civilisation, but should its utilities be subsidised by the bus passen- gers, telephone users and postage stamp buyers of Tottenham and Tower Hamlets? WILY cannot the countryside look after its ()%vn? It has its quota of poor people, true, !holvas

su proportionaty fewer than the

tuner cities; but thereel is immense wealth out in the country. Rich farmers apart and they should know all about subsidies if ,,hybody should — every village has its sHrall . or Big House where the kind of dinkmg rich personalities who get mur- ered in Agatha Christie novels live off the fat of the land. Bring back Lady Bountiful,

telephone booths among the poor of the Parish.

If the royal family really were a soap l:era, as many would contend it has become, the scriptwriters could not have come up with a better twist to sustain the Paiart of Prince Edward — a lovely emotion- . mini-crisis leaving viewers divided as to whether the reluctant Marine should have seen it through or cut his losses. There's

nothing to beat a story line that gets the punters arguing. Saloon bar opinion, however, has all its work cut out these days to keep up with the expanding royal cast. Time was when one overall view on whether the monarchy as a whole (with certain black sheep exceptions) was pulling its weight would suffice. Now, one is expected to have distinct and positive opinions about a whole range of indi- viduals — Prince Philip (bit of a bully), Prince Charles (bit of a romantic), Prince Andrew (sowed his wild oats, now settled down), Princess Margaret (goes her own way, can't help admiring her), Princess Anne (used to be a bit of a madam'but now doing a really good job), the Queen Mother (best of the bunch, bless her), Princess Michael (can't stand her) and so on. All excellent, well-defined, clear-cut roles. And now the hitherto under- exploited Prince Edward — martyr or mother's boy? Are we absolutely sure it isn't being scripted?

Ihad occasion to get in a case of champagne last week. The wine store where I buy the occasional bottle having a sign in its window promising a delivery service, I asked them to send one round. Of course, it didn't arrive. When I rang to ask where the wine was, this was the conversation:

`Oh, no, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding — we don't do deliveries of less than half a dozen cases.'

`Then why did your man accept my order for one?'

`I don't know, but he shouldn't have done.'

`Whether he should have done or not, he did, and I've been waiting in the whole morning.'

`All right, then as a favour we'll send a case round.'

`I don't want it as a favour, thank you. This is a perfectly straightforward commer- cial transaction.'

`Not from our point of view — there's very little profit in our house champagne.'

My option at this point was either to accept the 'favour' with ill grAce, or to

decline it with even worse grace. My need, or rather that of my impending guests, being great, I gave in, reflecting as I did so that if I were in New York I could have had a bottle of Coca-Cola sent round with less of a song and dance. What a country this is to try to buy things in. I think that someone ought to keep a disgruntled consumer's diary, then publish it as the belated reverse side to Fothergill's Diary of an Innkeeper.

Iwas blessed with a good quantity of aunts, all of whom lived to a great age. The last of them to survive has just celebrated her 88th birthday by installing a new bathroom. When I was a child the aunts would occasionally descend on the house en masse from far and wide for Sunday tea, which they would nibble fastidiously while discussing their health. My clear recollec- tion is of a gaggle of elderly women with one foot in the grave. It was only the other day, subtracting my own age from my surviving aunt's, that I realised with a shock that the whole pack and parcel of them must have been only in their late twenties and early thirties. Yet the snap- shot album of memory sets them firmly in their middle fifties and up. Does childhood perspective fix all adults in advanced mid- dle age, irrespective? Northern wives were supposed to age quickly in that era of mangles, set-pots and scrubbing boards. But some of my aunts were still unmarried and they looked to a five-year-old like grandmothers. It is a mystery.

I have been looking at a Sixties photo- graph unearthed by David Land, the ebul- lient owner of the Theatre Royal, Bright- on. It is of six Lancing College boys who had formed themselves into a pop group against the advice of their teachers who urged them to 'stop mucking around with pop music because there is no money in it'. The interest in the picture is that the lad on the right is Tim Rice, whom Land launched on his profitable career with Andrew Lloyd-Webber. What careers advice Lloyd-Webber was given at school I do not know, but one is always hearing anecdotal- ly how this or that successful figure was discouraged in his ambition by teachers. Is there any case on record of a now-famous personality having been urged by a school- teacher to get into pop music, acting, writing, journalism, disc-jockeying or any suchlike disreputable trade? Teachers used to counsel their brightest sparks to take up teaching. What they advise now that their profession is so dispirited and disillusioned I have no idea, but I bet it isn't to have a crack at becoming a millionaire.