Experienced TORTURE yesterday sitting in a GARDEN CENTRE. There are certain pleasantries which seem beyond me, such as morning coffee and afternoon tea, especially, I discovered, in a GARDEN CENTRE. We were in 'the country' visiting my aging, genteel, parents, in their adult Disneyland (but not that kind of adult). Their particular selection of Gods Waiting Room is the sort of village you find in Midsommer Murders and their own house part of a special mini village within it where you have to be 'old' and where you can quite imagine The Mayor of Casterbridge might suddenly pop up in full period costume. It's only ten years old. Whilst Julie and I stood slightly nonplussed in the shrubbery a brightly coloured ambulance turned up to actually take away one of the inhabitants. He was rolled out all wrapped in white apart from his head peaking out and he saw us and said 'I'm going now!' This was Westworld for real. 

The week before we had been in St Albans for a wedding. The most curious realization here was that female fashions in St Albans have reverted back to something resembling those of 'Up Pompeii'. Still, St Albans is/was Roman. Last night we were most entertained by Vivian Westwood telling us we should not by any more clothes but the St Albans example seems a bit of a drastic attempt at recycling. Of course, she made perfect sense, and precisely because of this, also appeared quite mad, wearing nothing but a big two tone sheet and, apparently, boxer shorts.

Meanwhile Prince Charles was clearly very disappointed by the human race, and despite all attempts at philosophizing that we should be more natural and traditional (see above maybe) appeared increasingly, as, well, a PRINCE, that most unnatural of all creations. 

The Great New Tomorrow: forget it.  Today is far weirder.