Discussion on the subject of sexual morality led on to the further subject of religion. Here again their views were most orthodox - relying upon their acts of faith that the word of Jesus was the word of God. I told them that I couldn’t furnish such an act of faith in anyone - without intending disrespect to Jesus in person. It’s just that I don’t formulate my beliefs that way. It’s important for me to arrive at my beliefs by exercising my reason.

So they wanted to know if I regarded myself as an atheist - which I do not. And this led to them asking me how I would set about the task of explaining the nature of God. I told them something along the following lines - that God is the combination of all personality and thought within the material universe. Not just human thought, but intelligence of any kind. And inasmuch that each individual is limited to his own small strand of thought, there is difficulty in him conceiving the total span of intelligence within the universe - because it’s all too vast for him to comprehend. But he still harbours that minute strand, so that he is in fact a part of God - which furnishes a basis for communication in terms of prayer.

But there is still the material universe with which the individual has to contend. He finds himself surrounded by it, and has to find a way of thinking about it so that it begins to make sense to him. And there are no obviously correct ways of structuring that thought. It’s something that we all have to evolve, with the help of others, piecing together the ways and the means of understanding how we all relate to everything else. And it’s by no means easy to do this from within the limited perspective of the individual vision. But we may just glimpse the totality of the mind of God, without actually being able to explain it in any detail.

There are important questions which need some manner of answer - like who made God? How did the universe begin? Or what lies beyond space? We need to do away with the linear conception of both space and time before any of these concepts can make sense. We need to evolve a new way of thinking about them, so that we see ourselves in relation to some vast carpet of permanence, coexisting as the totality of the universe. In fact it might be better to spell the Totality of the Universe so that the words begin with capital letters - thus stressing the idea that I regard that concept as the Deity. So God isn’t just thought about the universe. It is the Universe itself - which includes all thought about it.

Then came the problem of how I should treat the subject of death. But within the line of thought that I was advancing, death is merely the material state into which the body decays after life has ended. It does nothing to obliterate the life which was, and all the thought patterns which were included within it. They all exist within that carpet of permanence from which the Totality of the Universe is comprised. The important thing is that I should have got my thoughts, and my whole manner of living, as much into line with God’s thought as I can possibly manage during the span of life available to me. The individual’s thought never dies. All thought belongs to God, and God belongs to all ages.

Steve and Roger felt that I was missing out on the essentially personal nature of God - as someone who can assist in our lives, no matter what our individual line of thoughts might be. They were confident that I would eventually see the light - just because I was interested in discovering for myself what the true nature of God might be. But what they were really doing was to try and sweep me along with the conviction in their faith towards the conversion to Christianity which they regard as the only possible goal. But quite frankly, I have so many doubts about what they believe that I do not even see any light at the end of their tunnel.

At times like this I greatly wish that I was truly a Christian, so that I could kneel down and pray for God’s assistance and understanding. But if I really had confidence in the religious views which I have already expounded, then much the same kind of opportunity is in fact available to me. For I can still address myself to God - thinking out my position in these matters, while attempting to align myself with the manner that all thought within the universe is working - including Lita’s thought. And the hope might be that Lita too, despite the fact of her being a devout Catholic, might be addressing herself to God in much the same manner, so that a basis for communication arises. I hardly see it as altering the final outcome, but it might get us both thinking upon related lines. My problem is that I lack the confidence as yet, that I am capable of thinking from such a universal standpoint.

It’s possible that if we discussed our differences more openly, we’d discover that our viewpoints are more compatible than she realizes. She supposes that I simply don’t believe in God - which is a mistake on her side. It’s just that I believe that everything is open to reason and, in the long run, explicable. People in the future, whose knowledge will be far in advance of our own, will be able to comprehend this in a manner that is impossible for us today. What I have to reject totally is that there can be anything - from God to telepathy - which stands beyond reason and beyond logic. God could never be some magic power standing separate from his creation, and all on his own.

