I was a bit late, so I went straight to the reception, where there was a long queue to get in. I found myself queuing next to Mark Jeffreys, and his wife. It was noticeable how Mark now appears irritated with himself for ever having been a friend of mine - especially when it might possibly be said that my own personality had been dominant. He's out to eradicate that memory from his mind - or to reset the balance. I found him quite offensive, in the way he suddenly picked upon my mannerisms, which are always apt to appear highly strung. But he started up on the subject of how I'm always in a permanent flap - with real contempt in his voice. Showing off to his wife perhaps? But I just turned my back on him. It's not as if either of us have any significance at all in the other's life, for the time being in any case. Mark has signed on with the Brigade of Guards, I gather.

Once inside, one of the first people that I bumped into was [Y]'s brother, who came over quite amiably to suggest that I come and talk with [Y]. I told him that I would - but later. Unfortunately this was the last that I saw of either of them. And this depressed me quite a lot, for I suspected that she had departed quite abruptly, so as to avoid the contact with me.

[X] was also at the reception, but I somehow felt no pleasure at seeing her there. She came up to talk and she was enquiring if there was anyone special in my life. I didn't want her to suppose that I am loveless after the loss of herself, so I replied that I was rather fond of [Y]. She asked me if I would like to marry her, and I said that it was always possible.

That evening I went along with Mum and Xan to have dinner with the Devonshires before their boat party. It seems that Venetia had been selected by them as my partner. But the dinner went on for ages, and we finally got separated from our hosts, so that the first river-boat went off without us. We were on the overflow boat, where there were far fewer people on board. [Y] wasn't on it, but Christopher was - so that didn't make for an encouraging start.

In point of fact Christopher came over to me in a perfectly friendly manner, but I have no wish to be friends with him until he accepts that we do not attempt to poach our respective girlfriends. Therefore I greeted him coldly, and did my best to avoid him thereafter.

When we arrived at the first lock, I changed boats, but as I got on, [Y] got off - without us seeing that this had happened until it was too late. I suddenly observed her standing on the bank and looking up at me. It was by no means an unfriendly gaze, but I wasn't quite sure how to interpret it. I gave her a quick nod of recognition, but remained on board.

Then at the next lock, I was hoping that she would return to this boat, but she didn't. After that I began to get drunk in a big way, and it seems that my boisterous behaviour irritated quite a few people. But I'll try to record the salient points which I can remember.

At one point I found that Princess Margaret was watching my antics. She had a broad grin on her face, and was quite evidently amused at my behaviour. I grinned back, and she gave me what I regard as an impish smile. But I fear that's the nearest I'll ever get to her. I do now support the opinion however, that she has plenty of sex appeal. If her status were different, I'd enjoy to make a pass at her.

My encounter with the other member of the royal family who was present was rather less successful. But this was only after I'd had a lot more to drink. I had gone up to talk with Princess Alexandra, who was chatting with Jocelyn Stevens at the time. But she wasn't in a mood to be friendly. Instead of that she was trying to rebuke me for my drunken behaviour - as if she were my Great-Aunt, or something. This led to a series of exchanges, in which she told me that my ego was too big, and I told her that I would like to be rude to her, but couldn't - because she was a Princess. (This put Jocelyn in a right pickle, on whether he should take issue with me for offending the Royal on his arm - and he was indeed spluttering some phrases like "Really Alexander!")

I'm afraid that she wasn't the only person that I offended, for I kept on bumping into people and tripping over them. I apologized whenever I noticed what I was doing, but I'm not proud of my behaviour. Humphrey Lyttleton and his band didn't seem to like the way I had perched myself on a pile of life belts behind the area where they were playing. I didn't suppose that I was harming anyone, just listening to their music - despite my air of depression. But I heard one of them declare that it might be all for the best if they pushed me overboard.

As for [Y], I did catch a couple of glimpses of her during the rest of the party. In fact at one lock, I saw her making an effort to board the front boat just as it was about to start moving. She was in a group, but she detached herself and started to run. But none of the others did, so she gave up. (I was watching from the rail up on deck.) The very fact of her having attempted to board the boat gave me heart. And I felt confident that she'd be switching boats at the next lock. But as I stood there waiting, I caught a glimpse of her leaving her boat and walking towards a car. It was only after this that I got really drunk.

During the last phase, I was dancing closely with Claire Baring, who was being quite responsive. I may be wrong, but I think she was thinking in terms of advancing our relationship further, because she was fending off the particular men who came up to rescue her from the hands of a drunk. One of them (a big man) was really quite offensive, declaring that he might have to hit me if I didn't let go of her. I was telling him that if he hit me, I'd have to hit him back. But I think Claire must have signalled to him to leave us be, since he departed saying: "Well if this is what you really want!...."

She also had an exchange with Mum, whom she didn't realize to be my mother. So when Mum came up to say something about it being time for us all to debark, she wasn't going to permit this "elderly tart" to drag me away from her - until Mum had revealed her identity. Claire then handed me over in good grace. I suppose it is possible that we could develop our relationship further, if the timing ever happens to be right. But for the time being, I fear that my mind is preoccupied with [Y].

I felt some terrible guilt along with the hangover. When I'm drunk, I immediately become inconsiderate. And I've got to put a check to this.

On the train back to Oxford next morning, I ran into [Z]. I was feeling far too liverish to converse with her, but I did my best. I even gave her a lunch in Oxford. She's pleasantly light-hearted for this kind of situation, and assists to alleviate all the mental agony of a hangover.

When I got back to Folly Bridge, I found a letter waiting for me from [Y]. Judging from the postmark, she must have posted it just after the wedding reception, and before the river-boat party. I really don't know what to make of it....

.... I just don't know what to make of [Y]'s letter. At times it reads as lovingly as I might possibly hope. But it also looks as if she accepts the idea that we are going to part - after one final meeting. It's difficult for me to guess what line she may be intending to take. It may be folly that I permit my hopes to rise in any measure at all. But I keep telling myself that she must feel differently towards me than she does to all the rest of her gang. Or is she merely concerned to salvage what friendship she can from the collapse of our affair?

She is due to arrive this morning, Sunday, and the waiting is making me feel tense. Such an awful lot depends upon this meeting, so I hate to reflect upon what the outcome will be. It might end so happily - or it could be the start of an even deeper depression.

[Y] arrived before lunch on Sunday morning, as promised. It was a trifle strained at the start - friendly and conversational, but she was unable to take the plunge towards whatever she had in mind. Then finally she said that she didn't quite like the way things had turned out. I intimated that, given the situation, it was bound to have ended this way. She then hinted that I had interpreted the situation wrongly - that she really regarded me in a manner that was totally different from the rest. The others were only there for the communal interest they supplied, whereas her relationship with myself was something far more personal.

So I raised the subject of Francis, on that last occasion when she had chosen to accept his lift back home. Her reply to this was that she'd been longing for me to offer such a lift myself. (Now I can't help doubting the truth of that statement!) She said she was feeling hysterical because of the wedding, so she was longing to get back home. (She could have asked me of course - but she didn't!) Then when Francis suggested it, she went.

I didn't know what to think. Her account somehow didn't tally with the way I remembered things. On the other hand I wanted to believe that she was telling me the truth. There came a pause, and I asked her for a cigarette. And on bringing it over, she suddenly collapsed in my arms - and was behaving quite passionately. Anyway we sat there kissing for quite some time, before finally moving over to the bed - and finally naked in the bed.

This was the first occasion we had been in bed together without the fear of someone walking in on us. And I sensed how her resistance was far less decided than before. She was cooperating better than [X] ever did, and I think it was in her mind to let me take her properly this time. Or in any case she murmured: "What are you going to do with me, Alexander?" - as if anticipating that we were about to go the whole way. But I made the mistake of being a bit rough with her, in my caresses of her vagina. And her resistance suddenly stiffened, perhaps quite simply because I was hurting her. So there was only a strictly limited penetration as before.

I wasn't sure if I had got anywhere at all with her. But I had this feeling that I was just beginning to break through her defences. I had the feeling that I was just beginning to possess part of her, which amounted to progress of a kind.

When we got back to Folly Bridge, [Y] suggested that [H] and myself come over to her uncle's house - which we did. This was her uncle David Aston, whose car she was in fact driving. and on the way there, she very nearly had an accident. [H] was in a most tiresome mood - for ever making boisterous (childish) passes at [Y]. His motivation may in part be that he wishes to remove my own suspicion that there could be a homosexual element within his personality. But I didn't display any jealousy at all. His sexual advances are far too clumsy to warrant serious attention.

. She veered across the road to turn right, without signalling, and almost unseated a motorcyclist who was travelling close behind. (He ended half way up the bank.) But [Y]'s reaction was to slam her foot down on the accelerator in an attempt to escape. I shouted at her to halt - which she did. I then got out to pacify the motorcyclist - and to see that he was all right, of course. A young man, and he was still smiling! But the tale might have been very different if [Y] had sped on, and he'd pursued her.

When dropping me back home, [Y] was promising that she'd do her best to come back and spend the night with me. So I was in ebullient spirits on hearing this declaration of intent. But it all depended on the trains. She was intending to slip off the London train at Reading, so long as there was a connection to bring her on to Oxford before midnight.

