I was feeling too depressed to write anything in my journal over the final week of the vacation, but it's now Friday and I have just returned to Oxford. So I'll try to bring the account up to date.

It took me several days to get over the initial misery. Fortunately, there was much reading work to get finished, which (to some extent) kept my mind off [X]. It takes a lot to get used to the idea that I am not eventually going to marry her. But it does look as if I've got to learn to accept that outcome. Well, I still don't accept it completely. I feel secretly inside that if I write to her on her next birthday, telling her that I still miss her and hope to marry her, then perhaps she'll relent and come back to me. Working against me however, is that her love for me is liable to diminish over the period that separates us from that date - which amounts to nine months, if we include the period that I have already been absent in Spain.

This is going to be a testing time for both of us. If she is incapable of loving me after the next six months have passed, then I must learn to accept that I'll never rekindle it to the point where we could sustain a marriage. I shall just have to resign myself to that fate. But there's always the possibility that she may find in her heart that she misses me, so that a letter from me might then tip the balance. And in the meantime, I shall attempt to keep my memory alive by sending her something when it comes to Christmas time.

While I was feeling at the height of my misery, I jotted down one or two passages for a children's story, which tells the story of our love affair. Perhaps I'll copy it out more fully, and send it to her with a request that she illustrate it - because her style of drawing would suit it very well. I have also written a second poem, which sums up the general sadness that I feel. I might call it "Tangles".

I'll not send her any of these items for the time being, but I'll probably do this at Christmas - just to remind her that I'm still there, and thinking about her.

The worst part is that, even if she were to revive our relationship as it formerly was, the essential elements for discord will still remain unresolved. She has stated that my attitude is too anti-Christian for her, and that this is bound to disrupt any permanent relationship that we might be striving to form. She even hinted that if I were to alter them, then I could perhaps win her back. But there would be such insincerity about the whole business if I were to comply. Who would ever have thought that this would have been the cause for a rift between the two of us?! But it's true that I had been worrying about this matter myself - the extent to which our views differ within our fundamental approach to life. That isn't going to have got any better if and when we find ourselves together again. What I personally regard as the solution is that [X] should become more tolerant, rather than me being required to adopt her views.

But my romantic life mustn't be put completely into mothballs over this period. The prospect of these next six months is quite grim enough, without letting that happen to me. I've got to let myself see what it would be like to be developing a relationship with another girl, and the only one that truly excites me (of those whom I have currently met) is [Y].

She forms a complete contrast to [X], in that her views on life are far closer to my own. I don't see her yet as someone with whom I could become enamoured - she is somehow too cool. But in comparison with [X], I fear that all women will appear cold. And I'm not quite clear whether she is still involved with Bendor, but I expect I'll make some effort with her when we next meet - just to see if there is any response. After that, who knows? I'll just have to see if there is any possibility of me falling in love.

I must also admit to some uncertainty in my heart as to how I shall feel if I learn that she is no virgin. After all the restraint that I have been obliged to exercise with [X], it could be that I'm going to feel thoroughly pissed off to learn that we were the only ones not indulging ourselves in a truly liberated sexual experience. The idea that I may be taking [Y] second-hand from Bendor somehow affronts me. My restraint with [X] must surely deserve that I get a virgin sometime in my life, and with every successive relationship, that likelihood is going to recede. Perhaps the realization that I've missed out on that particular experience is something that I'll manage to take within my stride. But it's hard to judge what I'm going to feel until I've felt it.

Last Saturday, Colin Clark gave a party. And [C] had come up from London, to glean some pieces of information for the Ephraim Hardcastle column. I was getting a bit tight, and while necking with her (in a mild enough way), I found that I was talking far too freely with her about all the others - who were the girls at Oxford who were liable to be specially in focus this year, and all that kind of thing. I was quite nervous to see what might appear in her column, but she kept her promise to me, since the piece that got written turned out to be harmless enough. [C] says incidentally, that she'll look me up whenever she's next in Oxford.

I found it all too strained at the start, with the conversation seeming forced. [W] is most eager to pick upon subjects, about which he can chat with zest. But there is no doubt that he is playing down to me for the level at which he pitches the conversational tone - talk for example, about how he must arrange that the car following should bump into him, so that he could get a dent (from a previous accident) removed and charged to his insurance. He becomes all boyish at such times, and it's difficult to appreciate how this same person last term was my tutor.

Before we set out, he had collected a letter from his pigeon-hole and appeared cross at what it disclosed. During the course of the drive, he disclosed the reason. He had been intending to stay up overnight in a house belonging to a friend called Gavin, but the note had been to say that the room wouldn't be available. [W] was chuckling now, and saying that he was going to say he hadn't looked in his pigeon-hole before leaving. And we might as well call in on Gavin Maxwell before the lecture, just to find out what was going on - and to take a few drinks off him to put us in a better mood for the discussion.

When we arrived at the house, [W] walked straight in, and of course I had to follow. His friend Gavin was seated there talking earnestly with a woman as we entered. ([W] told me later that this was Kathleen Raine, who is apparently quite well known as a poet.) But there was an expression on Gavin's face which seemed to be rebuking us for the intrusion. He relented however, and drinks were offered - although Kathleen Raine continued to look as if it were impolite of us to have stolen some of his attention away from her.

Gavin Maxwell had some work of his own to finish, but Kathleen Raine came on to the lecture with us, accepting a lift in [W]'s car. But [W] may have gulped down one too many - and having a rather small body, he does seem to show the effects of drink rather more quickly than others that I know. Anyway his conversation was becoming more peculiar every minute - reverting to the subject of having to obtain the right kind of dents in an accident to his car, but now creating a vivid impression of it all being just about to happen - driving up on the pavement, and round the other side of a lamppost, with exclamations of excitement thrown in for good measure. I was in fits of laughter, but the elderly poet-lady appeared much on edge, endeavouring to restore a semblance of intellectual fibre to the conversation. I noted at one point that she was suggesting something about Blake's symbolism. But [W] was giving her no encouragement whatsoever, talking instead about running over policemen and playing bumper-cars. So finally she froze into an icy silence. And as soon as we arrived at the hall where the lecture was to be delivered, she jumped out of the car and ran in ahead of us. That was the last we saw of her in fact.

A different problem now confronted us. The lecturer was supposed to be A.J.Ayer, and it was only because of it being he that [W] had been so eager to drive up from Oxford to hear him. Now that we had reached the hall however, we discovered that Ayer was to be replaced by some young lecturer whom nobody had heard of. [W] was most indignant about this, complaining to the organizer that he should have been forewarned. But the lecture was about to start, so we were rushed to sit on the only bench which remained free - as indeed might have been anticipated, if it had really been Ayer who would be addressing us.

The lecturer who had taken his place was far too young a man to gain [W]'s respect, and once he began speaking, [W] was telling me in hoarse whispers on the side how he didn't know his subject, and that it was pointless for us to sit through any more of this when we could be enjoying ourselves elsewhere. So he got up and strode out of the hall. I felt personally that he was behaving rather badly, but under the circumstances, all that I could do was to follow him. I did feel sorry for the lecturer however, who faltered for a moment and looked distinctly upset. But we received some measure of poetic justice in our deserts in that, after rising from our seats, I noted that there was a notice which had fallen to the floor from this bench, which read: "WET PAINT."

I suggested that we go on from there to take some drinks off Caroline. But she looked quite alarmed to see us - especially when I introduced my drunken friend as my tutor. [W] too was a bit nonplussed as to how he should behave. Caroline's expression was tensing up, although she endeavoured quite well to lighten the philosophical load by introducing a certain laboured jollity.

Then [W] took me to a restaurant club which he declared to be Gavin Maxwell's favourite haunt. I was curious to see that Gavin was pleased to see us this time, when we arrived. For whatever reason, there was now a complete switch in mood and he was now quite welcoming. In fact I enjoyed the meal very well, striking chatterbox form. I liked to suppose that I was becoming the focal point for the attention of these two distinguished intellectuals!

Last Sunday, I went along to the drinks that Thomas Packenham was giving, but I wasn't in the party spirit - due to the absence of [X] of course. So I left very early.

Shortly after I had returned to my room, [W] called in for a drink. But he remained chatting until 04.00 hrs. discussing a whole variety of subjects - which turned out to be most interesting. It flatters me that he appears so interested in whatever I have to say. It even makes me feel that I have said things which deservedly impress him - whereas it may really be the case that I come up with such comments on a purely random basis. But when I suggest this to him, I find myself drawn deep into a discussion on the true nature of random events. Even within this context however, he seems to regard my own fortuitous contributions to our discussion as emanating from an interesting mind!

Where he seeks to caution me against adopting a misleading chain of ideas for the understanding of our mental activities, is on the subject of telepathic communications. I was telling him how I felt sure that I had been in some manner of telepathic communication, for example, with those girls at the Sorbonne. But [W] takes the line that there could well be better explanations with regard to how we found ourselves with similar thoughts in our heads - involving a study of how humans tend to behave when sitting there in groups, with particular desires, aspirations and attitudes in common. He doesn't feel that, at this point in time, the existence of telepathy has been proven. And until something is proven, it is dangerous to assume that it is happening. He feels that, in the long run, most of our contemporary problems can be resolved by adopting a different manner of theory concerning the very nature of knowledge. But he didn't expand on what this might be. He says that he is still trying to work out that one for himself.

I was delighted to find how greatly my interest could be aroused on matters such as these. It has stimulated me to think upon the subject myself. For I would love to reach some manner of conclusion concerning the way all human thought interlocks, so that we find ourselves speaking what amounts to the same language. But it should go further than that of course. I want to comprehend how thought, and even prayer, unite together into a force that somehow controls the universe. If I could begin to understand matters such as these, I might become that much more tolerant towards the Christian beliefs which [X] holds - or even the most wild and woolly beliefs which might be held by complete savages.

Then on Wednesday, [W] called in again and suggested that I come out to lunch with him. He took me to a delightful pub near Oxford, with a garden area right upon the river. But the conversation didn't flow quite so easily. It's not so easy to come up with intelligent ideas on a sober stomach! There were no especially awkward moments, but I found it a bit of a strain to be lunching there with him like this - almost afraid that people I know might arrive and wonder how we come to be such friends. The relationship is innocent enough, but one can never tell what people might think.

I've had a streaming cold for the last few days - rather an extraordinary cold of a catarrh type, accompanied by an empty cough. Then on Wednesday a sharp pain developed beneath my ribs on my left side, which hurt especially whenever I laughed or coughed. It was most uncomfortable. And it was alarming when [W] diagnosed it as a touch of pleurisy. In any case there's no need for me to get fussed, since it has cleared up completely since then.