I’m hoping that [X] will be able to accept that this viewpoint isn’t so vastly different from her own. It would make a tremendous difference to me if she was at any rate prepared to acknowledge that there just could be a logical rational way of explaining mystical events that she now regards as lying beyond both logic and reason.

I have worked myself up into such a pitch of anxiety over Lita’s neglect to answer my letter, that I can understand how it is that some people rush off and shoot themselves - over what are merely trivial problems. I’m not suggesting that there is any danger that I might do so, but it’s just that I can understand how they feel driven to it! On the whole, I calculate all my steps in life far too carefully to permit the thought of suicide going too far - unless it came as a result of such careful consideration. But I feel a lot better now that I have clarified my thoughts here in this journal.

In all these matters, I am finding this journal to be a considerable help. It’s not that what I write is full of wisdom, but it’s valuable that I oblige myself to work out what I think. It makes me clarify my thoughts on so many problems which I might otherwise let drift. And in doing so, I am building up my own self-confidence - which must surely be one of the strongest defences against anything that might happen to me in life.

Once I have got a subject fully discussed within this journal, I feel as if the worry has been lifted from my mind. It’s all been expressed, and it’s down there in writing. There’s no longer any need to fret about it until some new factor has arisen. The journal is a substitute for some best friend of the same sex, with whom I can discuss whatsoever I might wish. None of my friends in reality could furnish such a service for me - because I prefer to maintain my privacy about such matters. And I do enjoy keeping this full account of my life. It’s the difference between just singing a song, and making a record of yourself doing so. I shall always be able to replay it. And that’s a huge advantage.

I am beginning to feel that Oxford life is too much hell and, when combined with a crisis like this last one, completely unbearable. It has occurred to me that it might be wisest to abandon my studies completely - to run away abroad somewhere, and only return to pick them up again when I am old enough (in my own judgement) to get married. I suppose that it might work out like that, but for the moment at any rate, I’ve managed to reintegrate my peace of mind. So I expect I’ll stay put where I am.

I do realize how my vacillations of temperament are quite idiotic, but they are still meaningful for all that - despite the instability which they signify. Perhaps they are harmless. But in any case I must not ignore them. I must treat them as if they were important, if only for the gratification of my self-esteem.

I was surprised to hear them both proclaim that they were still virgins. They took the line that most undergraduates are, and it’s simply a lot of macho talk amongst fellow males which gives the impression that so many are not, when they are. They were so confident about the widespread sexual innocence of their friends that it made me wonder if I’d got it wrong, instead of them. And that’s part of the problem. There’s so much confusion as to what standards most people really have. After all, the Kinsey Report applies to the standards which exist in America, but it says nothing about the standards which prevail here in Britain. I daresay there would be objections to an equivalent study being made, on the grounds that it was too intrusive into our private lives. But in the absence of such a study, we simply don’t know how other Englishmen behave, and we resort to guessing. And it appears that Steve and Roger guess very differently to myself.

Steve was in fact in my room on one occasion last term when [X] arrived. And I could see how he was excruciated with embarrassment at her presence. He simply didn’t know how to cope with her presence - wondering what she represented in my life, and whether she could possibly be that terrible thing - a mistress. He soon found an excuse to leave.

On the issue of morals, I said that I had to draw a distinction between my ideals and how I actually behave. I’m certainly not against extramarital kissing, or even copulation. Nor would I bring up a daughter (for example) to refrain from such behaviour. At the same time I believe that fidelity is what makes marriages endure. Once people are truly paired, they have every right to feel angered if an infidelity should occur - because they have learnt by then to rely upon one another. I regard that as being the ideal standard, to which people might be well-advised to conform.

But having said that, I need to state my own divergence from the ideal standard. And I account for this in terms of the pressures that I am subject to within this cultural environment, for the man to have rather more sexual experience than the women he woos. I expected [X] to be a virgin when I first started courting her - although I’d have been obliged to accept it if she wasn’t, and she did have admirers enough.