While I was waiting in my room, to my grave embarrassment [Z] arrived - with Ronny Roberts in tow. This was around 23.00 hrs. I felt bound to offer them a drink, but declared that I might have to push them out when a friend of mine arrived. And [Z] was bursting with curiosity to see if she could discover the identity of the mysterious visitor, which I declined to reveal. But she nettled me greatly by enquiring if it were a man - which makes me wonder if my inclinations are safely established as heterosexual, even within my own circle of friends. And I was petrified thereafter that [H] would take it into his head to come down from upstairs to see me, which might well have served to convince her that he was the "lover" I'd been expecting.

Anyway they didn't remain for long. But [Y] in fact let me down. I spent a feverish night, perpetually waking up in the belief that she was arriving, only to relapse disappointed into a state of half-sleep. This is just one more instance of how [Y] heightens my expectations, only to shatter them. And I was indeed expecting that it would have been fully-fledged copulation at long last! But once again, I find that this was not to be. And of course I'm left wondering if she ever really intended to come and see me. [Y] plays a devious game, in which I'm never quite sure where I stand.

[Z] dropped by quite early next morning, ostensibly to apologize for dropping in on me at such a late hour the previous evening. But I'm sure she was really hoping to discover the identity of the mysterious lover that I'd been expecting - by catching us in bed. I gave her enough false information to put her off the scent. She remained for lunch. And then afterwards, I took her punting on the river. It was a cosy afternoon, just quietly drifting down the Cherwell. And she eventually took a bus back home.

Once I was alone, I went for a long walk along the river bank. (It's convenient having such a pleasant walk so close at hand.) I was reflecting upon these two romantic relationships. I need to caution myself against hurting [Y], at a moment when she does at last seem to be coming out of her shell towards me, by indulging in this flirtation with [Z]. For the latter is in no way serious. I feel sexual attraction towards [Z], and an easy sense of companionship - but no more than that. But it could well be said that I am almost in love with [Y]. Or I feel tremendously happy at times when I am alone with her, and tenderly towards her personality whenever she is away from me. She is unbending towards me, gradually. While not deceiving myself that this amounts to love, on her side, it could easily ripen that way. The real obstacles in the path of love are to be found in the initial stretch of the road, rather than along the way. And I think it might be said that we have already covered that first distance.

On Tuesday afternoon I took a bus over to [Z]'s house near Woodstock for a leisurely afternoon, culminating with a dinner that she cooked for me. It was a pleasant day all round. Stephen Spender dropped in at one point, and I do get the impression that [Z] may be showing me off by prearrangement to her parents' friends. Or is this just a paranoid fantasy on my part? I can't really suppose that S.S. had the slightest interest in meeting me, and that it could well have been a mere coincidence. But I can't stop my mind from working along such lines.

On Wednesday I went up to London to attend the Garden Party at Buckingham Palace. I do find these formal events to be enormously boring. I spent my time searching for people that I know, without finding any. Or rather, I saw just Kate Ward, Richard Abel-Smith, the Crawley girls and Princess Alexandra.

I found the latter surprisingly well-disposed towards me, after our clash during the river-boat party. It was her Lady-in-waiting, Moyra Hamilton, who came up and declared that my presence was required at Princess Alexandra's side. I was nervous that I was going to receive a regal reprimand. But it wasn't like that at all. She was graciously concerned to display that there were no hard feelings. She has a good heart!

That evening I dined with Taisa Crossley and family, to go on to the Gages' dance - which turned out to be a good one.... I thought that it was about time that I put in another appearance at the Millroy (seeing that they had been so kind as to make me a member.) So I was looking for someone to take there, and eventually invited [P]. We spent quite an enjoyable evening together, with some interesting discussion on the subject of religion. (The Catholic conviction that they have the truth on their side always strikes me as so undemocratic!) Later she suggested that we try to get into the swimming bath at the Lansdown Club, but the doorman refused to let us pass. So I took her back to her home.

I'm never quite sure if women expect me to display an eagerness to kiss them after an evening out together. I had no great wish to kiss [P], but I felt it would have offended her if I'd refrained. So we started kissing. But it's not such a pleasant process when your heart isn't in it - I mean with tongues protruding into each others' mouths. But it was difficult to behave otherwise, once I'd taken the girl in my arms. I've really got to become more careful about my dates, since I don't want to develop into a professional seducer of women. Nor would I like to hurt [P].

On arriving back at Folly Bridge on Friday, [Z] came along to see me. She came and talked in my room for a while. I didn't intend to start anything, but after an hour had passed, it was quite evident that she was waiting for me to start kissing her. And I must admit that I was by no means averse to trying, so I moved over to where she was sitting - after which we moved over to my bed, where it became a lot more passionate.

She broke off at one point for a bit of serious discussion. She declared that she could easily fall in love with me - then offered a further word of explanation, saying that she regards me as a romantic figure, and that she only ever made love to a man if she had romantic feelings towards him. I saw this as an invitation to commit myself towards her, but I didn't feel quite happy about that. So I cautioned her by saying that I hoped she wouldn't feel too romantically towards me. She asked me if I would mind if she did - and then whether I was still deeply in love with [X]. I said I was now in love with someone else - admitting this to be [Y]. But I tried to keep her from guessing that this was whom I'd been waiting for the other night, by saying that things had been going very badly for us of late.

I then recounted to [Z] the recent history of the affair - how she didn't yet permit me to make love with her (properly) - how I was fed up with the holiday camp atmosphere she endeavoured to create - and how recently she had been showing a preference for Francis N. And I made it sound as if we were not actually seeing each other at this point in time. [Z] was sweetly understanding about the whole business. It seemed perfectly natural to her that I should be in love with someone else. She even declared that she liked [Y], and that maybe it would work out all right for us in the end. So with all this having been divulged, we resorted to kissing once again.

Suddenly there was a tap on the door, which caused a slight panic since we had omitted to lock it. But I cried out to wait a moment, and when I went to see who it was, I found Fionn O'Neill and Piry Menzer waiting outside. There was embarrassment all round, but they quickly withdrew to the room across the landing, which is still occupied by Tom Packenham and Mark Girouard. I think they'd been coming to suggest that I join their party, but it was now evident to them that I was otherwise engaged.

I then returned to [Z] in the hope that she was about to take me as another of her lovers. But we were not to be left in peace. It was now the turn of Mark G to come bursting into my room - without even knocking. The intent was deliberate, and obviously arose from the curiosity which had been fed by Fionn's report. I shouted at him to wait, but he had already opened the door sufficiently to see what was going on. We were fully dressed however, and [Z] promptly hid her face in a blanket. So he may have learnt nothing whatsoever, apart from the fact of there being "someone" lying there on the bed with me. But he had no better excuse for the intrusion than a request to know the time!

After this (and somewhat belatedly) we did lock the door. But we could hear the sound of mounting merriment in the room across the landing - especially after the party which had gone up river to Rugby had returned. And [Z] became embarrassed at the idea of having to reveal her identity to them when leaving, since they would all assume that the intimacy had been far greater. So her final solution was to climb out from my window, which would avoid them obtaining a glimpse of her when departing. I would then make it evident to them that I was on my own again. And half an hour later, [Z] could reappear as if just arriving.

Everything went according to plan. There was clearly some suspicion on [Z]'s reappearance, that this was just a ruse to conceal her identity. But when in their presence, I commented to her: "By the way I saw Laurence last night, and he asked me to tell you that he'd be coming down here tomorrow" - which I think may have thrown them off the track, since it heightened the supposition that I myself hadn't seen [Z] for a while.

Nell Dunn and Jeremy Sandford - who have currently acquired the appellation of "Neremy and Jelly" - were now having a bath together, without troubling to lock the bathroom door. But they were having such a giggle together in the bath tub that they must have aroused the suspicions of the Gordon family, who have been left by Mr and Mrs Burdess in occupation of the basement flat, in order to meet the Proctorial requirement of there being a caretaker upon the premises of any place where undergraduates have their permission to lodge.

Anyway Mr Gordon (who is a dour and puritanical Scotsman) took the trouble to come upstairs, and opened the door of the bathroom to perceive the two young lovers standing up stark naked - with Jeremy (I'm told) bearing a flannel draped over his erect cock, instead of a fig leaf. Mr Gordon stood there speechless from moral indignation. Nell promptly assumed the modest stance of the Boticelli Venus, while demanding to know whom this horrible man might be, thus ravaging her with his eyes. The horrible man then shouted that he'd give Jeremy just five minutes to get "that woman" out of here. Then he withdrew to his basement flat.

Jeremy hastened to put on some clothes and then went downstairs to try and placate the irate Gordon. I am told that the following comments were made. Mr G: "How do you think my young daughter would have felt, if it had been she who'd opened the bathroom door at that moment?" J.S: "But don't you ever share a bath with your wife?" Mr G: "I've never done such a thing in my life. It's evident that you and I come from a different class, with different moral standards!".... J.S: "Well what do you intend to do about it? Mr G: (prodding Jeremy constantly in the ribs:) "Ah! You'd like me to tell you that! And I shan't! But you'll see!"

Jeremy did soon see. Apparently Mrs Gordon had been sent over to summon Mr Burdess, so that he could witness for himself how Folly Bridge had been turned over to a sex orgy. Anyway she now reappeared shouting: "He's just coming! He's on his way!" So Jeremy went out to intercept him, and it seems managed to explain the situation quite satisfactorily - just a matter of an engaged couple sharing a bath together - no intrusion upon the Gordon family's privacy, but the embarrassment of the Gordon family intruding upon theirs. Mr Burdess appeared to understand quite readily how there were liable to be divergent moral standards between Oxford undergraduates and the Gordon family, whom I daresay have raised such complaints in the past. All he had to say was that it might have been more tactful if they had locked the door!