On Thursday I went up to London with [W] for the second lecture in the series. This time he was also giving a lift to a young lecturer called Robin Farquharson, who is another friend of his. But I felt it a considerable strain trying (but unable) to match the intellectual level of their chit-chat. I'm always scared of sounding stupid in the contributions I might make.

Robin had somewhere else that he had to go before the lecture began. But I took [W] to Caroline's house in the hopes of being offered a drink. The fact of the matter is that I find it very difficult to hold a conversation with [W], until a convivial drinking atmosphere has been established. He can be interesting enough at any time, but it needs a little drink before the barriers of self-consciousness get lowered on either side.

Caroline's expression when we arrived was a bit uncertain, as I think we rather overdid the drinking on the last occasion. Miss Vigers had called in to have tea with her - the first occasion for many years that we had remet. And her face lit up when I introduced [W] to her as my tutor. She was giving that simpering little laugh of hers, while twisting her neck round to Caroline to say: "You mean....? Is this....?" - thus clearly indicating that Caroline must have been telling her all about our previous visit, just before we arrived. I should note in passing that Miss Vigers was looking marginally more decrepit with the passing years, I thought, but she is still thoroughly alert - considering her age. The fear that she instilled into us as children was now a memory buried quite firmly in the past. I couldn't help wondering if this will be the last occasion that we meet.

It amused me to see how protective Caroline became with regard to Harry, who was playing with toys upon the floor. We had been discussing the potential for giving intelligence tests to mere toddlers during the drive up to London, and I must admit that we had some thoughts about trying out a few on Harry. [W] was holding up objects to see how Harry responded to them. But Caroline quickly noticed what was happening, and swept in to pick him up from the floor. She wasn't going to have any nasty psychologists investigating her baby's IQ!

We left quite soon so as not to outstay our welcome, but also to be on good time for the lecture, which was being given by Britten. I enjoyed it on the whole, but I noted during the discussion period which followed how [W] has the capacity to raise hackles. There was a woman who wanted to draw peoples attention to particular psychic phenomena - quoting evidence from the research of some society which studies that subject. But [W] stood up and scoffed at her naivety in the interpretation of such data, suggesting a different approach to reading statistics. The woman was quite sharp in her retort, saying how it was a shame that Mr Spencer-Brown had been given access to the reports on parapsychic research, since he was only concerned to discredit them. And to this, [W] was saying that her attitude was typical - that the parapsychics just want to keep their evidence out of reach from scientific examination.

Something that worries me is that [W] is far too attentive to me. During the coffee break, he was seeing that I got served - almost as if I was a lady-friend. And I noticed how the people to whom he introduced me were treating us as if we're a couple. There was Professor Tinbergen for example, whom [W] describes as the renowned authority on sticklebacks. And he was making a point of including me within some social invitation that he was extending to [W], and which he declined. I felt wrong-footed, and uncertain how I should react. But I rather suspect that [W] likes things that way.

This evening Saturday, I went to a party given by Oliver Fox-Pitt and Raymond Salisbury-Jones. I was feeling miserably depressed - with so many girls flocking around me, but no [X]. I didn't stay for long.

At this very moment, I can hear another party going on somewhere in Peck. Dance music comes floating across the quadrangle. But I feel hopelessly left out of it all. Part of me is longing to go over and join in with them, but it's really on the unlikely idea that [X] just might be there. But inasmuch that I know she's elsewhere, I feel a hatred for all such parties. There's quite a likelihood that she's up in London at this moment, falling in love with someone else. I just don't want to think about it. But it all amounts to the same thing - that I love her, and that I've got to strive to get her back.

At the same time, I'm rather hoping that I'll get a chance to experiment with someone like [Y] - just to convince myself that it would be impossible to love anyone other than [X]. And it's important that I get such an opportunity before I see her again. The awful part is that I'm actually hoping that a trial night with [Y] will turn out to be a dismal failure, so that I'll then know how I'm committed to [X].

There is virtually no time at all when I am not thinking about her. I wile away the hours when I am not actually working, doing things which permit me to think about her. for example, I have just finished a painting which attempts a visual illustration of our love going up in flames. I have put it to hang on the wall of my room - along with all the recent ones that I did while I was out in Spain. Quite an exhibition in fact, and I feel rather pleased with my recent output.

I have also finished writing that story about the Poplar and the Willow, which describes our love affair in a kind of parable. To me who knows exactly what it all represents, it seems beautiful and sad. I shall probably send it to her for Christmas - along with the poems that I have written. I can only hope that it touches her heart.

On Thursday I went up to London for Charlie Morrison's wedding to Sara Long. In fact Charlie had asked me to be one of the ushers.

For the last few days, I have been secretly hoping that [X] would turn up at the wedding. I thought I might regard this as the big test on whether she wants to see me - because there would have been no special necessity for her to attend. If she were wishing to avoid me, nothing could have been easier for her. But I told myself that, if she did turn up, it would mean that she wanted to come back to me. I had even got as far as praying that she would come. (I mean praying in my fashion.)....

Well, she did come, but I'm afraid that she didn't want to start up again with me. I judged that she was delighted to see that I was there, and she came along to the reception as well - even though she had to leave almost immediately to catch a train. She was avoiding standing near to me in the queue, but came rushing up to me once we were both inside. I told her that I was miserable, and she said that she was too - but she thought it was useless for us to get back together again, which made me plunge into even deeper misery. The one encouraging point was that she agreed with me that there might be no harm in us meeting from time to time - so long as I accepted that we weren't going to continue as lovers.

It wasn't the right moment for me to argue this point. But she told me I could write and suggest some date for a meeting - which I intend to do. But having had the time to reflect upon the matter further, I suppose she may now be intending to reject such a possibility. If she does permit me to see her however, I shall secretly be hoping to persuade her to come back on a more permanent basis. It is a mere pretence that I shall be accepting the "off" situation. I'll have to play it oh so carefully - that I do realize - or she'll just slip back into the "no see" stance.

By my own assessment, I need to treat this as a period when I am on trial. I've got to prove to her that I am capable of avoiding being troublesome or argumentative in my relationship with her. (And I do appreciate how that is going to be difficult for me!) But if I succeed, I shall gradually win her back because she will find that she's feeling happy with me. Or if I lose out on the gamble this time, then I'll just have to accept that we're not sufficiently well-suited to sustain a lifetime relationship, so that I'll accept it as being in the best interest of both of us that we should separate amicably - sad though I'd find that situation to be.

In point of fact I'd have been in no position to sustain a truly romantic evening, even if [X] had put one on offer, since I seem to have immobilized myself in a quite ridiculous fashion by slipping a disc (or just twisting a muscle in my back perhaps) when climbing into the taxi to take me to Paddington station. I'm not sure how this happened, since I wasn't making any extravagant movement at the time. But I've always heard how people slip discs, and now I know what it feels like. I have been in agony for the past few days, and have to be very careful what I do. But it feels much better since yesterday, so I'm supposing that I'll soon be back to normal.

The drink was flowing rather too freely at the Loders Club elections on Monday, but it turned out to be a very good party. And when we finally broke up in time for dinner, I was running down the street and then pausing to kneel at the feet of a succession of ladies - proposing marriage to each of them. There were a pair of French girls who responded with delight, and I think that one of them was just about to accept my proposal. So I had to run on a bit sharpish after that!

On Wednesday I received a telephone call from Sue Blandford, inviting me to join a party being given for the Dior models, who were putting on a fashion show at Blenheim Palace. Hoping that this might turn out to be a real `smooch-party', I went along to it eagerly enough. And there were some other undergraduates who came with me - Laurence K, Richard Lumley and Adrian Swire.

Although I enjoyed the party, it wasn't for the reasons that I'd been anticipating. We all turned out to be dismal failures as far as the Dior models were concerned. They were practically turning up their noses at us - far too gauche (and English) for their sophisticated Parisian taste! But the party was memorable chiefly for the antics of our host, the Duke of Marlborough. He walked to the centre of the floor in regal style, and performed what amounted to a ducal cabaret - singing a sedate song or two, and then nodding to his audience when he wished us to applaud. As an act it was abysmally bad, but his aristocratic pomposity was quite hilarious for it being so genuine.

On Friday was Guy Fawkes night, and I gave a small party in my rooms for it. But it's miserable giving a party when there's no woman in particular that you are wanting to invite to it. Nevertheless, after a slow start, it warmed up nicely - ending up by becoming quite wild, with a coconut-shy developing, using tonic water bottles instead of nuts. The oak panelling suffered a few dents, and my scout was glowering at me next morning when he was confronted with all the broken glass - until I had tipped him generously that is to say.

I went over to Cambridge last weekend. [W] came to say that he had to pay his old college (Trinity) a visit, and he wondered if I would like to accompany him. It struck me as a delightful opportunity for me to look up some old chums, so I accepted with alacrity.

I enjoyed myself greatly over the weekend, but [W]'s attitude still confuses me. I am sometimes just marginally nervous that he's endeavouring to introduce a sexual aspect to our relationship. Or perhaps I'm misjudging him.

He got talking about old Dundas, and how he was clearly homosexual in all the interest he displays in young men. He also surprised me by saying that Dundas was supposed to have been quite close with various members of the Thynne family. Or that's what they seem to think in the Senior Common Room at Christ Church. But I wasn't sure what he might be suggesting by saying `close'. I mean I'm quite positive there could never have been a homosexual relationship between him and Dad. So I don't quite see what he was getting at. But I thought I detected some thought in his mind that, if Dundas has intimated to him that the tutor/pupil relationship had proved invaluable in the past between a don at Christ Church and the scion of Longleat, then similar benefits might accrue to those involved within a similar relationship today.

There are other ways in which [W]'s attitude confuses me, for I find it hard to believe that he genuinely esteems my intellectual worth. Or if he does esteem me, then I feel that I am constantly letting him down in front of his friends.

For example he took me to some drinks in Trinity where there was a gnome-like homunculus with staring eyes, whose surname I think began with R, and whom [W] described as being positively a genius in his scientific field. Well inasmuch that I was standing in the group that was supposed to be conversing with him, I ventured to enquire what his research entailed. [W] had already told me that he had just invented some manner of gadget, or machine, but it was a grave error on my part to question what it did, or how it worked. He gave me a piercing look, and then rattled off a detailed explanation which left me precisely where I'd started - comprehending nothing whatsoever.

[W] suggested to me afterwards, that I'd have been well-advised to nod my head sagely, and leave it at that. But I was already squirming, and murmured something about not having understood - whereupon this don rattled off an exact repetition of the explanation he had previously given. I wasn't going to lie to him by saying that I was now enlightened, so I declared that I was still no wiser. He then displayed an impatience which hardly fell short of rudeness. Turning up his hands, he looked at [W] with an expression which seemed to expect an explanation for his introduction of such a fool into their midst.