I think that Steve and Roger thought I was bluffing when I told them that I’d been with prostitutes when I was in the army. I left it at that, since it was best not to go into my relationship with [X] in any way at all. But Steve looked at me earnestly to say that he could promise me one thing. When he himself marries, the girl will be a virgin - that premarital intercourse merely detracts from the ultimate thrill of the marriage night. But I argued that this would be just like having to fast for a week in order to enjoy our Sunday dinner. And I thought that they would eventually find that there was a negative side to the complete lack of sexual experience on either side, since neither party would then really know what to do.

Their arguments then shifted to a claim that there is a divine standard for morality, which the moral person can recognize from looking into his heart - a question of conscience I suppose. But I take the line that my conscience seems to dictate behaviour that would be different from theirs. And how might they explain the vastly different patterns in (so called) moral behaviour, depending on where it is that we happen to be living upon this planet? They argued of course that the more outlandish places didn’t have the benefit of being acquainted with Christ’s teachings. But in any case we couldn’t make much progress along that road.

There are times when I do feel that I haven’t been prepared for all this - that I am about to be flung up against the problems in this world too suddenly, before I’m ready for them. But I do see how that is a ridiculous thought in that others have learnt to contend with such problems at a far tenderer age. I was always sheltered from that side of life.

I know how it would do me the world of good if I were now to be flung up against some of the harsher aspects of life - to work down a coal mine perhaps, or to labour as a peasant in Spain. But I remain unsure what degree of importance I should attach to obtaining such contrast in experience - whether it might be some vital aspect of my education, which is so far missing from my life - something of equal importance perhaps to all the traditional fields of study, to which I am still subjected.

I don’t think I have ever really attempted to make a clear statement of my political views - the reason being that they are still so ill-defined. Anyone who has decided what his political persuasion might be by the time he is my age must surely just be taking them from someone else, without reserving for himself the duty to assess such ideas. And that’s no proper basis for a political persuasion.

I do not yet feel that I would be justified in casting my vote for any party at a general election. Nor have I done so as yet. Before that, I must get a lot of reading accomplished, to understand why people dispute certain issues. And by the time I go down from Oxford, I may hope to have got that far in sorting out my attitude.

But I’ll make an attempt to clarify the bias within my present political viewpoint. I am Tory within the idea of a shared cultural upbringing. People of my kind do for the most part vote that way - which happens to be a fact. Then I am Socialist in sympathy because of my liking for fair play and justice within the world. I do see how the good fortune on my plate was too plentiful at the very outset, so that I should not resent a certain degree of redistribution.

Then there is Communism to consider. And the point to watch here is whether the world is in fact heading that way - whether it is a creed that is here to stay, or whether it merely marks the extreme leftward swing of a pendulum which has already started to veer back to the right. But if I do decide that the world’s future is with Communism, then I feel that I ought to train myself to adjust my thinking towards that end - rather than to fight against it. It would be better to assist the new order come in gracefully, than to create temporary chaos by total rejection of it. And we do need to produce a world that is unified, rather than struggling to maintain a system ossified in its outdated heritage.

Having said that, I should also make it clear that I sincerely hope that Communism will not turn out to be what’s in store for the world. And I hope I’ll perceive that for myself readily enough. The leftward trend which I think I perceive might well be towards a more democratic form of Socialism - something which is more gradually introduced, and without authoritarian control.

Beyond these broad outlines of bias, I have yet to commit myself, and the odds must be split fairly evenly on the position that I’ll ultimately hold. There is still plenty of time for me to decide.

I can’t help feeling that Oxford life is most unsympathetic in some of its aspects - especially in the attitude of those whom the gossip columns refer to as `the smart set’. They do flaunt themselves most arrogantly in the presence of those other undergraduates whom they regard as trogs. It’s an attitude which gives rise to the thought of gang warfare - as if Oxford belonged to us, and not to them. But we’ll meet up with these people later in life, as we mingle in all our various lines of employment. We’ll have to learn to associate with them then. Indeed, we’ll expect to make friends of them, in a world where they’re more at home than ourselves, I daresay. So this assumption of superiority by `the smart set’ is just foolishly provocative. And I detest the way we try to keep all trogs socially at a distance. It merely invites return measures of hatred. So the position isn’t healthy.