[Z] and I ended up by cooking some dinner for them all. And it was some time before we were finally rid of them. But I noted how [Z] herself was making no effort to catch the last bus back home. My fear was that, if she spent the night with me, the matter would almost certainly get reported back to [Y] - because Nell was sleeping overnight in the room opposite. And I'd hate [Y] to hear of an infidelity in such a fashion. (I'd far prefer to have the opportunity of telling her myself.) But in any case, in my present state of mind, I simply don't want to be unfaithful to [Y], let alone to deceive her about what I'm doing. So the situation with [Z] was growing awkward.

What I actually said was that, with the Gordons playing up in this fashion, it might be asking for trouble if she were to stop overnight. And I'm sure that [Z] herself appreciated how I found myself in a personal predicament. So on learning that Erkinger Schwartsenberg was having a drink downstairs (with Alexander D) she asked him if he could give her a lift back home.

I neglected to mention how, on Wednesday, Tom Packenham came and asked me if they could borrow some cutlery for the trip they were all making upstream to Rugby. And most unwisely, I lent them some of the Longleat silverware - on their promise to return it safely to me. But in the event, they told me that it had fallen overboard. Or that's the way they describe what happened. But I know damn well they were having a huge game in jettisoning cutlery bearing the Longleat coat of arms into the river at various points along the way. As they see it, they are laying down treasures for future archaeologists to unearth. And they regard this as funny! But it's my fault for lending it to them, I suppose.

Laurence arrived on Saturday evening, and I told him that [Z] had invited both him and myself over to dinner at her home. Her mother and stepfather (Rex Warner) were to be present on this occasion. And I found the mother enormously attractive. Mum tells me that she is a previous girlfriend of Xan's. Adding this to the information that [Y]'s mother was a former girlfriend of Dad's, I am beginning to feel quite incestuous. We live in such a complexly interrelated world!

[Z] was enjoying herself poking fun at what she regarded as my egotistical character. And in situations of this kind, when I perceive that a particular role is demanded of me, I enjoy furnishing the act required. I played it with exaggeration and relish - excitable dithering enhanced with articulate gesticulations. But I began to overdo it. Vigorous discussions arose, but I was laying out my own viewpoints too forcefully. And with the assistance of the wine, I eventually made a fool of myself.

One of the guests was a lady called Mrs Ffyfe. She was a professional psychologist of some description, and she was eventually giving us all what she described as aptitude tests - a matter of completing various geometrical figures which she had sketched on a blank piece of paper. Also some other tests - like having to draw concentric squares with one's eyes shut. But there were various points which irritated me greatly concerning her interpretations of our submissions.

For example, in the latter test, she accused me of peeping between my closed lids - because the squares were too confidently, and too precisely drawn. And if she thought I'm the sort of person who was liable to cheat, then she'd got me all wrong from the very start. And in the completion of those figures, she was enthusing with praise for Laurence's efforts, telling him he was someone who knew precisely where he was going, and with the self-confidence to get there. (She was prepared to discount his performance on the squares test, as a small aberration.)

Now I can't really pronounce on the validity of those tests, but I do know Laurence. And this psychologist was failing to perceive that he just bluffs his way through life - without much self-confidence behind his act. And to hear him receiving such praises at my expense just irritated me. As a psychologist, she was incompetent. She had failed to see through him. And it didn't strike me that she was interpreting my own personality correctly either.

What I'd done in the completion of those geometrical figures for example, was to impose a mirror image of the whole group, so that a symmetrical all-inclusive design emerged. But she had to pick upon the individual figures, pointing out how I had neglected to extend lines to their meeting points, and all that kind of thing. And I daresay it's commendable if a subject treats a particular figure that way. But it involves a different approach to the problem - treating each figure separately, instead of seeking to perceive some potentially unifying theme.

It also irritated me that she was fawning over Rex Warner, for the manner in which he had drawn something so "original", and devoid of any possibility for precise interpretation. (His lines went all over the place, without fitting into any of the categories she wished to impose on us.) Now if I'd handed in those drawings, she'd have been criticizing me for not knowing what the hell I was doing. Yet with someone of Rex Warner's intellectual prestige as an author of some eminence, she was managing to see precisely that in what he had submitted.

All she had done in my own case was to judge me as the ditherer, which I had enacted in cabaret for their entertainment, and then proclaimed that this is what she had read from my performance in the tests. So my irritation was clearly visible on my face. But it's difficult to take a stance against the pronouncements of a professional. And her line to myself was sorrow if I didn't like what she had to say about me - but tests were tests! Well in her eyes I had performed badly in the tests she had set me. But in my eyes, it was Mrs Ffyfe who failed the test as a competent psychologist!

It really did niggle me how she'd been so supportive of Laurence. In part this may have been because I'd been brow-beating him over the course of the evening. So she was throwing her weight behind him, to restore the balance in some measure. But it upset me that she should have been concerned to come out in opposition to myself, and so much in his favour. I knew how I ought to be able to smile her verdicts to one side. But quite absurdly, it set me in a bad mood for the rest of the evening. And Laurence was chortling over her pronouncements when driving me home. Moreover he had truth on his side when stating that I'm happy enough to proclaim the efficacy of psychological testing whenever it displays me in a favourable light, but far less so when it goes against me. I think this might link up with the notion that I may be a bad loser!

On Monday evening, Laurence had invited [Z] to accompany him to dinner at Billa Harrod's - although [Z] herself had indicated that she might have preferred to spend a friendly evening with us all together at Folly Bridge. So I was rather hoping that she'd find her way to return from the dinner quite early - which in fact they did. But I'd slipped out in the meantime, so I wasn't there to greet them on their return.

Anyway, on coming back I tried knocking on the door of the room opposite - where Laurence has temporarily installed himself. There was a prolonged pause before Laurence called out that I could enter. It was all a bit embarrassing, for it was quite evident that a few seconds earlier they had been lying on the bed - just kissing, as I imagine. But who knows? [Z] in particular was embarrassed, having thus been caught in the act. And I hastily withdrew, which may have embarrassed her still further.

To be frank, I was feeling peeved. I realize that I have no right to expect fidelity of any kind from [Z]. Indeed I make no such claim. But this switch of interest from myself to Laurence was happening rather too rapidly for my comfort. I even told myself that it was a bit sordid - as if she were jumping straight from one bed to the other, beneath our very noses - although I promptly reminded myself that, in all probability, she hasn't actually fucked either of us.

So I retired to bed in a huff. But it wasn't long before [Z] breezed in and started flirting with me - to be followed a minute later by Laurence, whose turn it was to look disgruntled. He kept nudging her, in an obvious endeavour to indicate that she should return to the other room with him. But [Z] was sitting on the end of my bed, and stroking my legs whenever his head was turned. And he reacted to this by coming to join us on the bed, planting his body so that it came between the two of us, and then leaning over to plant his elbow in my balls! And since I found this position to be most uncomfortable, I told them to get off my bed - whereupon Laurence declared that it was time that he drove [Z] back home.

I'm half inclined to suppose that [Z] is choosing to flaunt Laurence before me, in retaliation (as it were) for me talking too much about my regard for [Y]. It might seem wise from her point of view to approach me with another admirer quite evidently held in reserve. I'm still not clear in my own mind the extent to which she might plan such acts with deliberation. I'll just have to watch these matters as events unfold.

Next morning Tuesday, Laurence told me that he had invited [Z] to join up with the rest of us on our trip to Italy. [Z] had previously been hinting that she would like to come, but I had done my best to discourage her - supposing that it would be difficult to sustain a romance in the company of both Laurence and Tim S. Also because it might offend [Y]. But it now looked as if I'd been outmanoeuvred. I told him that I wasn't sure if I liked the idea - to which he replied that there was no need for her to ride in my car. But I don't see how that will improve matters. It's beginning to look as if this is going to be a holiday that is fraught with problems. Either I get frustrated while Laurence gets all the sex - or I get the sex, and Laurence puts a knife in my back!

On Wednesday I went over to dinner with [Z]. Jimmy and James were also present - currently back at Oxford to attend their vivas. The idea that [Z] would be joining Laurence, Tim and myself for this tour of Italy now seemed to be gaining ground. But I told them how I was dubious of the prospect. Mrs Warner then wanted me to give my reasons. I said there was the problem of deciding the car in which [Z] should ride - to which I got the answer that she could switch around. But there was also the question of whose bed she should grace. And I got myself into a terrible confusion when blustering around that issue, without really being able to say what I meant. I think they knew damn well what I meant, but they weren't going to help me out. In fact [Z]'s line was that it wasn't going to be that sort of a holiday in any case - so my problems were imaginary!

I had received word from [Y] that she'd come down to Oxford to see me on Saturday, but this plan fell through.... Instead I went up to London to take her out on Thursday.

I had expected this to be a quiet tête-à-tête, but this was hoping for too much. She arrived half way through the performance of the play, to which I was taking her - having been out to drinks with various admirers. Then she informed me that she had accepted to go on to a party that evening, and persuaded me to accompany her. I do find it odd that she accepts an invitation from me, and then imposes a more communal plan to supplant my own arrangements for the evening. But I suppose I'm getting used to this from [Y]. But it saddens me that she doesn't set greater value upon what I'm actually offering her - to be alone in each others' company. She is forever seeking to dilute my company with the presence of these others. And I'm unable to discern whether this is something permanent within her nature, or merely an aspect of its immaturity.