It's difficult for me to be sure about what may have been going on. I mean [W] had been talking about this man while we were driving up to Cambridge. So for all I know, there could have been a far closer relationship between the two of them than he had actually seen fit to divulge - in which case my appearance on the Trinity scene might have been resented on those grounds. I can only speculate on such matters, since it would be impertinent for me to make any enquiry of [W]. But his friend certainly made me feel a bit inadequate.

Then I accompanied [W] to the dinner at the High Table, where I was seated next to two distinguished dons. But I felt it was ridiculous for me to be up there with them all. They were all authorities in their particular fields, whereas I had no standing in anything whatsoever. In saying that I aspired to be an artist, I knew how they took this for something akin to "painting for pleasure". The Longleat label doesn't encourage anyone to suppose that I might hope to become anything more serious. No one wished to sustain any prolonged conversation with me - apart from one of the dons, who may have fancied my good looks. But to tell the truth, I was much relieved when we could finally withdraw.

[W] and I were being housed in the special guest rooms at Trinity. He insisted upon taking the small room, and putting me in the big bed which had once been occupied by Cardinal Wolsey - saying that he himself had slept there already, but the chance might not come my way a second time. We were sharing a bathroom, and he was wandering in and out of my room with just a towel around his waist. But I think it would be very wrong to say that he has sexual designs on me. It's just his way of building up what he regards as an attitude of intimacy which falls well short of anything sexual. But I did note how he likes to introduce subjects which are just faintly erotic, in order to discuss them in a scientific fashion. Or sometimes it's just responding to something which I myself may have said. For example, there was a time when I mentioned that I was having to use the bathroom far too frequently. And this led on to him going at length into the physiological trigger mechanisms in the desire to pee.

By the time it came to Sunday morning, I had decided that I should do more of my own things during the time in Cambridge that remained to me. So I went to look up Adam Fergusson and Clive Hardcastle - which led to me getting taken along to some drinks that were being given by Gomme-Duncan.

I was drinking too rapidly to get myself into a party spirit, which led to me making a fool of myself. John Richard was there. I had disliked him at Eton, but he was behaving in such an overtly friendly manner that I lowered my defences; and when he told me enthusiastically that (my film star heroine) Leslie Caron was there, I fell into his trap by asking if he would introduce me to her.

I didn't doubt for an instant that it was she, for the resemblance was quite striking. And I felt enormously flattered that she seemed to be taking as much of a liking to myself, as I was to her. Anyway when I asked her if she'd like to come and visit Oxford sometime, she said yes - and gave me the address of the family she's visiting in Cambridge. (More about that later!)

I had a good time during the remainder of my visit to Cambridge, getting taken along to a variety of parties that were in progress - meeting a whole collection of attractive girls who don't ever appear upon the Oxford scene. (It's curious how distinct the two halves of the Oxbridge world really are.) There was one called Shane who struck me as looking very similar to [Y]. It struck me that she was making up to me, which irritated [A] who had apparently invited her. And when she kept delaying the moment of departing for dinner with him, they started a lovers' tiff - for which I felt largely responsible!

We returned to Oxford on Monday morning, and I promptly looked into the matter of finding an appropriate occasion for inviting `Leslie Caron' to visit me. I thought the party that James Spooner will be giving might be suitable, so in my gullibility, I dashed off a letter to her. And I was waiting breathlessly for her answer over the past few days.

This morning, Saturday, it arrived. `Leslie Caron' it seems is really one Frédérique Perrier. So it seems that J. Richard was making a right fool of me! She was apologizing for the deception, but seeming to leave open the question of whether she might visit Oxford. Under the circumstances, I didn't feel that I could quite face up to it. So I've written back to say that I wasn't really Lord Weymouth either, but someone called Alexander Thynne, and that perhaps we'd remeet one day under more favourable auspices.

There has been an encouraging development within the prospects for restarting my relationship with [X]. I took her out to dinner at the Lyric in Soho. This was on Thursday, when I had to go up to London in any case to meet my Stockbroker. It has gone far to set my hopes back on their former level. Although she threw in one or two remarks about hoping she wasn't being unfair - allowing me to see her when it could come to nothing - she was behaving in much the same way as when I used to take her out before I went to Paris, two years ago.

Towards the end of our dinner when we were having coffee, she made some excuse and came round the corner of the table to sit beside me. I took her back in a taxi, and she invited me up for a short while. It became evident that things are quite evidently not `over' between the two of us - even if she now stresses that our relationship has to be on a completely different basis. Well I know that [X] herself regards things that way. But my own feeling is that (with this start) we'll gradually find the method to move back towards the position we formerly held. I've got to learn to be be more tolerant towards her feminine attitudes - but that's all. It could be that we have now turned the marker towards more marital inclinations once again.

Yesterday Saturday, John L-T and Ian R called in for drinks, bringing [Y] and Caroline P. This turned into a fairly lively party. But the disconcerting part is that I find I could easily be keen on [Y] - while not really having been given the chance to know that this is so. The truth is that I feel a bit mystified. I feel that if I made the effort, there is this person with whom I'd like to acquaint myself one hell of a lot better. But at the same time I don't want to go to all the trouble of getting to know anyone better!

When I am in a group with [Y] - discussing this, that or whatever, I find her fascinating - because she really participates within whatever we are talking about - in a way that [X] would never do. But to be left alone with her I find really awkward. So I don't choose to share her company for any particular engagement - which might explain why I don't feel like inviting her as my partner to the Grid dance. I would have to go through all the embarrassment of being required to make the expected polite conversation with her, without supposing that there can be any reward at the end.

Then I find myself posing the question how I can possibly get to know her better unless I do put myself to such effort. But here I come up against the stupidity within our present system of moral conduct. As I see it, there is every reason why we should be given complete freedom to discover, for ourselves, just how well we fit together - temperamentally, or any other way. If we were ultimately to decide that we were suited to one another, there are so many points which would (right now) need clarification. Fundamental questions I suppose - like whether [Y] is really a virgin, and how I would react to the disclosure that she is not. I also need to investigate whether she is really as cold (sexually) as I'm inclined to suspect. For if she is, I should back out just as quickly as I possible can! Then I also find myself wondering about her instable traits - like her drinking too much whiskey, or even the possibility of potential nymphomania. The one might lead to the other, for all I know. I need to have developed a really intimate relationship with [Y] before I can possibly know what I think on all these matters. And when we really come down to it, that means that we should be in the same bed - and fucking! But the social conventions of the society in which we dwell forbid such intimacy.

Then I find myself asking whether, if all the questions were answered, might I conclude that [Y] would make me a good wife. Drunkard? Nympho? These points do need consideration, and how should they be evaluated if I were actually to fall in love with [Y]? It would hardly constitute a healthy marriage, I think. But if I reached that conclusion, it might be all be for the best since I would then be able to feel myself committed to [X]. An emergent dilemma would then have been happily solved!

We went on drinking in my rooms, and were finally joined by Hussein Mahdevi and Michael Distemple, who contributed well to the atmosphere in that they are amusingly witty. Hussein's line was to offer [Y] and Caroline honorary membership within the harem he intends for himself, back home in Iran. Then two strangers arrived - having heard the sounds of a party no doubt - striding in and calling me Alexander. After I'd offered them drinks, I gleaned the information that this was Robin Cook and his half-brother, (Hawker?) - the former being someone whom I had known by sight (a little older than myself) at Eton. But a more accurate description of them might be to say that they were gate-crashers.

When Ian perceived that this is what they really were, and perhaps also because they were indulging themselves in what might be called a flirtation with Caroline, he started his favourite bash-the-gatecrashers act - quite literally bashing in their bowler hats which had been deposited on a chair. This led to protests, and then to a fight, which smashed my painting easel, a china jug and a few glasses. And after Hawker had landed amongst my tubes of paint, bursting a few of them in the process, I realized that it was in my best interests to act as peacemaker.

I was really quite effective. Ian was on top of Hawker, and thumping him. I grabbed Ian to make him stop, and then pronounced that they could go outside and continue fighting if they so chose, but if they did it in my rooms, then I was going to make it my business to knock out whomever seemed to be gaining an advantage. The fighting continued, so I sat astride them and delivered a few sharp blows to Ian's ribs. John told me later that he had been poised on the brink of entering the fray in Ian's support. But this crisis never arose, since Ian finally chose to desist. And I felt personally that I'd handled this fracas deftly enough.

What continued to rankle in my heart however, was the question of John's proclaimed loyalty to Ian - to an extent that he would have been prepared to trade blows with me in Ian's defence, despite it being quite clearly a case of Ian being in the wrong. I'm never quite sure how to evaluate loyalty, when it leads to taking what I might otherwise assume to be the wrong side. And it offends me just slightly that John's own feelings of loyalty towards myself should not have been sufficient to render him utterly neutral in this particular instance. But it's pointless to fret over the matter, since the crisis never arose.

Today Sunday, I have been afflicted by alcoholic depression - definitely jittery. There have been two parties this morning which I ought to have given a miss, and it doesn't look as if I'll have got the alcohol out of my system by tomorrow, when there are further parties for me to attend!

On Thursday I went up to London and took [X] out to dinner. It was really just like one of our dates before I went to Spain. All went exceptionally well, and I took her back to her room where we made love - in the same limited fashion as before. (She is now a paying guest with the Douglas-Homes at 24 Abingdon Villas.) I do find her enormously good company and, whatever happens, I know that I shall always love her.

We had a long talk about ourselves. What I find greatly encouraging is that she has abandoned her attitude that we must inevitably drift apart. Her line now is that she doesn't feel that we'd be happy if we got married, and she feels that her personal need is to find a man who is mature enough to control her absolutely. I must grant that I am not yet sufficiently well worked out within my own personality to qualify for that role. But she appears happy to continue with our relationship in its existing form - which means that we just wait and see how matters turn out for us, without supposing that we are likely to marry, nor ruling it out as just one of the possibilities that could be in store for us.

I regard this as the only sensible position that we can readily adopt. The obstacles in our path to any marital union are still as plainly visible as ever, but we shouldn't regard them as insurmountable. Nor should we torture ourselves by refusing to see one another. We should just let our lives run on, waiting to see if more suitable partners appear upon our individual horizons. Then after I've finished with Oxford, we should examine the situation which then exists more closely and take a decision on whether to marry. And in the meantime, there is no reason why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves.

[X] couldn't come as my partner to the Grid dance, on Saturday. (She had to be at [O] for the opening of some local fête.) And without her, I simply didn't want to attend. Well, I was in two minds on that issue, since I would have quite liked to invite [Y]. But I decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Besides, without [X] at my side, I feel as if I'm just participating in some kind of peacock parade - displaying my feathers to discover which girls might come running up to say hello. And I wasn't really in that kind of mood. So I stayed at home, and am glad that I did so.