I like to think that, at this date, I am still independent from any particular clique, although I do have my identity within a variety of overlapping sets. I suppose that if I am elected into one or other of their clubs (in the way that I am already a member of the Grid), then I’ll gradually get fully absorbed by `the smart set’ in general. But I hope I’ll never adopt their exclusive attitudes. The root of the trouble is that Oxford is far too class-conscious, and concerned about the identity of the group in which the individual happens to socialize. I am inclined to despise that kind of attitude - which was much the same as in the Life Guards for example. I only hope that I’ll manage to emerge on the other side of the Oxford experience without feeling myself branded by this mentality.

The sequences which dealt with a father instructing his son on the futility of pursuing a second-rate creative impulse struck me an uneasy blow. I empathized with the son when he was talking about his own endeavours to write music - saying how he realized that the music he heard in his mind must be very different to the music that his audience could hear. I might say that so easily about my own work. I conceive huge mountains of aesthetic emotion within my heart, which I continue to believe will one day find itself translated into some branch of creative art. But the fact remains that what I currently produce never matches up to its potential.

When I asked for the bill, I requested that they should keep the remains of the red wine for my next visit. The waiter refused, which rather annoyed me. Not particularly because I wanted the wine, since there were only a couple of inches left, but I felt they ought to comply with such requests for the sake of my future patronage. Anyway I asked for the head waiter, and he did eventually agree to hold on to it for a fortnight. Not that I’ll be returning there within such a short time, but I was glad that they complied with my request.

What I really see in myself might possibly be called strength of personality - or individualism. I realize that there are so many weak traits about that personality, but (in my conceit) I feel sure that my individualism elevates me above others. I have felt this sense of superiority in me from a very young age. But if I am asked to define it more clearly, I get filled with doubts as to whether any such thing is really there. But I still expect other people to perceive it - especially those who are nearest and dearest to me. And I’m capable of feeling resentment against someone who does not.

I am aware how my conceit and egoism is quite intolerable, and I vaguely wonder how I can possibly diminish it without changing myself into an entirely different kind of personality. The fact that I write this journal may be evidence for it - conceit because I do suppose that the time will come when I’ll need to have made a record of my life. And it’s conceit that I suppose my life will contain sufficient of interest to validate all this effort.

But on the other side of the scales, I try to rest my attention upon my constant honesty in thought, my candour, and my individualism. I think I have a stronger degree of the latter than I have encountered in any of my friends. But I don’t yet know enough about how personality works, for me to judge whether concepts like individualism have any real value. And I’m too changeable - too volatile in my moods, It’s difficult for me to get a coherent picture of myself.

There are times when I feel so confident about life - that it is like a football, for me to kick around where I please. But at other times I’m left bewildered by events, or by people’s reactions to me, and I am then astonished at my former audacity. If I were to meet someone similar to myself, I feel that I’d have little hesitation in proclaiming that he was doomed to disappointment and failure. But the fact of knowing myself from the very inside makes me judge my own case differently. It is strange that I can be so conceited, and yet so unsure of myself.

I’m sure that he’s greatly overestimating my intelligence. I think that he puts my IQ at around the 160 mark. But in those tests, he was taking notice of the ones I did pass, rather than the ones I failed. Within my own assessment, I’d be quite happy with a score of 140 - which is only a little above the average for an Oxford undergraduate.

In a curious sort of way, I suppose it’s true to say that I am suffering from an inferiority complex. I’m not sure - but if I am, then it’s one of a peculiar kind, since there is so much belief in my superiority lurking somewhere there underneath! But of course for all I know, that might be the very essence of an inferiority complex.

The Sunday Express contained a horrible item. It had been sent in by an undergraduate at Worcester called Roland, but it was the Sunday Express who had put him up to it, telling him to come round and have a chat with all undergraduates who had formerly been in the Life Guards, on the subject of their cost of living expenses while at Oxford. I was trying to be oh so careful not to say anything that might sound blasé or snobbish, but he managed to twist my words so that his object was achieved. But it will serve as a good lesson - that I should never put my trust in the friendly appearance of a reporter.