In point of fact the party turned out to be good fun - given by Polly Grant in a small Mews house. Officially we were [F]'s guests. But Polly seemed inclined to treat us as gatecrashers at the start - although warming to us later. Polly has certainly developed in self-confidence since the time when I first met her - all mouse-like and demure!

I eventually suggested to [Y] that we go back to Caroline's house. She agreed to this, although I don't think she much wanted to leave the party. While walking to find a taxi, we passed Nell and Jeremy, who were necking on the running-board of a car. When Nell asked "Where are you off to?" [Y] said "Home". Nell just smirked, and said: "I bet!"

Once we had installed ourselves in Caroline's drawing room, it became evident that [Y] had something she wanted to get off her chest. (It's usually like that when she starts searching for a cigarette - although she had to make do without one on this occasion.) The gist of what she had to say was as follows.

[Y]'s fear is that I am currently attempting to centre my life around hers, when she doesn't feel she is yet ready for such a commitment. She wants to get right away from England sometime in the near future, to furnish an opportunity for her to get her attitude to life sorted out to her own satisfaction. Only then will she feel ready to contend with a serious relationship. She admits to feeling something quite strong for me, but she's hoping to cut back on the pace at which we've been developing. We should wait to see how we both feel when we are more ready for it.

In response, I assured her that no one is liable to get too firm a hold on my emotions, within any of the foreseen circumstances. I regard myself as being too self-centred for such a thing to happen. I'm not liable to transfer my centre to anyone else. And I'm confident that I shall remain my own person, in constant careful control of my own emotions - which led to [Y] attacking me (humorously enough) upon the extent of my egoism!

We did finally go upstairs and climbed into bed together. [Y] manages to give me the impression that she is enjoying herself, although I can never be sure. I know that I was. I find her a delightful partner (a cosily warm little creature) when she wants to be. I feel sure that we could be very happy together if we were married. And I feel far less restraint from the idea of such marriage, if it were with [Y], than I did when considering the same prospect with [X]. It would result in a far happier relationship, I'm convinced - although I don't suppose this will happen for at least three years. And I'm happy to think that [Y] bears much the same time schedule in mind.

To make a direct comparison between [Y] and [X], I feel far closer in my thought patterns to [Y]. And [X] was always urging me against my better judgement to think in terms of instant marriage, which is a far cry from how [Y] talks. I'd be more inclined to say that [X] reciprocated my love for her, but in [Y]'s case the feeling could be more enduring. And if circumstances obliged us to marry, right now, I'd place more money on the relationship lasting. I also think that [Y] may be more realistic in the fashion that she perceives me - recognizing both my faults and my qualities. [X] had some erroneous images of me, conjuring up a more fatherly figure - the sort of man she requires, but which certainly isn't myself.

I would not yet consider that I am in love with [Y], but I believe this will gradually develop. And once it has happened, I believe that the love will be deeper than anything that I formerly felt for [X]. If this represents an injustice to my memory of [X], then it's best that I should leave it so. For [X] is now to be consigned to my past, whereas [Y] is still very much a part of my present.

I do need to reflect perhaps, upon the way I have lost ground in my prospects for a happy conclusion to my relationship with [Y] - just in the brief time since the time she came down to Oxford, when her attitude towards me seemed almost romantic. I'm almost tempted to suppose that [X] had gone and informed her about me saying that I'd like to marry her. Of course she had no business to be relaying such messages to her - because I'd said it more in riposte against [X]'s own attitude towards me. But it could have led to [Y] furnishing me with a pretended show of affection, which she is now seeking to retract - because I didn't exactly lay my heart down on the table as much as [X] had given her to expect.

Anyway, [Y] left the house in the early hours of the morning, and I myself returned to bed. And next morning Friday, I caught the train down to Westbury - with a view to collecting my Triumph, which at long last has been repaired by the Warminster Motor Coy.

On Sunday, Lucian and Caroline Freud had invited Dad, Virginia and myself over to dinner with them at their house near Donhead St Mary. The principal rooms were curiously bare of furniture, which hardly creates an atmosphere of intended permanence in their relationship. But they could surprise us yet. The dinner itself was good, but the meat was practically raw. Distinctly aphrodisiac and bohemian! Lucian was most pleasant and welcoming to me. But I noted the point behind his invitation that I should come and stay with them - "And bring someone along with you!"

After the dinner, I drove back to Oxford in my Triumph - making the distance from Warminster to Oxford in precisely 1½ hrs. Not bad!

On Monday I phoned [Z] to tell her that I was bored, so would she like to come over to Folly Bridge? Instead she persuaded me to come and visit her.

I drove over there in the afternoon, collecting her and her half-sister Lucy to come for a drive in the country.

We drove out to `The Rose Revived', and there we all played at being a married family - which is to say that [Z] transferred a ring to her left hand, and Lucy addressed us respectively as Mummy and Daddy. I really felt the part! Then later, back at the house, we spent most of the time tickling each other with blades of grass. [Z] invited me to stay to dinner, but I thought I'd better get back to Oxford to catch up on my reading. I'm not too far behind schedule. With any luck I'll finish what I've set myself to read by the end of the vacation.

On Tuesday I had invited [Z] to come to dinner with me to Chez Peter, where we had a very good (if expensive) meal. And afterwards we drove back to Folly Bridge. Items in our conversation to note - she told me that I was one of the few people with whom she could drive fast, without feeling frightened. (I felt suitably flattered - and it does help!) But I also noted how she once called me Sebastian by mistake. And I must assume that she had Sebastian Yorke in mind. But it comes as news to me if she is "feeling romantically" towards him. Maybe she's already having an affair with him. I must keep my ears open.

Once we were back in my room, we began kissing, and this gradually became more passionate until we had finally stripped naked. But she had only undressed after she'd made me promise not to do anything sudden by way of fucking her. Incidentally I got a sharp rebuke (a slapped face!) for using the word `fuck' - instead of that polite circumlocution, to sleep with, which is in any case so false in that one is far from sleeping on most such occasions. But if it saves me from a quarrel, I'll use whatever vocabulary she demands.

Anyway it would now seem that my relationship with [Z] stands on the same footing as those with [Y] and [X] - which is to say that I've penetrated her just slightly, but withdrew from her completely before reaching my orgasm - all a bit suddenly since I was on the verge of a premature ejaculation! And I really don't know what word might correctly describe such activity. But it's all so silly that we weren't doing the thing properly, when there have been so few inhibitions in her former love life - unless she was trying to tell me that she is in her fertile period, so needs to be especially careful. But I somehow doubt that this was the reason.

I find it difficult to discern precisely what [Z]'s attitude to sex might be. At one point she was delving to discover the number of lovers I may have had - a subject on which I'm sensitive of course, since by some definitions it might be said that I still haven't had any at all. So I was hiding behind a discreet silence. She then surmised that it might be three - to which I said nothing. She then invited me to guess how many lovers there had been in her own life. And this put me in an awkward position, since she might be offended if I suggested a number far higher than anything she'd had. So I offered her what might be my lowest possible guess, by saying "Five" - to which she retorted: "You mean per week?"

This made me feel really small. It somehow encapsulated our awareness of the gap between our relative experience. And it left me as ignorant as before concerning just how many lovers she may have had. Nor did I see now how I could extract that piece of information from her. The opportunity had passed - perhaps never to return. Yet it was somehow quite an important detail that I should know, before I can get my relationship with her into healthy focus. As it is, I was feeling emasculated - as if the role of sexual dominance now passed, as if by right, into her hands. But I'm by no means happy to be playing this game by those rules. I'm not sure that I want to seduce [Z], if I've got to learn the rules from her dictation. I'd be far happier if I could regain the initiative in these matters.

If I am to speculate on what the nature of [Z]'s moral principles might be, then I think she'd say that it's all right for two people to sleep with each other if they can truthfully declare that they feel romantically towards each other. She was trying to extract those words from me on that former occasion. Perhaps it was foolish of me to have resisted such an utterance. But it would have been disloyal of me towards [Y], if I had told her what she wanted to hear. And in any case, it's all so meaningless. It's as bad as an insistence upon a declaration of love before intercourse. They're both easy enough to say - but do they mean anything?

I do like [Z] quite a lot. And I'd like to keep her indefinitely as a friend. But I can't really see me ever wanting to marry her - even if she got pregnant by me. I simply don't think that I could cope with her in the capacity of wife. All the infidelities - how would I react? And she's tasted so much more of life that I'd never feel that I was strictly in control. Nor would I like to mislead [Z] into thinking that I might ever put that kind of a relationship on offer. So I find my present position to be quite a tricky one. But I don't really suppose that she regards the potential with myself as being for anything more permanent than I do. So we are both waiting to see what, if anything, may transpire.

A word or two upon the fickleness of my own nature perhaps. For it's true that I talk in terms of me being almost in love with [Y], and am simultaneously planning to have an affair with [Z] - because such indeed is the case. I am indeed hoping that our travels in Italy will heighten the romantic element within the relationship so that we become fully fledged lovers. But I hardly think that this would trouble [Y] in the slightest. I have made no secret to her about [Z], and I think that her attitude might be that if I succeed in developing a sexual relationship with her, then it will take some of the pressure off herself - because if I relied upon [Y] for the gratification of my sexual appetite, I'd soon starve!

It will do me the world of good if I succeed in this relationship with [Z]. It will develop my self-confidence that I am competent to contend with life's problems - learning how to share my life with someone, no matter for how brief a period. I have already made some good strides of progress in this direction, but I have yet to contend with the impact of actually living with a woman. So these coming travels might develop into a situation which furnishes me with a foretaste (if I can manage to separate her from the rest of the group) to make the relationship feel personal - which isn't going to be easy of course. Or not if Laurence has his way!