On Sunday morning, John Jolliffe and Alexander Dunluce gave a hangover party for the Grid dance, and I did go along to this. In fact I was soon in exuberant form. And I went on from it to 94 the High, in a party with John L-T, Ian R, [Y], Caroline P and [F], where we drank ourselves silly for the rest of the afternoon.

I finally took [Y] out to dinner, which turned out to be a great success. We touched upon virtually the full range of philosophical problems, without reaching a single conclusion of any substance! I find [Y] refreshingly masculine in her approach to logic. I can click in with her thoughts, far better than I ever manage to do with [X].

At one point we were discussing love, and going to bed. I really wasn't sure if she was telling me that she isn't a virgin. I don't think that she's inhibited from making love by any ethical principle. In fact her views on what morality is all about seem to be rather similar to my own. And I was pleased to discover that I wasn't going to mind particularly if she were to tell me that she has made love to others. It's curious how one does need to have the situation there in front of one before knowing how one is going to feel about it. I still await the situation of knowing that she's not a virgin, but I think it's going to be all right. The way she was talking about fucking seemed perfectly natural, and it was secretly exciting me that the prospect of us going to bed together may not now be quite so distant after all - after which we'll really be able to discover how we feel about one another.

Where our outlook upon sex differs is in the importance which she attaches to pure friendship, at the expense of developing any reliance upon sexual intercourse. She regards the latter as being of no great importance - whereas I wanted her to perceive that pure friendship would be unlikely to hold two people firmly together for any sustained period of time. It's nice to see such friends once in a while, but you don't want to live with them, or even to see them too often. The sex life is important for its adhesive capacity. But she regards that side of a relationship as something that has been grossly overrated within all our ridiculous romantic literature. And with regard to our own friendship, it's the discussions that she treasures, and not the prospect for any love play.

We sat talking for such a long time over dinner that she missed her train back to London - so had to stay an additional night at her hotel. But it did mean that she was able to come round to my room for breakfast on Monday morning, when we discussed a general plan for her future reading, whereby she may develop her philosophical outlook. It's curious how I almost regard her as my pupil - and she's a most receptive one. I am strongly attracted to her, and want to know a great deal more about her.

There is a strange parallel between my attitude towards [Y], and [W]'s attitude towards myself - with regard to the teacher/pupil relationship, I mean. It's good for me to be practising the teacher role for a change. And it's delightful if I can combine that role with indulgence in a love affair.

On Tuesday morning, [W] offered to take me up in one of the Air Squadron planes. (He is a member of it.) This turned out to be quite an experience. I think he's got it in his head that he's going to teach me how to fly, and that I'll automatically want this. Well I do, but I don't want to give it so many hours of my time as they might deem necessary - which means that I ought not really to start.

One of the instructors was being utterly callous in telling me how to operate the parachute - as if I could be expecting to come down that way. But I expect that forms part of their traditional repertoire for banter, whenever any novice turns up at the Air Squadron.

[W] allowed me to fly the plane once he had taken it to a certain height. Then I suggested that he do a loop-the-loop for me - which he did. Then he asked me if I'd like to take the controls again, and perform one for myself. My first two attempts were pretty hopeless, since I had the plane falling sideways out from the loop. But I succeeded on my third attempt. It was really just a question of watching the appropriate instrument to see that the wings were constantly level to the horizontal plane. I had butterflies in my stomach throughout the flight, and it wouldn't have taken much more to make me sick. But I returned to earth (with [W] once more at the controls) with a considerable sense of achievement behind me.

Yesterday Thursday, I went up to London for Mary Roach's wedding to Anthony Berry, and I remet Venetia Murray whom I hadn't seen for about two years. But I'd been quite keen on her at one time, so I was interested to see if the spark would still flare. I invited her to come and have dinner with me afterwards, but nothing really fired between the two of us. If my motives were dishonourable, I got my just desert. It was an expensive dinner - at L'Etoile - and then we went on to the Millroy. The bill was higher than I'd been bargaining for. Then on taking her back to her flat, I found that she was sharing a bedroom with a girlfriend, which meant that we had to confine our activities to the drawing room. But there was no sofa! Consequently I had virtually no scope for advancing my intentions. And I daresay that was precisely what she herself had planned! Still, I had enjoyed our evening - although I don't think that I'll ever manage to progress much further with Venetia.

I returned to Oxford on the milk train, which means that I virtually haven't slept all night. It's surprising how I don't feel really exhausted after all that. And I have somehow managed to avoid that liverish feeling that I normally get after a heavy night's drinking.

On Saturday I'd been invited to stay the night at [G]. I travelled down there with Ian R and John L-T, and we found the usual group of girls, ([Y], Caroline and [F]) already there. It's my guess that [F] had organized this weekend for the specific purpose of pitching [Y] and myself into each others' arms - which might well indicate that they see no real future for myself with [X]. In any case she was doing her level best to nudge us together at all times - aided and abetted by Ian.

[Y] gave the appearance of feeling embarrassed that her life was being put under their control. I noted how she was making a obstinate point of sitting with John and Caroline, instead of in the seat next to myself - as [F] was intending. But she lost control of the situation when the other two couples started necking, for it looked a bit absurd for the two of us to be sitting there individually isolated, with no one talking to us. So she finally came over to sit on my lap. But she wasn't going to start kissing me in front of all these others. So we had a long earnest discussion instead - principally upon the subjects of telepathy and God!

It wasn't until John and Caroline had announced that they were going off to bed - "singly" - that [Y] and I found a more comfortable (and more romantically inspiring) seat. And even then, it was only because Ian pointed out to us that the sofa ought to be occupied. Anyway it did produce the required effect, of [Y] now permitting that I should start kissing her - after Ian and [F] had also retired upstairs. She just lay there very still when I first started pecking at the side of her cheek. But she did eventually respond, and I got the impression that she may be capable of quite tender love-making. At one point she sat up however, to enquire whether this was going to put an end to our discussions on philosophy. And she looked relieved when I assured her that it would not. She is an extraordinary girl, but I think I understand what is going on in her head. I like her a great deal, and I think that I might possibly fall in love with her.

During the drive to [G], Ian had felt it his business to expand upon a remark he had made previously - about how [Y] might probably end up as a nymphomaniac. It linked to some conversation that he'd once had with Bendor. But Ian wanted to make it clear that Bendor had never claimed to have actually fucked [Y]. It was just that [Y] herself had declared that there was nothing in her principles that would necessarily stop her from becoming a nymphomaniac - if her desire for sex ever really augmented to that extent.

I also noted how [F] was at pains to declare at one point, how she knew that none of the three girls present had "physically" made love with anyone - which I took to be an assertion that they are all virgins. It's quite possible, I suppose - although it does surprise me. But it makes it all sound so terribly innocent, that I find myself wondering if they think it necessary to misinform me on the issue. If I'm to judge from [Y]'s hesitations about (even) being kissed however, perhaps I should just accept that her virginity has now been established.

On Sunday, we all went back to Oxford - in time to attend two more parties. But somehow I was no longer feeling in the party mood. I would rather have liked to be left on my own with [Y], and foresaw that I wouldn't get much of a chance of this at any social gathering. Therefore I quickly reached a decision to slip away back to my room - although secretly hoping that [Y] would follow me. Unfortunately she didn't! Sometime later however, they did all arrive back at my room - to say how lively the party had become shortly after I'd left! I was already depressed, but this merely made me feel that much worse.

Still, they managed to persuade me to come on with them to the second party, which was given by Guiseppe Gazzone in one of the rooms just above me in Peckwater. It was in fact a splendidly lively party, with plenty of beautiful girls. I have never met two such fast movers as the Cooledge sisters - attractive American girls, but I certainly don't know how typical! I'd met Mary (Spunky) before, and she started by trying to pass me on to her sister Grace, (or Boofy.) She didn't catch my name, so asked me again for it. And when I said it was Alexander Weymouth, Boofy's eyes lit up to say: "You don't mean the son of the Marquess of Bath?" Whereupon Spunky whipped back, and both of them set on me at once, twining their arms around my neck and kissing me, in what amounted to a ridiculous caricature of vamping behaviour. There may well have been a vein of humour in what they were up to, but I didn't really know how I should cope with the situation.

I have never met anyone so blatantly fast as Boofy. She was inviting me up to London to come and "make passion" with her. I declined, since it was all too obviously my title which had enamoured her, and nothing special about my personality. This was my first experience of American girls at work. And I found myself wondering if the fastness was just for show, and whether they might be really as virgin as the English girls who seem to come my way. I simply don't know. Americans are so foreign to me. But Boofy was pinning me against a wall, and wriggling her thighs against me - gazing into my eyes and declaring how beautiful they were. Finally she tried asking me to join their skiing party, saying that she'd like "to put me in her bed like a little teddy-bear - after which I did manage to escape from her clutches, whereupon she set to work on Dominic de Grune, in some vain hope that he might display a willingness to abandon both his asexual inclinations, and his priestly vows of celibacy.

My problem really was that I felt so far from being in the party mood - much aggravated by the fact that [Y] was paying so little attention to me. There was no sense in any way at all that she regarded herself as my special girlfriend. I decided to go back down to my room - once again in the hope that she'd follow me.

When I was just leaving, I glimpsed a girl whose face looked faintly familiar. In fact I thought she was smiling at me. But it was only after I had got downstairs that it dawned upon me that this had been Frédérique Perrier - looking rather different, with her hair in a different style, and streaked now with gold. I assume she had come over with the large party of girls that Guiseppe's brother had brought over from Cambridge. But I'd missed out on the chance of displaying any recognition, and I simply didn't want to rejoin the party.

The gloom sank even more heavily upon me, as an hour ticked by without any sign of [Y] coming down to join me. And when she did finally arrive, it was just five minutes before women had to be out of the college. So [F] and Caroline came in to collect her. They were going on to some drinks in Folly Bridge, where Laurence, Tom Packenham and Mark Girouard have their lodgings. At first I said that I wouldn't accompany them, but later I thought better of it, and followed after them. It did strike me that [Y] perked up quite visibly when I arrived, but I could be deluding myself on that point. Anyway it put me in a better mood all round, so that I was finally enjoying myself by the time the girls had to put themselves back on the road to [G].

On Wednesday was the Bullingdon dinner - which was at Chez Peter and excellent. And we were all behaving impeccably for once. I had some lively conversation with Teddy Hall, and some rather irritating with [K] on the subject of sex. It is evident to me that someone has told him that [X] is still a virgin, so that he assumes that when I'm talking about sex, I don't really have any experience upon the subject whatsoever. And he was coming out with some pretty heavy-handed comments in that vein - almost as if he were trying to goad me into disclosing precisely how much sex there had been in our relationship. But I kept him uninformed.