Today has been hell, as I am being pestered by the Ephraim Hardcastle column once again. It was the same undergraduate, whose name is Roland. He came and knocked on my door, and I did get the opportunity to tell him that I wouldn’t be interviewed by him, since I didn’t like the last piece he wrote. His answer to that was that he had sent in a perfectly nice piece about me, but that the Editor had switched it around somewhat. This may well be true, but it doesn’t save me from getting a bad image for myself.

The trouble is that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He returned in a couple of hours, accompanied by an aggressive-looking undergraduate - who dropped into the conversation that he was a boxing blue. They hadn’t waited for me to invite them inside. They just walked in and sat themselves down, in a fashion that was quite intolerable. But short of starting a fight, it seemed best to sit as silently as possible through the list of questions he wanted to put to me. And apart from some minimal back-chat, I succeeded in that aim.

He raised two distinctly delicate subjects. It seems that they are on to that madeira-drinking party which Jimmy Skinner held last term, when I was photographed in a coloured waistcoat and with a long cigarette-holder. I gather that something appeared about it in `Cloth and Clothes’, and they were asking if I took modelling consignments. Apart from a firm denial, I said nothing. There were also questions on whether I was engaged to [X]. And once again I left it at a denial. What they’ll concoct from the interview, I can but wait and see.

Thank goodness that my policy of refusing to converse with the reporter has worked well. There was a mild little piece about me moving back into Longleat, with nothing nasty in it at all. But I’m astonished how this little piece has sparked others. Within the first few days of the holidays, I received telephone calls from the Daily Sketch, the Sunday Graphic, the Wiltshire Times, and the Star. Then I was rung up by a foreigner called Peter Tauber, who wants to interview me tomorrow for the Reflex Continental press agency. And finally there has been a call from Pathe Pictorial, who are going to come down and cover the same story on film.

I think that within my heart of hearts, I enjoy getting written about in the press - provided that they are not saying anything nasty. But I’m always liable to develop a revulsion against this kind of publicity if I’m to get an overdose of it. I also see that I’m ambivalent on the issue - because there’s a part of me which is shy and withdrawn, while the other side is vain and extrovert. I somehow admire the former side better, and feel that I should suppress the latter.

It is wonderful how immediately I return to Longleat, I feel completely free and independent. It furnishes me with a backdrop against which I can reflect about life, and feel secure in it. While being dissociated from the whole bustle of social activities, I find myself calmer and more self-assured. It is wonderful when I feel this sensation, which is so powerful and all-pervasive. I only wish that I could preserve that attitude when I’m outside in the hubbub of daily existence.

The most amusing part of the evening occurred when I was driving back home from London, after the Nichols dance had ended. I was feeling tired - and a bit tight - so I had pulled into a lay-by and taken a short nap. This was just the other side of Stokenchurch. But when I got back on the road again, I observed how there was a car following me - then it flashed its headlights and started to overtake. But George Hastings had been at the same dance, and would be driving back to Oxford the same night in his Austin-Healey, which is supposed to be slightly faster than my TR 2. So I thought it was he, and I thought he was challenging me to a race - which I accepted. In fact I sped off like a bullet, before he could overtake me, and had soon left him behind - which was lucky since the road was becoming skiddy due to the slight rain.

All was well until I reached the outskirts of Oxford, when I observed once again that there were headlights coming up on me from behind. So I assumed that George had been gaining on me, and put my foot down upon the accelerator - off down Heddington Hill until we reached Magdalen roundabout. I circled this in the correct manner, but was horrified to see the car behind me shoot round it the wrong (and shorter) way. And it came screaming to a halt diagonally in front of me, blocking my exit from the roundabout. And I immediately noticed how two other cars had suddenly appeared from other entrances to the roundabout, so that they were blocking my exit in the reverse direction as well. And worse than that, I noted how they were all police cars!