Perhaps I should ask myself how I would feel if [Y] herself decides to behave in a similar fashion, expanding on her sexual experience with partners other than myself. And I must admit to hoping that she will not. I would hate to have to share her with anyone at all. Well I can cope with the idea of her going out with other men - perhaps even kissing them too. But I'd like there to be some area of emotional experience which was exclusively reserved for ourselves. Within that area, I'd like to feel that I had private access to her affections, and to the expression of those affections. And if these sentiments involve dual standards between what I prescribe for [Y], and what I prescribe for myself, all I can say is that [Y] neither desires, nor expects, such exclusivity - whereas I do. And I'd be interested to know if one can generalize from these examples to the attitudes of men and women more generally. These are matters which I have still to learn.

The danger as I see it is that [Y] will acquire a taste for taking her sexual experience a lot further, as she acquaints herself with an increasingly broad circle of friends. But it could be that her relative disinterest in sex will furnish a natural limitation to such development. It is this which makes me feel that we could be ideally suited to one another.

On Wednesday I got all my things packed, and then motored down to Longleat.

There has been a terrible confusion over my booking on the Cross-Channel Ferry. I had asked the AA to get me a place for August 2nd or 3rd, but instead of that they've got me one for August 7th. All I could do was to telephone [Z] and explain what had happened. But I did go as far as to hint that the choice was now hers as to whether she kept to her original plan to accompany Laurence, or came with me instead. [Z]'s immediate response was to say that the initial dates that were planned had never suited her very well, but that she'd phone me back later once she'd got things sorted out. But she said yes "provisionally" to my invitation.

Well this sounded most encouraging. I'd always known that it was me rather then Laurence that she really wished to accompany, but she was certainly going to find it difficult to explain the change of plan to him. I chortled at the thought of her doing so! And she has since phoned me back to confirm the switch, although she seems concerned to discourage me from thinking that she's committed to a sexual spree. She said: "I want an educational holiday - but not in the sense that you might mean!" Well that's fair enough. I can't take the line that sex should be the price of her passage in my car! But I'm hopeful that it will work out that way in the event. Or it will be exceedingly frustrating if it should turn out otherwise.

She in fact sounded rather more hesitant than I might have hoped. So I'm not quite clear how she views the prospect. And she has left herself with a loophole for escape, in that she says she wants to visit Ronald Gurney, who is recovering from tuberculosis in a Swiss clinic. So the present plan is that we'll drive round Bavaria for a while, and then I'll drop her off at Davos before travelling on to Italy on my own. But I imagine that she might choose to remain with me if we are still getting on well together.

Venetia M rang up to invite me over to lunch with them at Manningford Abbas on Sunday. I found myself in rampagingly good form - keeping her whole family entertained with an amusing conversational flow. At any rate they seemed to regard it as such.

Venetia suggested that we take a drive up on the downs after lunch - ostensibly to shoot rabbits, but in reality so that we could drink a bottle of port, without being under the scrutiny of her parents. Her brother Oliver came too. But Venetia is quite dictatorial in the manner she tells him what to do. And once we were up on the downs, she told him to go and shoot rabbits - since it would be expected that the gun should have been fired. And in the meantime she and I drank the port. Or we did so for a little while, but it then occurred to me that Venetia was expecting to be kissed. So I did what was required. But I'm never quite comfortable about being led by a woman. I would have preferred it if I'd thought of such matters for myself! Venetia knows too clearly what she wants, and goes after it. But this only serves to put me on the defensive. Our kissing session was eventually interrupted by Oliver's return - without any rabbits incidentally.

[Z] has rung to say that all is well. I shall collect her from an address in London tomorrow evening, Saturday, and we'll drive down to Dover together, camp out for the night, and then catch the ferry to Dunkirk the following morning. She sounds quite excited at the idea of camping, and has bought herself a sleeping bag - so that she won't have to share mine! In fact she keeps reiterating that it's not going to be that sort of a holiday. I wonder if she's right?

I have decided not to take this journal along with me, for fear that [Z] might read it. But I'll keep notes, which I'll fill out later when I finally come to recount the tale of my travels. With the TR 7, myself and [Z] being the principal characters in this tale, I shall consider publishing it under the title of "Fate, Hope and Chastity"!

Well the travels are now completed, and the task remains for me to give my account of them in this journal. So I think I'll start with the disastrous tale of how I quarrelled with [Z]. We both fell lamentably short of what we expected from the other. But I'd best start at the beginning.

I collected her as planned, but from the first moment I could tell there was a difficult restraint on her side - an evident worry that I might be starting out with too much hope for sexual developments. She kept returning to her assertion that it's not going to be that sort of a holiday. And she called me Sebastian once again - which is to say for the second time. I had the unpleasant realization that her romantic thoughts might well be attached elsewhere, which I found disconcerting. I mean, if it was really going to turn out like that, then it reduced my current role in her life to being little more than a convenient chauffeur, who would give her a free ride to Davos. And that wasn't at all the image for myself which I'd had in mind - someone who was being used for the service that I might furnish. In fact I now had qualms in the back of my mind, wondering if I'd let myself in for a disaster.

We spent the first night in a field near Dover, and she didn't take well to a camping life. Her moans about the discomfort were portentous. And when you haven't slept well yourself, the niceties of consideration in a relationship are apt to be amongst the first of the casualties.

While we were queuing to display our passports at the checkpoint for embarkation, [Z] got into conversation with a middle-aged man who was telling her (flirtatiously) how she had nothing to fear from showing her passport photograph, whereas his was awful. So [Z] said: "Do let me see it." And when he'd shown it, she grimaced and said: "Oh yes!" - which offended the man greatly. I mention this episode because it was in some ways typical of her gibes at the expense of others. She tries to play to all audiences simultaneously, but then finds that the laughter she can trigger from one quarter is achieved at the expense of someone else receiving a dig at their vanity, which she hopes may go unperceived - although she's none too concerned if it should be. In this case it had taken the form of a private joke with myself. But a kinder person would have been more cautious about furnishing it in the other man's presence.

The crossing itself was awful - largely because we had to wait for the low tide before the boat could pass through the lock gate of the harbour at Dunkirk - something about the wind being in the wrong direction. But one would have thought these matters could have been predicted, to the point of saving us from rocking at anchor for half the day, on a sea swell which made [Z] feel seasick.

Not content with such maladies however, [Z] somehow used it to her advantage. She had half the crew prescribing remedies for her. I don't know how she does it, but she must exude sex appeal. With others flocking to her side however, it made my own presence seem a bit superfluous - to an extent that I was virtually feeling cuckolded.

There was one sailor who went on endlessly about seasickness being a psychological ailment, rather than there being a physical cause for it. So he was advocating that she throw her pills overboard. And he was so proud of himself in his display of such minimal medical knowledge. I think he used the word psychological about twenty times. Nor did he like it when I suggested that pills could be placebos, and therefore equally psychological in their efficacy.

Once we were ashore, [Z] declared that she would need a good night's sleep in a hotel. Now this wasn't what had been agreed before we set out. Everything else was as agreed - there wasn't to be any sex for example. But as [Z] was feeling tired, she expected the rules to be bent in this respect, which suited her rather better. So to a hotel we went. And no, we couldn't put ourselves into a double room, which would have been cheaper. She insisted that I take two single rooms.

This was somewhere near Arras. And while we were having our meal downstairs, I ordered a bottle of Chablis. And there was a long mirror across the wall where I could view what was going on behind the bar. Well I saw the woman who had taken my order show the bottle she was bringing me to her husband, and then smirk. And I found this curious. But it tasted all right, so I said nothing until we were eating our meal, when I commented to [Z] upon what I had observed. She laughed and said: "Don't you see what that means?" I shook my head. So she explained it to me. "They've given us cheap white wine in an empty bottle with the Chablis label!"

Now that she had said so, I realized how she was obviously correct. And I could remember how the bottle was indeed already opened before he had brought it to the table. All I could do now was to comment a bit tersely that it didn't taste like Chablis when he presented me with the bill - which I did - but I had to pay it all the same. The issue which really bothered me however, was that I had failed to construe the situation correctly of my own accord, when I had observed that scene in the mirror. And I knew in my heart that [Z] rated this as an intelligence test which she had passed, and which I had failed. I might protest indeed, that this is an unfair judgement, since the factor that was really being tested was my sophistication with the way the world operates. In my naivety, I failed that test all right. But it hurt to realize that [Z] had found cause to suppose that she was more intelligent than myself. And it was all a part of how she was gaining a psychological edge over me.

But there were other ways in which I knew [Z] to be a lot less attuned to the world - where survival values, rather than luxury living was required. She had no experience whatsoever of living rough, and I already understood how she was going to avoid learning about it now if she could possibly bend me to her will.

Well I'd been pliable on the issue that once, in agreeing that we could sleep the night at a hotel. But my resistance was now stiffening. Since [Z] was determined that we abide by the rules on the question of there being no sex, then I was equally determined to maintain the no hotels rule. And I could see that this was an issue that was going to become fiercer as the journey progressed.

By the time we reached Paris, on Monday, we were feeling distinctly soured with one another. And whereas I had left my journal at home, [Z] was busy scribbling in a diary she had brought along with her - constantly looking up from the cafe table to see if I was casting a prying glance in its direction. I was keeping my eyes averted from it as a matter of principle, but it was such a strain to know that I was going to earn her indignant rebuke if my eye should have strayed to it for an instant by accident.