There are occasions when [K] irritates me enormously, with all his bombastic display and too much sartorial elegance. I sometimes feel that I'd like to kick his arse. At the same time I feel aggrieved with [X] for laying me open to his manner of taunt. He picks up on the idea that I haven't really managed to take her, to insinuate that I am emasculated! Still, I suppose I've got to learn to take all that in my stride.

I almost missed getting a lift out to Chez Peter, because [C] dropped in to see me. She arrived in my room when there was only a little while left to go, and started trying to extract information from me about where the Bullingdon dinner was to be held. But I managed to fend off her questions quite successfully. I certainly didn't want to have her phoning back to London that we'd be at Chez Peter's, in time for them to plant someone at a neighbouring table, listening in on our conversations.

[C] also wanted to know whether it's true that my mother is having another baby. If it's true, it's certainly the first that I've heard of it. But who knows?

When [C] was about to leave, she paused, and I judged that she was expecting to be kissed. And the kissing quite rapidly became passionate, with my hands moving up inside her blouse. I thought for a moment that she was inviting me to drag her into my bedroom for what could only have amounted to a quickie. But she halted the advance of my hands, as they moved below her waist. Nevertheless, it raises my hopes on what I might expect in the future - if I find that we are still on speaking terms, after I've had the opportunity to read whatever comes out in the Ephraim Hardcastle column!

On Thursday was Loders' dinner, and I took [W] along to it as my guest. The dinner itself was a dismal failure - largely because of the seating plan, which didn't give rise to any inspired conversations. But things came to life a bit once the heavy drinking had started. I find their custom of "drinking the lady" to be pretty revolting, and my throat was seizing up before I had quite reached the end of my chalice. But Michael Russell performed very well as the junior member. He swallowed what must have amounted to two pints of port, straight down without a murmur, and managed to remain on his feet for quite some while. I even heard him asking for more wine, and he was given a mixture of port and champagne, but told it was claret. Then the alcohol took effect. He was chuffing round the room like a toy train, before suddenly reeling and falling to the floor - where he passed out, and was eventually carried off to bed.

Earlier in the evening, [W] had been on about a recent book by an Oxford professor, (Price,) who takes an opposite view to himself on many an issue concerning the paranormal. And his remarks had been most dismissive, if not sneering. Anyway James and Anthony were taking much delight in composing a letter on paper bearing the name of [W] at the top, making rude comment upon this book - stating in effect what [W] had been saying to us about it: that the man was a mystical old clot.. And they have actually posted it off to him, I'm told! But [W] knew nothing about this, of course.

When the others filed off to bed, I had an uncomfortable feeling that they were departing to leave [W] and myself alone together - just as Ian and John had done, so that I could enjoy [Y]'s company in the drawing room at [G]. And I now found myself with the problem of persuading him to return to his own room, after he had initially accompanied me back to mine. He seemed to hope that he could just sit chatting with me. So I had to be quite firm with him, declaring that it was past my bedtime.

Something that I should note is the speed with which I recovered from the previous night's boozing. By morning, I had in fact discovered that my head was more or less clear, having progressed through the hangovers, and come out on the other side - feeling far better in any case than I'd done on the previous morning. It would seem that my liver is finally saturated with alcohol, so feels more in its own element once the fresh dose of drinks has been swallowed!

There was another bout of drinking in the evening. Some time ago Dickon L had informed me that someone called [B]wanted me to join her dinner party for some hunt ball. And I'd been told that I could bring [X] - which wasn't quite as convenient as she might have imagined. So when I telephoned, I asked if it would be all right for me to bring [Y] instead. For [Y] had declared that she might call back in Oxford after going down to [G]. And I was required to get hold of two extra men, namely Ian and John. So we all squeezed into John's car, and went over to introduce ourselves to [B].

She looked at me a bit curiously when we first arrived, and I was able to glean, later, that I had in fact been invited in error. She was fishing to discover if she hadn't seen me in `The 400' about a fortnight ago, dancing with [X]. [X] had in fact told me that she'd been to that night club with Anthony Tancred. So I must assume that A.T. gave [B] a look of encouragement, which led to her asking whom the man dancing with [X] might be - to which someone must have surmised incorrectly that it was myself. So I was now in receipt of this invitation, under mistaken identity. But the evening went quite well for me. [B] quickly managed to swallow her disappointment (if such were the case), and started giving me a fair amount of personal encouragement in my own right.

John was laughing about it later, saying how he'd been watching while I swirled her round the ballroom in a waltz. And I did find that she was quite a sexy number, dancing with her thighs pressed up close to my genitals. Attractive too. (She was once a model, I believe.) And I was unable to detect much affection between the husband, Mr [B], and herself. But when [B] suggested that I could stay overnight, if I liked, and that she could put me in Mr [B]’s dressing room, I felt that I might be getting involved too deeply and too fast. They could be on the verge of a marital bust-up for all I know, and I daren't even think of the consequences if I got cited as a co-respondent. (Would I be expected to marry her, for example?) I prefer to keep my love life on the simple side. It's not wise or safe for me to start intruding within marital relationships, since I wouldn't know how to handle such matters.

As a result of [B]'s attentiveness, I hadn't seen much of [Y] over the course of the evening - until we had squeezed back into John's car for the drive back to Oxford. But I don't think [Y] minded greatly about that, since she'd been having serious discussions all evening with John.

Then the following morning, Saturday, she came round quite early to see me in my rooms - before I'd even got up for breakfast in fact. Then I had to rush off to have my end-of-term collection read out to me. (Blake has written nice things about me, it would seem. I was told that I had improved immensely of late, and that they were well satisfied with my encouraging rate of progress.) By the time I got back to [Y], she was preparing to leave. But I persuaded her to stay on for a little while - not that I really got much of an opportunity to to talk with her, since people kept on dropping in to visit us. Nevertheless I shall be seeing her tomorrow up in London.

The Michaelmas term has now ended, incidentally.

On Sunday afternoon, I went up to London - having managed to squeeze all the things that I'll need for the vacation into two suitcases, after jumping up and down on them for a full half hour!

Ian was giving some drinks that evening, and I was the first to arrive; then [H] and finally [Y]. But almost as soon as she'd come, she went off upstairs to make a telephone call which lasted for three-quarters of an hour - a chat with Caroline P as she claimed.

When [Y] did finally come back, [H] began pouring out his love for her. I had no idea that he was so keen on her; and it was startling to discover that I had such an ardent rival at Oxford. But I was relieved to see that his passion did little to arouse any spark of interest in [Y]. Still, the net result was that I hardly managed to speak a single word to [Y] by the time that Ian declared it was time for him to go to bed.

He wasn't exactly throwing us out, so the prospect now was that I'd be obliged to sit there watching on my own, while [H] did his best to woo [Y]. So I took the opportunity (when [H] went to the loo) of asking [Y] if she'd like to come back and have a drink with me at (my sister) Caroline's house. She said yes, so we departed quickly, before [H] had returned.

We found that we had Caroline's drawing room to ourselves. And having settled ourselves comfortably on the sofa, I supplied [Y] with her serious discussion ranging over the philosophical field - such as I know she now expects as her due. (The price to be paid before I can hope that she'll offer me something more amorous in return!) [Y]'s technique in discussion is still a bit rudimentary in some ways, since she is inclined to wander from the rails too frequently. But having said that, I still regard her as the most logic-oriented girl that I've met.

After an appropriate time had been spent on serious discussion, we switched over to kissing. But after a little while, she stopped and demanded to know why I had chosen to make a pass at her. I felt slightly taken aback, and didn't know what kind of an answer I should give her. So she expanded upon her point by saying that she classifies men into two types - (a) platonic discussion friendships, and (b) sexual friendships. According to her book, the two categories are seldom mingled - in the manner that she found me doing. She had formerly got me categorized within type (a), and she was frightened that I was going to spoil everything by veering over into type (b). "Philosophy and sex don't mix!" was her particular catch-phrase.

She was also curious to hear whether I had merely been offering the serious discussions as a ploy to enable me to seduce her. I found this one a bit difficult to answer. It really wasn't quite so calculated as that. But I daresay that I always did have an eye open to the sexual goal while indulging in those initial discussions. Still, it would be harsh of her to accuse me of scheming.

She went on to give me a dissertation on her ideas about marital relationship. Within her present outlook upon life, she cannot conceive the possibility of her ever falling in love. She just hopes that when she marries, her husband will be so madly in love with her that he'll allow for a few deficiencies on her side. She says that, since leaving school, she has come to look upon sex not so much as an immorality, but as a vice - an addiction, from which people are better off if they can be weaned away from it. She also regards the need for it as a weakness within our human spirit - harking back to our animal forebears. And she views it as a form of escapism from the tedium of life.

Her disinclination to indulge herself that way doesn't stem from any moral scruples of her own, but far more from a respect for her parents. She doesn't wish to offend them with a display of behaviour which their friends might find shocking. This is the only thing which has restrained her, up to date, from jumping into bed with all and sundry. That, and the fact that she is unaware of the pleasure that it seems to arouse in other people. She said that if she fucks anyone (within the next six months for example), she's certain that she'll only be doing it out of kindness to the person concerned, and not from any personal desire for such activity.

I took note of two points. This was the first time I have heard her state emphatically that she is still a virgin. I also think she was now telling me the line which has persuaded others that she could easily go off the rails, to become a nymphomaniac. If her parents were to die, for example, what restraint would there be then? - so long as she started to enjoy sex of course, which might require a considerable evolution in her present attitude to the subject.

I then found myself trying to explain to her the benefits from a marital union, and the enjoyment of sex within that condition. I argued that marriage creates an "Us against the rest" situation. Perhaps it should be called the Us syndrome. And there is much that can be tackled from that base, which one might never have dared to tackle single-handedly. And sexual intercourse is the glue which keeps a couple together - as a reminder that they need one another.

[Y]'s retort to this was that platonic friendship can be just as adhesive as something more erotic. But I argued that attention to the bodily needs of a person might be more important than she was yet allowing, and that mere friendships might need to be sacrificed because of there being insufficient time available to sustain them. It is the platonic friendships which are the more liable to lose out when a choice of this kind has to be made. Human beings still require their erotic satisfaction, no matter how firm the bonds of companionship may have been cultivated elsewhere.

We then discussed the distinction between male and female outlook. I argued that we both have our cultural roles to play, and it matters little who actually pulls the strings within this puppets' dance. The point is that, while participating in the game of courtship, it is important that each sex should feel they are being permitted to fulfil the roles that have been allotted to them within the traditions of their culture. And living where we do, that involve the male taking most of the initiative in a relationship, while the female is viewing all that happens with the notion of nest-building at the back of her mind.