A policeman jumped out from the car which had been tailing me - Sergeant Warner, as I later learnt to be his name - and he told me curtly to follow him to his car, while another climbed into my own car and started to look around. While sitting in the police car, a series of wireless communications ensued. I heard statements like: "Have pursued and caught stolen car KMR 262...." And it suddenly dawned upon me that I was being treated as a criminal.

Then I was driven off to the police station where they fired some quick questions at me, with me firing back the correct answers with equal rapidity. It was lucky that the effects of the drink had now passed off completely, and I heard the sergeant who had been questioning me proclaim the fact that I was sober in a radio communication to the police station at Stokenchurch. It was they who had reported that I was heading in the direction of Oxford, after I had failed to respond to their summons that I should halt. The supposition was apparently that they were chasing a stolen car.

The atmosphere now became quite matey. Once I had convinced them that it was in fact my own car, that I was an undergraduate at Christ Church, and that I had in fact met some of their colleagues who had played in the recent cricket match against the Bullingdon Club, they were almost apologetic for the situation which had arisen. But they explained how they had to follow it up, once the police at Stokenchurch had put in their report. I don’t know yet what the final outcome will be, but I am going to be charged with something a bit more serious than speeding. I was clocked as driving at something over 70 mph through the outskirts of Oxford - which they regard as excessive.

The real trouble is that I had neglected to register my car with the Proctors. So I stand to get into some trouble for that, unless I can avert their notice from the fact. (I expect they’d decline me their permission to keep the car at Oxford for a number of terms - plus fining me I suppose.) Anyway I went to see them as quickly as possible, and registered the fact that I now have a car at Oxford. I can only hope that they do not notice the discrepancy in the dates, when they learn that I have appeared before the courts on a driving charge which related to the day prior to the car’s registration. But I’ll just have to wait and see.

The A.A. had supplied me with a solicitor, but he dampened my spirits by declaring that with such a charge, I was liable to be fined £10, and to get my licence suspended for three months. Prior to that, it had never occurred to me that I might receive anything so severe by way of punishment. I even had my car standing in the street outside, and in the light of what he’d said, I might find myself in the predicament of having no legal method of driving away from where I’d parked it. So it occurred to me that it might be safest if I phoned Dad with a request that he bring Williams with him, on his way to Cambridge (where he would be driving in any case), and drop him off at Oxford - so that he could then drive me down to Longleat if I’d lost my licence. I had already been waiting for quite some time for the case to come up, but my solicitor said there would be time for me to make the phone call.

When I arrived back in court however, I found that several of the prior cases had been dismissed, so that it turned out that I’d been keeping the magistrates waiting for about ten minutes - which set me on a wrong footing with them from the very start, despite the apology which I hastily offered. And there were some other factors which went against me as well. Sergeant Warner in his evidence was really trying to help me. He said that I was driving well and in perfect control of the car, which he described as a Standard. This could well have been a deliberate mistake, in that magistrates take a fiercer line on speeding in sports cars than they do for small saloon cars. But my ass of a solicitor (supplied by the AA) jumped up to take him to task on this - on the grounds that if he hadn’t even observed correctly the make of the car, then his observation of my speed might be equally at fault. But it was pointless as a tack. Sergeant Warner merely faltered that it was a Triumph that he had intended to say. And the magistrates sat up and took special note of the fact that I’d been driving a sports car - something they regarded as being within a more dangerous category than saloon cars.

They were looking down at me most severely from the bench after they had all trooped back into court to pass sentence on me. It was to fine me £20 with a six month suspension of my licence. Even the police came up afterwards to express their sympathy, declaring the sentence to be harsher than they’d been expecting. Sergeant Warner even offered to act as my chauffeur, if I took him with me to Spain. But I certainly didn’t want that.

It was really quite fortunate that I’d run up to ask for the services of Dad’s new chauffeur. Nor was it long before he actually arrived, and we were down at Job’s Mill in time for dinner.