It was then that she made what was perhaps the right move in suggesting that we put our cards on the table. She said she had been considering taking the train back home, since it was evident that I didn't really want her company. Or alternatively she could go and stay with her friend Teddy Goldsmith, who had a flat in Paris.

Now in retrospect I would have done well to take her up on either of those two suggestions. A mutual separation free from resentment might then still have been possible. But I suppose it struck me that such a solution would have been too much like accepting defeat. I had set myself this task of seeing if I could live with a girl, albeit for a minimal number of days, and I wouldn't have felt good if I'd abandoned the experiment. And in any case, it need be only for a week's endurance. So I told her that I was delighted to have her travelling with me - which was less than the truth I suppose.

But the atmosphere did now improve for a while. In fact by the time we decided to camp for the night in a field about half way between Paris and Strasbourg, we were feeling quite friendly towards each other. She had been complaining about me being "egotistical and domineering", so I had now taken the decision to be as yielding as I could possibly make myself on all issues which were inessential to my well-being. It was to be, after all, a mere week before I'd find myself on my own again. But the resolution did in effect have the consequence of rendering this part of my travels to be devoid of the interests which I might otherwise have been creating for myself as part of our routine.

On this particular evening however, we were good friends. [Z] declared that I might as well place my Lilo beside hers in the tent, and there was indeed some sexual activity. (I was permitted an orgasm, but without any manner of penetration.) And I must admit that I was feeling hopeful at this stage that our travels might yet result in us developing an even closer relationship.

Next day however, the atmosphere quickly deteriorated - despite my constant endeavour to be yielding in all matters of dispute. But her tendency to be a back-seat driver simply exasperated me. When she saw that I was complying with all the demands she made, this merely stimulated her to become even worse. And eventually she was regulating my speed, contradicting my map-reading efforts, forbidding my efforts to overtake, and correcting my pronunciation whenever I stopped to ask the way. I was being as tolerant as I possibly could towards all such behaviour, but inside I was seething with indignation.

Things came to a head that evening. We were by then in Germany, and had just eaten a somewhat inferior meal at a gasthaus near Baden-Baden. I went to pitch the pneumatic tent in a field nearby, but when I started to use the pump, the handle and pump-shaft came away in my hands. I then discovered that the nut holding the washer to the shaft had become unscrewed. And to my way of looking at it, there was no way of getting the washer out without unscrewing the bottom section of the pump - something which I was unable to achieve.

So we returned to the gasthaus with our tempers already frayed by exhaustion. Lacking the appropriate tools, the publican was unable to assist us in any way at all. But [Z] was continuing within her vein of back-seat driving - telling me what to do, and what I should be explaining to him. She kept insisting that I'd got to explain to him that the purpose of this gadget was to inflate an igloo tent, when I knew damn well that this was an irrelevance. But when I told her so, she was much offended by my attitude, and was now adopting a martyrdom pose for the publican's benefit. And I daresay she was in reality playing a devious game, for if I revealed that our problem was in our inability to pitch a tent, he would of course suggest that we should hire a room for the night - which was precisely what [Z] was hoping to emerge as the outcome, whereas I remained determined to pitch the tent.

But [Z] was now playing the card of her sex appeal. She has a way of flirting with men without even looking at them. So we were soon surrounded by male students, offering her their sympathy for our plight, while intrigued by her graphic illustrations of a pump's pumping action. There was one English -speaking student in particular who suggested that we might find a bicycle pump. I knew how this would not have a connection of the right dimension, but [Z] was insisting that they might be able to find us one. But even if they did, I felt that the quantity of air in a bicycle pump would involve too long and tedious a process.

[Z] was by now enjoying the situation of flirting with this student, and marshalling all the others in their sympathy for her problems with myself. The student was becoming quite vocal in her support, arguing that it would surely be better to spend a long time in trying to inflate the tent, than to sleep out in the open. But I disagreed with him entirely. I was quite happy about the latter prospect, and even though they had now produced a bicycle pump for us to try, I declined to go to the trouble of taking it back to the tent just to prove to them that the connection had too small a gauge.

[Z]'s retort to this was that I was just weak in giving up so easily. And this was a charge that she kept repeating over the next few days, whenever she could point to a moment of vacillation in my attitude. Or perhaps it was simply that she sensed how this is an accusation which hurts and offends me - with all its association to the cardinal sin within Dad's fascist outlook upon life.

I told them that my preferred solution was to find a garage which might have the right tools to unscrew the base of the pump. But [Z] was indicating that she might not want to come with me. So I told her quite bluntly how she had but two alternatives if we couldn't find a garage to assist us. She could sleep in the open with myself, or she could remain here on her own without me. The student was by now all expectant that he was about to find himself a companion for the night. But [Z] didn't really want that, of course. She protested that she didn't have enough money to pay for a room. I told her that I would pay for it myself. She now took the line that she would never permit such a thing. (The student looked disappointed.) I told her that, in this case, she really didn't have much of an alternative, so she'd better accept the idea of accompanying me in my search for a garage. And she now capitulated - sulkily.

We did find a garage to repair the pump - quite easily in fact. The repair was a far simpler matter than any of us had perceived. It proved possible to fish out the washer with the shaft merely by screwing it around from the open end. My mechanical aptitude may have improved while I was in the Life Guards, and it would rate a lot higher than [Z]'s no doubt, but it is still one of my weaker subjects! By the time I finally got the tent inflated however, we were barely on speaking terms. And there was no question of repeating the sexual intimacy of the previous night. We slept at opposite ends of the tent, with our heads pointing in different directions.

From the very start next morning, Wednesday the 10th, our relationship was ridiculously frigid. I had even lost the desire to remain friends. So I left it entirely to her to make any overtures, if she so desired - which she didn't. Instead she intimated that she'd like to call in on her boyfriend from Oxford two years back - an American called Bill, who was currently serving with the U.S. army in Stuttgart. I knew how he had been important to her, so I felt it would have been unreasonable of me to decline. But I didn't much like the idea.

Anyway [Z] responded to my consent with an effort on her side to be friendly, although receiving rather less reciprocal warmth from myself. It was just that I was feeling fed up with her all round. So the back-seat driving started up again, and I began to look forward to the prospect of having Bill B to dilute her company. Not that I felt comfortable when we got there, (he had his own flat somewhere in the outskirts of Stuttgart,) in that [Z] was constantly dropping in comments which were angled against my own behaviour during this holiday. And when she went off to the loo, Bill B took the opportunity to enquire how she had been behaving - to which I retorted that I'd seldom met such an awful back-seat driver. But he must have told her what I said when I went out to the loo myself, since when I returned, she was looking distinctly peeved.

We all went out to a dinner together at a restaurant which had a nightclub atmosphere. I found Bill to be likeable, and perhaps the sort of partner who might suit her the best in life - for a marriage that would be entertaining while it lasted. Conversationally, they were each deceiving the other the whole time. [Z] in her talk about her relationship with myself, and how we were due to join up with a party from Oxford in our travels, and how her life at Oxford was currently devoid of boyfriends. And then Bill was dropping hints about working for things glamorous - like the CIA. He told her that he could not even disclose his rank to her - it was all so secret. And he insisted that we adopt certain security precautions when going up to his flat, to confuse those who might be keeping it under observation. But I could see that he has charm, and they'd have made a fine couple.

Finally Bill was enquiring about our immediate plans - excusing himself for not being able to invite us to stay, on the grounds of there being only the one spare bed. But I knew how [Z] might want to be alone with him for a while - to chat about old times, if nothing else. So I said that I myself was quite happy to go off and find myself a camping site for the night, if he'd like to put up [Z] in his spare room - seeing how she was in a state of exhaustion from our travels. And I was hoping that they might take this opportunity to suggest that she stay on with him for a few days, whilst I would continue with the journey on my own. But for whatever reason, Bill didn't pick up on this suggestion. Instead it suddenly occurred to him that we could both camp out in his spare room - which [Z] readily accepted before I'd had much of an opportunity to say otherwise.

Well this created quite an embarrassing situation for me. Although [Z] had been at pains to misinform Bill that we were nothing more than travel-companions, I didn't like having to assume that guise in the knowledge that he might be fucking her in his bedroom next door. It made me feel such a cuckold, even if he didn't know that he was imposing such a role upon me. Or to be strictly honest, I have no means of knowing what may have been going on in that room next door. All I know is that after she'd announced that she was going off to have a bath, she didn't return to her sleeping-bag until after 02.00 hrs.

I was determined not to raise the subject of the prolonged absence next morning. But I declared it to be my own intention to be back on the road just as soon as I could. And perhaps for no better reason than that Bill wasn't pressing her to stay, she complied with my schedule. But once on the road, she must have sensed my coolness, in that she saw fit to make a statement about the previous night. She said in case I was thinking that anything had happened in his bedroom, she'd like to make it clear that she'd had a long talk with him - and nothing else. I simply didn't know whether to believe her. Now that we'd reached this point however, I didn't much care. I had made up my mind that I was fed up with [Z], and I was merely seeking to contain to a minimum all the accumulating damage to my pride. And I was accelerating the pace of our tourism so that I might dump her at Davos before the date on which we'd previously planned.

My policy was still to humour her wherever possible, but this wasn't always too easy a task. Or perhaps I should have taken it further by agreeing upon every statement that she made. But there were occasions when she was saying things which I know damn well to be false - like her assertion that Mussolini had been tried and hanged at Nuremburg, when I am quite positive that he he was captured and strung up on a meat hook by the Italian partisans. I took her a bet of £5 on this issue - while knowing full well that she'll never pay up. But I offered it as a measure of my confidence on the subject.