Perhaps it is symptomatic of the uncertainty and ambivalence within [Y]'s current outlook, but after all the disinclination about sex to which she had been giving voice, I found that she was quite responsive when I came to suggest that the sofa was far too uncomfortable, and that we'd do better to move upstairs to my bed. Well she was hesitant at first about coming up, perhaps for no better reason than the fear that Caroline or David might hear us. But she succumbed to a little further persuasion. And once we were lying on the bed, our caresses became increasingly intimate, until we were naked in each others' arms. And I suppose it's fair for me now to conclude that [Y] is just as much my girlfriend as [X] has ever been - with precisely the same limitations, to boot! - by which I mean that she can still (just technically), be classified as a virgin!

I found [Y] a surprisingly affectionate little lover - not precisely demonstrative, nor yet as cool as I'd been anticipating. After I'd reached my orgasm, she gave me to understand that she was feeling a little ashamed of herself. She said this would probably have never happened if it had not been for the depression into which she had been plunged from a visit back to her home - to Swinstead Hall. (It seems that Lord [Y] won't let her go to Oxford or Cambridge, declaring that she must work at home instead.) I don't know what to think about that. I suppose I'd have preferred it if she was telling me that coming up to bed with me was part of some natural evolution within her outlook!

While we were lying there in bed, [Y] told me something which astounds me. Apparently Dad went to bed with her mother in Claridges Hotel, some time shortly after the war - or perhaps it was just towards the end of the war. [Y] assures me that this is true, although she declined to tell me how she knows - apart from saying that it was through my father telling someone. With that much information, I might guess that Dad told Robin and Mary Campbell, who in turn told [F], who then told [Y].

But it also gives me some further food for thought. [Y]’s father was billeted near Warminster at one time during the war. I believe he was the Colonel of one of the regiments whose officers used to be entertained by Mum - to dinner, and perhaps a lot of other things. I can in fact remember Lord [Y] at this time - as one of the guns who came out shooting. I can even remember standing beside him at one of the drives, and him telling me about his young daughter who was almost my age. But I don't think I was parti cularly interested at the time.

Anyway, I might conjecture that Dad felt aggrieved about the way Lord [Y]'s officers were playing around with his wife. So I might speculate that it was with some relish that Dad then seized upon an opportunity to seduce Lady [Y]. But these are details which are never liable to get clarified.

It was 06.00 hrs when we finally got up, and I put her into a taxi.

On Friday, I went to stay the weekend at Badminton - with Caroline and David of course, but as the guests of the Beauforts for their hunt ball. It was alarming in some ways, as I found that I had been invited as Princess Alexandra's partner - when I don't really feel that I am in the business of playing the courtier. It's no longer one of the professions which I perceive as a possibility for myself. But I daresay the Duke and Duchess may have other ideas. (Might Caroline too?)

However it turned out to be an enjoyable weekend. Princess Alexandra was perfectly easy to chat with, even if I regard my special type of woman as being very different from herself. But I do like her, and might hope that our paths continue to cross. Most of the weekend was spent playing paper-games. This forestalled Princess A's desire to play musical bumps, and to dance the bunny-hop! She is still lacking some of the elegant refinement that one might expect to see in a princess, but she has plenty of bounce and gumption. She was furious with herself because she had her first ever fall while out hunting. This was on Saturday. And it was after she'd spent a whole evening boasting about never having fallen!

On arriving back here at Longleat on Monday morning, I found a letter awaiting me from [X]. I had written trying to fix up some occasion when she could come over and pick up all the presents that I bought for her in Spain, and which I was now intending to give her for Christmas. But she has sent me a dismal letter of rejection. I'm not quite clear what I should make of it. I mean, could it be explained from the fact that someone has informed her about the recent developments with [Y]? Or has some other man just entered her own romantic life? The switch in mood has taken me by surprise - just when I thought we'd discovered a happy state of temporary equilibrium for our relationship.

To tell the truth, I feel offended by the tone she adopted. It was unnecessarily curt. And it's not as if I'd been urging marriage upon her, even prior to my departure for Spain. So to have her breaking off our engagement, so to speak, was an uncalled for measure. I'd have been happier if she'd couched the decisions in vaguer terms. But I expect I'll get used to the idea. And it's pleasant to note that I feel less wounded on this occasion, than when she came over to sever all ties with me back in September. It looks as if I've toughened up a bit since then.

I had one nice thing to find on my return home, which was a telegram from [Y]. (She may not be all that articulate as a letter-writer - if I am to believe reports that her standard at school was almost remedial!) But she says that she'll come out with me on Wednesday. I am very much hoping that [Y] is going to prove herself a rewarding substitute for [X], and that she'll soon replace her in my heart.

It does seem that I've reached a bit of a crossroads in my life - even if I do accept that my relationship with [X] is now a thing of the past. Yet perhaps I ought to pause at this crucial juncture to feel sure that I am setting out (this second time) in what amounts to the right direction. Because if I do take the path towards firming up on a relationship with [Y], I do see how there are an array of problems ahead of me. I'm by no means confident that [Y] will make her future husband happy. I might even predict that he'll be downright miserable, and that she'll ditch him whenever she so pleases.

So what other path do I think might be open to me? Well despite the fact that I've just been saying that Princess Alexandra is not really my sort of woman, and despite my reluctance to consider the life of a courtier as a possible career, I do think that I should at least pause to contemplate such a switch in lifestyle. I do see how many people (Dad for example) might see that switch as being precisely the kind of move which could bring the required discipline and purpose to my life. But such people do not perceive me for what I really am. They do not perceive my unsuitability for such a role, in the light of the beliefs and attitudes that are gradually precipitating in my mind. And they do not perceive how I do see an important role for myself within the framework of my adopting a career as painter and writer. So I can't possibly see myself developing in the courtier direction.

On Wednesday I went up to London and arrived at Caroline's house in time for my arranged meeting with [Y]. But while waiting, I had a telephone call from Bendor, inviting me round for a drink. I found this curious, since I had been given to understand that all is now over between him and [Y]. But it was evident that he had just been seeing her, for he seemed aware that I was taking her out that evening - for otherwise Bendor would never have guessed that I'd be staying with Caroline. I said that I couldn't go, since I was waiting for [Y] to arrive. So he then suggested that we both come round.

It now struck me that there might be more devious schemes afoot. I mean, I couldn't be sure what games [Y] herself might be playing with me. It could be that she's wanting to avoid repetitions of the intimacy we reached last time - by engineering the evening so that we should not be on our own together. But if she really has been making such plans, she could give it to me straight from the shoulder. It's my suspicion of devious play which disconcerts me.

So as the situation now stood, it was beginning to look as if I'd let myself in for an embarrassing evening, when I'd be taking out [Y] in the company of her former boyfriend. But I didn't want to take a stand on the issue, which would reveal to [Y] that I was concerned - something that I preferred to keep to myself in case [Y] wasn't playing games with me after all. Anyway, I telephoned [Y] to see if I could obtain an insight into what was going on behind the scenes, or from her side of the fence. And it did strike me that the suggestion that we go round to have a drink with Bendor must have originated from herself. With some misgivings in my heart, I felt that my wisest policy was to accept with good grace. And I rang Bendor back to tell him as much.

In the event, the evening turned out all right. It may be that Bendor merely wanted the opportunity to judge for himself how far our relationship had developed. But there was a certain strain beneath the general levity of chatter. I got the feeling that I've slotted myself into the role of a co-respondent, who is guilty of trying to steal away [Y]'s heart from her adoring follower. But I really can't persuade myself to feel guilty on that account. What is more, [Y] herself stated while we were going over to his flat, that there was one person (at the moment) with whom she couldn't bear to be alone - and that was Bendor. So I felt surprised that she hadn't avoided such a confrontation altogether. But I had to play the cards such as were dealt to me.

The situation resolved itself when Bendor finally went off to take someone else out to dinner, and we ourselves went to see the revue `Airs on a Shoestring' - followed by a very good dinner at the Lyric.

After this, it seemed a bit late for going on to a nightclub, so I suggested that we go back to Caroline's house for a drink - and whatever. But [Y] warned me that she is now in quarantine for mumps, which entailed that I mustn't kiss her. Naturally I found myself wondering if this were just a ploy to keep herself safely at a distance. And in any case, I should expect that I'm already infected if she is going to come down with it. But [Y] insisted that she didn't want to be responsible for me becoming sexually sterile. So there could be no open-mouthed kissing! Nor did she want to put me under too much temptation. So we remained down in the drawing room on this occasion.

But she got her money's worth on the serious discussions. Quite a lot of the talk was on the subject of sexual problems. It worries me that she keeps on idealizing the concept of friendship which is devoid of sex. And where marriage is concerned, she feels that the sexual interest should be allowed to fade away (after the birth of the children) until it has little importance whatsoever. And neither side would then feel their jealousy aroused by sexual infidelities. But the bedrock of platonic companionship would remain constant throughout.

I get the feeling that [Y] needs to be paired with someone who has as little sex drive as herself. Under those circumstances, her suppositions about human behaviour might be fully realized. But I don't think a relationship with someone like myself would prove workable on those lines. I'll need to get a good sex life established, before we're going to find compatibility on any of the other functions within marital life. And I can't see myself managing to hold my jealousy in check if she were to be unfaithful with others.

Of course, there's the converse side to it - that [Y] probably wouldn't feel jealous if I were to have affairs with other women. And I could find that to be an enormous asset within a marriage. But she would expect me to feel like that as well - which would create problems when I found the jealousy bubbling up inside me. And I don't see [Y] as the sort of person who would readily make compromises on the rules of play that might have been agreed beforehand. But I might go so far as to suggest what these rules of play could be as follows:

1: that both husband and wife should be free to have the extramarital relations that they each desire;

2: that they should limit such relationships to what can be accomplished, without giving rise to the jealousy of their spouse;

3: that there should be no risks taken with regard to the paternity of the children;

4: that no secrets should be held from the spouse, so that the Us syndrome can thus be fortified.

When I discussed these principles with [Y], I found that our priorities differed greatly. She has no great respect for candour, or the truth - when deviousness might be portrayed as a necessary defence, or even as an alternative ideal. Nor was she greatly concerned about the male worry that the children might not have been conceived from his own semen. Moreover, she regarded my caveat against jealousy as being a total restriction on the liberty to have extramarital relationships. Well she might have a point there! But it did little to ease my mind on the potential for discord if the two of us were to attempt a marital relationship.

As I see it, from a viewpoint within our particular cultural background, the wife should be more prepared to make concessions than the husband - because that is the pattern as it stands today. It may well be true that we are working ourselves out to another pattern eventually. But we still have to recognize how the males and females of this generation behave. And I have many a doubt personally, whether women have much opportunity within our contemporary society, to practise the infidelities to which they might otherwise feel inclined. We are still living in an era when the man is brought up to suppose that he owns the woman, rather than the woman owning the man. And this does make a difference on the behaviour which might be regarded as acceptable on either side of the sexual divide - despite our knowledge of some contrary drift within contemporary trends.

Each generation may have its rules for play within the sex game. But at this moment in time, the cultural expectation is for the male to thrust, and the female to parry. This is happening between [Y] and myself, and it's all a part of the courtship dance. We are happy while that process continues - with the only danger being that she might fall flat on her back (without parrying), and we'd then have to pause to reconsider how we were each expected to behave! But I think that the idea does emerge eventually, that the male gets excused for rather more infidelity than the female - even if it be inexcusable that such is the case.

Nothing within our serious discussion gave the other reason to feel that we were well suited to one another, if it was marriage that we had in view. My personal conclusion is that it would end up in a state of sexless incompatibility - if not divorce. And that's hardly what I hope for in marriage.

Perhaps I'm just setting my sights too high in this search for an ideal marital partner. But I still find myself hoping that this ideal girl might somewhere exist. The worst part is that I feel myself in imminent danger of falling in love with [Y]. I dread that this should happen, since it would put me at the worst possible disadvantage, while I am trying to steer her towards my own way of thinking. I in fact feel myself in some confusion with regard to my attitude towards her - rather hoping that I might marry her, perhaps, and yet shying away from such a prospect in that I perceive how it would be disastrous.

When discussing the concept of candour, we ranged over the question of how much it is necessary for one partner to tell the other about their former sexual experiences. And it looks as if [Y] is less inclined to be open than myself. Her line is that a broad outline should be revealed, but that the detail (in names, or whatever) is something private to the person concerned. My own feeling is that such secrecy would create a barrier impeding their participation within the Us syndrome.

[Y] wanted to know if it would really make any difference to me if I were to discover that my wife's hymen had previously been broken, when the time finally came that I fucked her. In all honesty, I couldn't tell her that it wouldn't matter to me at all. My problem is that I simply don't know how I would react. It would depend very much on the circumstances, I suppose. I'm sensitive to the fact that I myself have shown the restraint which [X] demanded of me, and I think it would secretly irk me greatly to discover that many others had not been prepared to do so - or the girls in question didn't see fit to demand it. But much would depend of course, upon the explanation of how she did come to lose her virginity.

[Y] regarded my attitude as awful, however. What about a wife's feelings with regard to the circumstances of her husband's previous affairs? And on that issue, I had to fall back on the defence that, within our culture, the male is expected to sow his wild oats, whereas the female is not. But it's the practice of total candour on either side which furnishes the best hope of emerging on the other side of those problems unscathed.

I think that this discussion has opened quite a window upon the way [Y] thinks. What still needs explanation to me is how she first came to regard sex in the light of it being a vice. I ask myself if, in her case, at its outset, sex was a vice. And the simplest hypothesis at this point would be to suppose that she might have had some heavily Lesbian experiences while at school. Am I to be told eventually that she lost her hymen that way? - because it seems that she has already told me that she hasn't had any men as lovers. But I ought to be capable of weaning her from any shame about such Lesbian experience - if it ever happened. (The intrusion of women into her previous sex life - especially if they were young attractive ones - would raise less of a problem to myself, I think, than if they were men.) And I ask myself what effect on herself that might have. It might release her inhibition against nymphomania, of course! But hopefully it might just encourage her to adopt something more akin to my own attitude in sexual matters.

Although [Y] is trying to convince herself that she is incapable of feeling any real love for a man, I get the feeling that she has some doubts on that issue. She is exercising herself, just to see what happens. I also noted how she was throwing in the occasional remark which was designed to open my eyes to faults in [X] - that she was not as intelligent as myself, and how she leads men on, whenever I'm not around. I do get the impression that [Y] is making a strong bid for my love and admiration, and discouraging any inclination that I might have to return to my previous love.

After lying together on Caroline's sofa until about 05.00 hrs, I went with her to look for a taxi, and then returned to bed.

On Thursday, I was still up in London, and attended the Bal des Refusés - dressed up as a decadent French artist from the turn of the century. I was included in Fionn O'Neill's dinner party, consisting mainly of London eccentrics. Humphrey Lyttleton furnished the band, and there was a cabaret consisting of Cambridge undergraduates where Jonathan Miller was the principal participant. I was much impressed at the way he gave us all a lesson in good manners by sitting at the front of the stage, dangling his legs over the edge, and declining to give us any cabaret at all until a larger number of people ceased chattering and paid proper attention to what was going on. He didn't obtain the silence he was demanding, but he was given a certain degree of hush. Yet by the time the cabaret actually began, there was an element of resentment stirring on either side - which diminished our appreciation of their efforts.

Another incident of note - I was chatting with Jocelyn Stevens at the time, when a man (who might well have been a ballet dancer) came up and started dancing in a squirming fashion all round us. I had the uncomfortable impression that this was a performance rather especially for myself - as some manner of courtship dance. And it was indeed most impressively performed. But it was embarrassing for me in that he seemed to be taking it for granted that such attention would appeal to me. And Jocelyn felt irked as well, in that he grunted: "The man is obviously homosexual!" And then nudging his arse away from us with his foot, he said: "Go away!" The man continued his dance for a little while, but hissing now, instead of smiling. But he did finally move away from us.

I realized how I was far more vulnerable than Jocelyn to the innuendo that might arise from this episode. His own sexuality is never held in question within anyone's mind. Nor should mine be either. But in the fancy-dress that I was wearing, I knew how I might seem to be advertising homosexual inclinations. And I do know how many people in the past have harboured such suspicions. So I was feeling distinctly awkward until my `admirer' had moved away.

Jane Collet also came up, reminding me how I had met her when in Paris - with Laurie Fleming. I danced with her, but I was still feeling unnerved by the knowledge that I had a homosexual aura that evening. And I suspected that she might suppose that Laurie and I had been lovers. So I found myself inhibited, and stilted in my communications. She was eventually rescued by her boyfriend, a rather small man whom she introduced as Max. It struck me that he was scowling at me quite unnecessarily.

Humph kept up a wonderful pace of rhythm throughout the evening. But I still haven't mastered the art of jiving. My whole approach to such dancing is too self-conscious. I feel the beat all right, but I just can't let myself go. It will come with time I hope.

I had a somewhat awkward session with Venetia M. It was all slightly strained. In that the sexual attraction has never triggered properly in our relationship, there is now a disgruntled feeling on either side. And I was finding it difficult to come up with the right subjects that we might discuss. And when we were dancing, we struck an argumentative note - because she took the line that I wasn't jiving properly, when I insisted that we were both performing inadequately. We parted just a trifle abruptly with her walking off the dance floor. So I'm a bit worried that I may have offended her.

There were many people from Cambridge at the ball, and I kept on imagining that I was seeing Frédérique Perrier. But those whom I asked denied that they were she. I am told that the story about me thinking that I had been introduced to Leslie Caron has now appeared in the Evening Standard. I must assume that this is [C]'s handiwork. But the piece was written sympathetically, even disguising my name - referring to me as "a viscount at Oxford." But I don't think there are many others. Well Lumley, Dunluce - but who else?

On Friday I returned to Longleat.... Then on Sunday evening, I received a telephone call from Camilla Crawley, to ask whether I'd like to be amongst their guests for the New Year's Eve party that her father and mother would be holding down in Sussex. I said yes. Then she went on to ask me whether I'd like to come up to London for a party, on Monday, adding that [Y] would be there. In fact the dinner was to be at the flat of [Y]'s mother, (which is at 5 Westminster Gardens.) I had been on the brink of declining, but the thought that [Y] might have requested my presence made a difference. So I agreed to attend.

I arrived up in London on Monday evening, just in time to change for the dinner and to get myself round to [Y]'s flat on time. The only thing of note during the dinner was that I fell out with a girl called Frances Sweeney, who insinuated that I was a snob. It makes me pause to think. Do I really give people that impression? When I come to think how some of my contemporaries in the Life Guards start talking contemptuously of the lower classes, I would have thought that I am far from such attitudes. But I suppose it could be that I assume my aristocracy as an integral part of my personality, and that my whole viewpoint upon life is through those particular spectacles. Remarks may fall from my lips which jar upon other people's ears. But I'm not sure about that.

After dinner, John L-T came round - to all appearances, without any knowledge that the rest of us were going on to a party afterwards. But of course, I'm left wondering just how much of [Y]'s games are played out in the open. I mean, did John arrive at her personal invitation? (Surely he wouldn't just drop in without telephoning first.) And how much was it planned in advance that she would drop out from accompanying us to the dance, to accompany him (as I must suppose) to something else? All I was told at the time when Camilla swept me off to the dance in her taxi was that [Y] would be following on behind.

Then there was something else which set me in a bad mood. Camilla had assured me that my attendance at the dance had been approved by the host and hostess. When we arrived however, I found there was a close scrutiny of all cards to eliminate gate-crashers. And I had the embarrassment of finding that my name wasn't on the official list, so that I had to plead my case for entry - which was finally allowed, largely because Christopher (who is back in this country for his demobilisation) had been invited. But Camilla must have known from the start that I wasn't really invited, but she had let me go ahead of her in the queue to face the wrath of, (and possibly the rejection by) my hosts.

My mood became even worse after two hours, when there was still no sign of [Y] arriving at the party. I felt quite furious with her. I mean, what manner of game was she now playing with me? To be avoiding my company might be one thing, but I had come traipsing up to London with the sole purpose of accompanying her to this party; and then it was beginning to look as if she had gone waltzing off with John to something else. Of course, she might claim that it wasn't precisely herself who had invited me. But Camilla had certainly given me the impression that she had requested my presence. It was almost as if they were deliberately making a fool of me.

Then there was the question of what role John might be playing in her life. I'm sure they're not lovers. In fact everyone imagines that he's keen on Caroline P. But he's a crafty sod, and I wouldn't put it past him to be exercising his sex appeal with [Y] - if for no better reason, then just to put Caroline on her mettle. And I can see it in his eye that he's enjoying the situation of seeing for himself just how far he can intrude upon my own territory, without getting his fingers burnt. I don't like the situation at all.

After two hours of prancing round the ballroom with a pack of debutantes, my rage finally got the better of me, and I stalked off in the direction of the exit. But Camilla came rushing after me to ask me where I was going. I said "Home." She said: "But you will be coming to stay with us for the New Year, won't you?" And despite the fact that she'd already told me that [Y] would be coming to it, I said "No!"