I had only to state my disagreement with her on any subject at all, and [Z] was responding in a spirit of argument. Nor was her method of argument strictly logical. On the question of Mussolini for example, she expected me to concur after she informed me that her father possessed the book on the subject - when she hadn't read it herself, and was probably even confusing the identity of the war criminal concerned. It struck me that she enjoyed arguing as an outlet to her feeling of grievance against me - whereas I was seeking to resolve issues on an agree-to-differ basis, wherever that might prove possible.

I think that our discord touched a new height over the manner in which sightseeing should be conducted, with there being a particular baroque chapel that we were wishing to see. [Z] had been demonstrating incidentally, that she was quite satisfied to sit in the car within the vicinity of a building, and then to read all about it in her guide book, before passing on elsewhere - registering it as a place she had visited. Well I'd taken a lot of this along the road, so I was beginning to grow irritable on the subject. Well I'd spotted this chapel up on high ground in the distance, but we'd lost sight of it within the winding streets. So I decided that we ought to park the car and go to look for it on foot. But she started moaning about why we should go to all that bother. So I promptly humoured her by abandoning the idea, and we started to drive away - only to find that she was criticizing me for not exploring some of the side streets by car, on the chance that we might stumble upon it that way. When I told her that the idea of finding the chapel had now been dropped (at her request), she started taunting me with being weak, and giving up too easily. I promptly humoured her by driving up the side street that she had indicated - but it ended in a flight of steps.

Then she started moaning because it was about to rain - although she did get out of the car with me, and started to explore on foot. We found the chapel, but it was locked up. And it then began to rain - the start of a huge torrential thunderstorm. I declared that we'd best beat a hasty retreat to the car. She pronounced this as another instance of my weakness, in that (now we had come so far) I was giving up before trying all the other entrances, to see if one of them might not be open.

I said that it all devolved on the question of whether she wished to get soaked, and after advising her to do the same, I started running for the car. Then by the time she caught up with me, her complaint was that my only concern was whether I got wet. (Had she been expecting me to drag her forcibly to the car? I'm not sure.) So by this time I was utterly sick of her. The less we talked, the better. And she evidently felt the same. When disagreement occurred in future, she endeavoured quite admirably to change the subject - whilst I just plunged into a meditative stance.

This thunderstorm on Friday the 12th was in fact about the worst that I've ever witnessed - a torrential downpour with roars of thunder and flashes of blinding light all around us. I noted how [Z] was really quite frightened, and I was in the happy position of being able to display a complete indifference either to the thunderstorm, or to the fact that she was so frightened. Unpleasant of me I know! But then we'd just had that quarrel about whether or not to visit that chapel, so I was unsympathetic to her plight. And it was fortuitous in a sense too, since it brought home to [Z] that, despite her assumption of superiority which had been emerging over the past few days, there was still a psychological area where her femininity was so vulnerable that she depended upon masculine encouragement and support.

That night we had dinner in a gasthaus near Munich, where I glimpsed the more frightening side to Bavarian character. And I suspect that it was induced by [Z]'s flirtatious glances to a group of young men, who were sitting at a neighbouring table. There was one in particular who was a great lout of a fellow - something like Goring must have been in his youth. And he seemed to think that he had [Z]'s invitation to bring over his group to come and sit with us - talking to us in what amounted to a caricature of an Oxford accent. He told us how he had been stationed in Britain for some course or other - I think as a pilot. And his vocabulary employed RAF slang, such as the constant use of the expression "Bully for you!.... Bully!"

But in the same vein as [Z], he was indulging himself in private jokes with his friends, which were in fact aimed at myself - snide imitations of what he seemed to regard as my effeminate gestures. And the situation was rapidly becoming dangerous. He was trying to draw me on to ground where he could offend me, while always appearing to be engratiatingly friendly. And I think that one of his companions (a far more sympathetic individual) was attempting to warn me to be careful, from the intensity of his apologetic gaze. And I think that [Z] eventually realized that she could be setting me up for punishment, by means of her flirtation with them - so that her attitude towards them switched to an undertone of bitchiness, where they might, or might not be aware that she was being rude to them. I daresay this was an act for my benefit, but it certainly augmented the danger. Anyway she seemed to understand why it was time for us to depart, when I made a quick decision to that effect.

At the start she had been telling them how we were brother and sister. This was in response to the bully-man's enquiries concerning the nature of our relationship. But I don't like it when she takes this line. For one thing, it seemed to confirm him in his suspicion that I was queer, and it somehow emasculated me as someone who could not possibly be her lover - leaving her at liberty of course, to flirt with them if that should be what they might desire.

That night we pitched the tent in a field just near to the road, and a farmer with a fierce dog came up to drive us off his land. But when he saw that we were young and friendly, he had a change of heart - especially in that we promised to move on first thing in the morning.

I must take my hat off to [Z] for the way in which she did manage to cope with the rough camping life, even though she was detesting it. She encountered problems which were worse than those which afflicted myself. For example, the mosquitoes found her so delicious that her face was sometimes all puffed and bloated by morning. At the start of our travels, she could barely sleep at all. But she stuck it out, and had made some fair progress by the time we parted. However the effort involved did nothing to improve her temper.

Throughout all our quarrels, I had always been trying to maintain what I regarded as a level-headed and even-tempered tone. There was only one occasion when I found that my patience with her snapped - when I shouted at her not to be such a stupid little fool. And this happened because she was resurrecting the issue of the broken pump. This occurred upon Saturday 13th August, which was the final night of our travels together before we went our separate ways.

I was about to pitch the tent, when she snidely suggested that I ought to be careful not to break the pump "this time". It was all so unnecessary, in that it had already been explained to her how I was in no way at fault for the washer coming unscrewed from the pump-shaft on that previous occasion. But she liked to throw in this insinuation that I'd somehow been at fault - which led to an exchange where my patience suddenly snapped. But as I see it, this was the one and only occasion when I was not being completely fair on her.

In contrast to that, I see [Z]'s behaviour as compiling a lengthening list of unreasonable outbursts, which were quite frankly wearing me down. And I think her worst display came on the Friday - 12th August - when we were camping near Munich at the time. It was raining, and we were seated in the car - waiting for it to clear up before I pitched the tent. But once it seemed evident that there was to be no such brightening of the sky, I asked her if I could borrow her coat while I went out to perform this task in the rain. And she told me that she would prefer it if I didn't - because she liked to place the coat over her sleeping bag, so she wouldn't want it to get wet.

Well I took that in my stride, and continued to sit in the car, hoping for the weather to clear. But when it showed no sign of that happening, I declared that we'd better move to a different site - under the trees - where I could pitch the tent without getting myself soaked. But [Z] rejected this idea on the grounds that she couldn't stand the mosquitoes. Under the circumstances however, I told her that she must make up her mind. We were going to shift to a site under the trees if she couldn't find her way to lending me her overcoat, while I pumped up the tent out here in the open field. So in bad grace, she lent me the coat.

Having launched into this task, I came to a point where I found myself in difficulties - because it helps to have someone holding up the igloo tent from the inside, during the process of getting it to stand erect. And it was only raining very slightly by this time. So I called out to her to come over to assist - a distance of about 25 yds from the car incidentally. Well [Z] now exploded with indignation at my request. I was expecting her to cross that distance in the light rain without first coming back with her overcoat! She regarded this as typical of my mentality, whereas I regarded it as typical of hers.

I had developed a most unpleasant feeling about our relationship over these travels. [Z] is indeed intelligent, and with her needling remarks she was often calculating to make me feel inadequate about the way life should be handled - I mean in matters of sophistication. But inasmuch that I was so clearly dismissed as not being a boyfriend of hers, then my role during these travels was quite blatantly nothing better than chauffeur. And that did lead to me feeling that I had just been used by her, for my provision of a cheap means for her getting out to Davos.

I should stress that [Z] had, to some extent, been paying her own share of the daily expenses - although not so fully as the degree to which she appeared to credit herself. She appeared to expect me to pay for all the additional trimmings to a meal, for example, in a manner which she didn't take into account during the final reckoning concerning what she might owe me. Nor did I complain about that, since I had no wish to open myself to the charge of being mean.

I made the error however, when she was making this final reckoning, of suggesting that she might wish to contribute something towards all the petrol we'd used - supposing that she might feel that she owed me this much, in compensation for her lack of companionable qualities. But I received a firm no! She declared that she hadn't brought out enough money with her to cover what she had supposed to be on free offer. She added that if I'd been expecting her to contribute towards these costs, then I ought to have made these things plain to her before we started. Well I'd made my point, so I just left it at that! I wanted to avoid all manner of dispute.

Depositing [Z] at Ronald Gurney's Sanatorium in Davos (on Sunday 14th August) brought me an enormous feeling of relief. With the end in sight, we were in fact both putting on a good effort at rounding off our travels in almost amicable style. We were even telling each other that we'd enjoyed ourselves! But it was a bit of an empty pretence. [Z] was going to travel on from here (after seeing Ronald) with Jimmy S and Kate W - straight back to Britain I think. But she was turning up two days early. In fact there was no sign even of Ronald when we arrived at the Sanatorium, since he had gone for his daily walk.