Now that it's all over, I still feel that it was the right thing for me to have done. [Y] has become too well accustomed to having men (never fully satisfied) falling in love with her, and then having them wringing their hands in agony, as she keeps herself dispassionately aloof - always being so careful not to have given them any reason to declare that she had ever given them encouragement. But they are a lick-spittle brigade, and I don't want to be identified with their number. What's the reward? A couple of her slinky looks, or the sound of her drawling voice? She can go to hell for all I care, or revel in a harem of such males, but as far as I'm concerned there'd be more satisfaction in searching for flowers in the desert.

I know that this won't teach her a lesson. It won't. With her barren capacity for love and her empty womb poisoned by unethical ideas, she may be justified in regarding herself as the Queen of the Untouchables - untouched that is to say, by the turbid (if warm) waters of human emotion. She regards this kind of reaction as the absurdity of jealousy. But it has come to me just in time to save me from putting myself in torment from that regal majesty - from joining the ranks of her lick-spittle brigade. She regards her majestic self as residing somewhere above all that kind of emotional mess. But I long to see what happens when she finally finds herself dunked in this very cesspit.

I feel that it's a pity it has all come to this so soon. To tell the truth I remain unconvinced that the affair(?) has really ended. But if it does mend, she's got to learn that I am not to be treated like this. And I'm not going to be set at the mercy of her whims. But I have my doubts that she'll make any adjustments to her ways. So I reckon that it will be on this manner of issue that the relationship finally comes to grief - this year, next year, or who knows when?

But my thoughts do keep on returning to John's part in all this. He has always told me that his relationship with [Y] is strictly platonic - her ideal in fact. But I wouldn't put it past him to make a vigorous, strictly platonic pass at her. I think Plato even managed to bugger little boys in a platonic fashion. So God knows what John might manage to get up to with [Y], in a faintly similar style. No doubt they would find a way of making platonic babies too. I just don't want to exercise my imagination on the subject any further!

Between the two of them, they have ruined my vacation. The party in London, and the Crawley weekend would have featured as the highlights of my Christmas season. But they've messed me up well and truly over those dates. And then again, [Y] had been saying that she'd come down and stay with me at Longleat, before I have to return to Oxford. Well I must consider myself ditched over that date too, no doubt. The rest of the vacation has every prospect of being just about as boring as it could possibly be devised.

There's another small detail which has come back to me. That lady's evening handbag which I had bought for [X] in Toledo - I had taken it along in my pocket, intending to give it to [Y] as a Christmas present, at the end of the evening. But with the way things worked out, I came back home with it. There seems to be a jinx on that bag! I wonder if I'll ever find someone to receive it?

I travelled home today, Tuesday - to find my car parked outside Westbury station, waiting for me to drive it. I got my driving licence back today!

I also found a Christmas card waiting for me from [X]. It contained quite an affectionate inscription, and I'm not at all sure how she expects me to react. If I do nothing at all, she may work herself up into a state - as indeed I've seen happen on previous occasions - and perhaps even come rushing over to see me. But I no longer want that to happen. Then again, it would go against my pride to send her a loving card, after the rough treatment she dished out to me in that letter. I think I'll just send her a card with the minimum of words. "Love from Alexander" will be quite sufficient.

I think I am detecting in myself a most reprehensible delight in the possibility that I may be hurting people! I noted it this evening, when Christopher arrived at Job's Mill to say that, after I'd left the party, Camilla and Henrietta were in tears because I'd chucked their New Year's Eve party. According to him, none of them could work out why I had done so - which surprises me. But it somehow pleased me to know that others, besides myself, had been suffering. And quite illogically, I imagined that [Y] too might have been going through her share of suffering. Well I do know that I've messed up the numbers for the party she was taking over to the Crawleys, so that she'll have to start her planning all over again. But it's rather childish that I should find myself thinking like this!

What I really think is that I need to develop a tougher attitude towards women. I've been far too nice, and sensitive to their problems in the past. Admittedly I'm in an embittered mood just at present - owing to the collapse of a second love affair within a matter of weeks. But I need to brutalize my whole perspective upon life, so that I become far less vulnerable. I should learn to kick these women, when they're down. Well not the soft ones I daresay, but the hard bitches - like [Y]. The only trouble is that she's not down; nor do I see much prospect of her collapsing thus!

Now that a few days have elapsed, I have to admit that I may have been overreacting to what happened up in London. I still do think that [Y] has been playing games with me, but I have since learnt from Christopher that she and John did finally turn up at that dance. Not that this will change my decision to absent myself from the Crawleys' celebration. I feel I've got to do that, or the point will never sink home to [Y] that I won't stand for that kind of treatment.

But my prospects for the future now seem a lot brighter all round, in that I know there will be an opportunity to repair the damage to our relationship which occurred during this last trip up to London. I find that Chris has been taking care of my best interests, in that he has invited [Y] and her brother to stop the night at Job's Mill when they go to the Cobbolds' dance near Salisbury, on the 3rd January. Even though it's theoretically just for one night, I expect we'll find that the visit can be extended if [Y] and myself hit things off together on this occasion.

By the time Chris went to catch a train, to go and stay with the Crawleys, I was beginning to feel depressed that I'd messed up my opportunity to be going there as well. But I still don't feel that I had much of an option, except to chuck it. However I do see how there's now a large question mark over our whole relationship.

Chris says that he'll try and bring [Y] and her brother back home with him, immediately after the New Year, and I shall be careful to behave as if nothing special has happened - without being too overtly affectionate, until the circumstances arise which might warrant such behaviour. My principal fear is that [Y] will now play the same trick as myself, in cancelling the idea of coming to stay at Job's Mill.

The unpleasant thing is that I must be slightly in love with [Y] - even though I've seen that she doesn't treat her admirers at all well. When things aren't going well between us, I feel so rotten inside. But I'm setting much hope in store that Chris will manage to bring her back home with him, and that our relationship will then get sorted out into satisfactory shape.

Chris did in fact bring back with him to Job’s Mill [Y] and her brother- and another girl, Jane Sheffield. This was on Monday. But then Bendor Drummond rang up, to invite himself as an addition to the party - which I think was a bit cool. It must surely be evident to him that I wouldn't want to have him accompanying [Y] and myself everywhere, almost as a chaperone. Although [Y] has but scant regard for him, if I can judge from the comments she makes, it is quite evident that he still worships her, and would dearly like their own prospects to be far brighter. And I can't say for sure that things are over permanently between them. For all I know, she tells him much the same things about me, as she tells me about him. It could be that she doesn't give a fig for either of us, and is just enjoying the game of exercising the emotions in both of us, to enhance her own sex appeal with others. But to the best of my knowledge, she doesn't actually lie naked with Bendor, whereas she does with myself.

I don't think I've ever commented how there would in fact be considerable poetic justice if [Y] and Bendor did finally get married. I mean the [Y] family acquired [H], up in Scotland, after it was confiscated from the [H]s for the support they'd given to Bonny Prince Charlie. Perhaps Lord [Y] would arrange for it to be restored to this second son of the [H] family, if he were to marry [Y]. But I fully appreciate that this thought doesn't enter into Bendor's motivation for pursuing [Y].

Anyway, I was feeling a bit truculent when Bendor invited himself to join our party. And when we were setting off for the Cobbold dance, he planted himself in the passenger seat of my TR 2, for the purpose (as I saw it) of preventing [Y] from occupying it herself. And I suddenly felt a devilish desire to sabotage the evening for all of us - much as [Y] had sabotaged my own evening up in London. Therefore I suggested that, being on the early side, we should call in to see John L-T, whose parents live at Fordingbridge. And we could drive on to Clarendon House after that.

John's mother was at home when we first arrived, but she soon retired to her bedroom - after offering us a drink, which of course led on to us being given additional ones after she'd gone to bed. I could see that John had sussed out the manner of game that I was playing, and it amused him - especially in that he had been involved in a similar game up in London. But it was a different role that had been allotted to him on this occasion. He wasn't going to this party in any case, and there was some humour for him in watching me goad Bendor, in his enforced separation from the woman whom all three of us in fact admire. Bendor was champing round the room with the expression of a caged hyena - perpetually reminding me that we were going to be late for the dance. But I was very happy knocking back the drinks, until I was really quite pissed!

Then [Y] must have guessed where I'd gone, for Christopher telephoned to find out if we were safe, and when we intended to arrive. I told him that we were having a lovely party here on our own. Then he rang back, and [Y] herself finally came to the phone, and tried lecturing me on bad manners, so I started roaring with laughter and shouting "Fuck off!" Unfortunately it seems that Mrs Christie-Miller (the grandmother) had picked up the phone upstairs, just to see which of her guests might be running her to the expense of these unpermitted calls. So my crude outburst was overheard. And perhaps by Lady Lucas-Tooth too for all I know - more directly since her bedroom was at no great distance, and I was shouting.

There was now a general tizzy all round. And by the time we did finally arrive at the dance, Camilla and Henrietta came rushing out to say that it might be best if I made myself scarce - which in fact suited my book perfectly well. I just deposited Bendor, and then sped off back home. But I was told next morning that I've lost my name with the Cobbold/Crawley families, on the idea that I might conceivably be regarded as an eligible young man. Too bad! I'm not sure that I want to be one in any case - if that isn't just a case of sour grapes!

Tuesday morning was all a bit of a farce. Bendor discovered that it might be possible for him to return to London by a later train, so it looked as if I was due to be chaperoned all over again. Therefore I took him over to Job's Mill and dumped him there - along with [Y] and all the rest of them - and then returned to Longleat.

That afternoon however, the whole party came over to Longleat. And Bendor collected his things, and went rushing off to catch his train - with Chris and [Y]’s brother driving him to the station. But [Y] remained with me, and requested a philosophy lesson - so I read her the first half of my thesis on `The Principles of Morality' which I've been preparing so that I can read it to the Canning Club.

It wasn't until Wednesday evening that I got a chance to read the second half of my thesis to [Y], when I went over to Job's Mill at teatime. She seemed generally impressed by it, and we had an interesting discussion on the subject....

[K]had already left. And [Y] too had been intending to go off to [G] that evening, but I finally managed to persuade her to stay on for an additional night. So the situation now arose that [Y], Chris and myself were left sitting up late in the drawing room - without Chris attempting to participate within our discussion, but just sitting there - almost as if he felt it was his duty to act as [Y]'s chaperone.

This was a development which I hadn't been expecting. I mean, why should Chris suddenly have felt this to be the role he should play? I had been assuming all along that he had been working with my own best interests at heart. But I was now being given some cause to wonder if he didn't have designs on [Y] himself. And if that were the case, ought I to assume that [Y] had been giving him some encouragement? And had this been up in London, or at the Crawley weekend, or at Clarendon House? Or on all three occasions? I no longer felt quite so sure that I could depend upon his fraternal benevolence.

In fact the sequel merely heightened my fears still further. I dropped several hints about it getting late, and how I'd soon have to be leaving - supposing that he'd get it into his head to leave us on our own for a while. But he just