It had been a long time now since I'd had a bath, so I did put it to [Z] that Ronald would hardly be likely to object if I took a shower in his room before I went on my way. But [Z] murmured that he might well object. I saw how this was in danger of reopening the possibilities for controversy, so I didn't press the matter. But it was just one final little pin prick, such as I was by now well accustomed to expect from her hands. And it was really the voice in which she said it - as if sharing a joke against me without the others (who might indeed find it funny) even being present on the scene. She was just preparing a joke, which she could share with them later - and not caring a damn about its offensiveness to me, here and now. But I had learnt that she was indeed that kind of person. Anyway I just took my leave of her, without even waiting for Ronald to return.

I arrived in Venice on Friday 19th August, and spent an exhausting morning looking over the town. Then shortly after lunch, I was startled to hear an exclamation of "Alex!" and, on turning, I discovered that it was Richard Lumley. He astounded me by what was virtually his first remark, which was to say that he'd heard how I'd spent a most unsuccessful holiday with [Z]! It astonished me that the news could have circulated so swiftly, but he told me how Teddy M-D was now in Venice, after seeing [Z] in Davos - Teddy and Ronald being intimate friends if not exactly lovers.

I went along with Dickon to have a drink with Teddy at Harry's Bar, where Teddy informed me with some relish that [Z] had been "full of the horrors of you!" He told me that she had found me pompous, egotistical and indifferent to her feelings. Teddy found it oh-so-funny that [Z] hadn't even allowed me to take a shower in Ronald's bedroom at the Sanatorium - a tale which had already been told to him by [Z]. I informed him how the ill-feeling was reciprocated, but left it at that. Teddy laughed, and said how he could well imagine it.

I had quickly reached a decision that it will not be in my best interest to go round telling people just how awful [Z] was - or not in any detail. That would only lead to an endless vendetta of back-biting once we were both back in England. And besides there's nothing that I particularly wish to remember about my travels with [Z]. Neither of us emerged from them in a particularly attractive light, and if I can draw a veil over all that happened, then it is possibly in my best interest.

While I was drinking in Harry's Bar, an American called Roderick Coop came up and asked me if I was Daphne Fielding's son. And when I said yes, he told me that Oonagh Oranmore had rented a Palazzo in Venice. He said he knew that she would love it if I came there for dinner that evening. So I took him at his word, and found myself made welcome - although Oonagh excused herself from inviting me to stay, since the bedrooms were all occupied.

I arranged to meet Oonagh next day (Saturday 20th August) on the beach of the Lido of Venice. But when I got there, I found only Roderick Coop and his friend Jimmy Douglas. I found Jimmy to be especially likeable, with a personality that was quite similar to my own - the sort of person that I might choose as a best friend if we were at school together. But it could be that he was taking too much of a liking to me.

After lunch, he was trying to instruct me in waterskiing, but I was utterly useless. I simply couldn't find my balance, as the speedboat endeavoured to pull me up from the water. I felt utterly ashamed at my pathetic efforts - especially after Jimmy had been demonstrating to me how it could be done on a single ski.

I noticed how Jimmy appeared to be much in demand by the ladies on the beach - as a very handsome and (I believe) wealthy young American bachelor. They were often coming up to greet him. And I noted how they were treating myself as a female rival - looking me up and down, and barely speaking to me. It made me feel quite absurd, emasculating me into some kind of a non-person.

Jimmy himself appeared almost embarrassed by their attentions, as if they intruded upon our own friendship And he eventually suggested that he could show me some of the sights of Venice, which I gladly accepted. I was in fact aware that there was much of common interest between the two of us, so that we might well become good friends. But I hadn't really taken in how he was becoming sexually enamoured of me until later that evening, when Oonagh took me to one side to say how Roderick was becoming worried because Jimmy had "fallen madly in love" with me. And in my naivety, this completely astounded me.

I had in fact realized how Roderick might be homosexual - although I'd had my doubts on that score as well, having seen that he was accompanied everywhere by someone so "normal" as Jimmy. But I was now told that Roderick had been pouring out his heart to Oonagh, telling her how he feared that Jimmy might be about to leave him so as to accompany me on my travels round Italy. And this really pulled me up sharp on the friendliness that I felt I could show towards him. Moreover it made me understand just how [Y] must feel, after establishing what she perceives as a budding friendship with a young man, to discover that he is falling in love with her. There is an instant instinct to abandon the relationship.

In that I had noticed the similarity in personality that existed between Jimmy and myself, it made me reflect on just how close it is that I am to a line of homosexual development. Very little change might have been required within my environment, or within my cultural upbringing to be more precise, to have tilted me towards the homosexual camp. There is this feminine side to me which I should recognize, without being ashamed of it - and without any need for me to see it sexually satisfied in the relationship with a male. There is simply no need for that. And I feel safer all round in my identity to remain firmly sighted upon heterosexual fulfilment. My desire for women is certainly very strong indeed - far stronger than it could ever be for a man. And it's wisest to leave things that way.

I can hardly claim that the part of the journey when [Z] was accompanying me could be described as any manner of success. And it's a great pity that I have now fouled up what had been developing as a promising romance. So much for all my expectation that I would return from my travels with a sense of achievement concerning the art of living with a woman! Now that I have had this insight into [Z]'s personality however, I have no particular wish to see her again, if that can be avoided - which is a possibility in that she has now gone down from Oxford. She obtained a Third incidentally, but seemed quite happy about that.

Or perhaps I'm not being quite honest with myself on that issue. If [Z] were to do all the spade work in trying to reopen our relationship, then I suppose that I might respond. But it's best if I leave it up to her. I'm in the fortunate position of not caring in the slightest, one way or the other, whether our relationship should take off for a second time. I'll just wait and see what transpires.

On arriving back at Longleat (on 2nd September) I found quite a number of letters waiting for me - but none from [Y]. So that leaves me unsure whether she still wants me definitely to come and stay with her up in Scotland. (And under the circumstances, who knows?)

There was also a letter from [X], in response to a post card that I'd sent her from Italy, but she ended it by saying: "It was nice hearing from you, and let us now be the best of friends." I'm not sure if I quite like that tone, which I construe as attempting to adopt an elderly sister stance. All so unnecessary, and mildly irritating!

I have at last received a letter from [Y] - friendly but restrained. But it does at last let me know that I am expected at [H] - as soon as I finish with the Royal Wiltshire Yeomanry camp.

I travelled up to Scotland on Monday night. I had set a lot of hopes on this visit, but it hasn't turned out to be a success. On the way up from the station to [H] Castle, the chauffeur informed me that the Lucas-Tooths were already there. But to my dismay, I was also told that Francis Nicholls was there. This came as quite a shock to me. It's not that I dislike Francis - in fact I like him - but it meant that I needed to reassess [Y]'s whole purpose in inviting me to come and stay. So much that she had said to persuade me to accept this invitation no longer rang true.

And there was the question of how I should be informed that Francis was already there. Had [Y] been shirking the task of coming to meet me herself? - which would have meant that she'd have been the one who had to break this news to me. And it left me wondering what precise instructions she'd given to the chauffeur. I mean did she tell him specifically to inform me that Francis was there? And did she let him understand how we were both admirers of hers, who might well be discountenanced by the other's presence? It began to look as if I'd been set up within a situation where they'd all be giggling at me behind my back - excellent for [Y]'s personal image in their eyes, but hardly good for mine.

And when we reached [H], the balance seemed to be more in Francis' favour than mine, if anyone was looking for indications as to which of us might be regarded as [Y]'s young man. For example, he had been given a bedroom near to hers, whilst I had been put miles away, up in the bachelors' wing. He had arrived the day before myself, and seemed to go everywhere with her. And when a few days later, it was announced that [F] would be arriving, he promptly arranged to depart - which indicated that his only reason for being here was as [Y]'s strictly personal guest.

Once I had taken all this in, I felt utterly despondent. And I'm not very good at coping with these fits of depression. All that I want at such moments is to sink out of sight for ever more. The will to contest any issue simply departs from me. And I certainly don't feel like contesting with a rival suitor. Nor was this a feeling which in any way diminished. It just augmented as the days went by, and had the effect of ruining my visit for me.

The daytime activities at [H] were largely concerned with blood sports. And then in the evening it was cards, chess or backgammon that were on offer. And since I've never taken much pleasure in cards, I often found myself matched against John Fox-Strangways at backgammon - with varying fortune. At the end of all our games, we were practically even. Or I think that I had to pay him one shilling.

John F-S (Harry Stavordale's younger brother incidentally) is an extraordinary, but somewhat pathetic figure - a long-standing friend of Lord Ancaster's, and notorious of course for that episode when he went up and kicked Nye Bevan, after some member had invited him for a drink at Whites Club. (I can remember reading about it in the press.) He roars with laughter at his own jokes, while attempting to maintain a high opinion of himself - which may in fact be a difficult task for him. His eyes were almost beseeching me to like him and to sympathize with him, but the impression he really gave was of a man who has never made anything of his life, and is immersing himself in the despair of that situation.

What depressed me enormously was that, after we all retired to bed, the others would sit gossiping in [Y]'s nursery. Yet with my own room being up in the bachelors' wing, I was omitted from these social gatherings.

It was duck-shooting on Tuesday, partridge-shooting on Wednesday, and we went out stalking red deer on Thursday.... That was the evening when Francis took the train back south, and [F] arrived early next morning by the train coming north. I didn't feel up to a further round of partridge-shooting on Friday, so I stayed at [H] making notes for my next thesis - on the Nature of Man. Then it was chess in the evening, with [F] taking surprise victories off both John and myself.

I had a talk with [F] on Friday about [Z]. She had seen Laurence recently, so had all the latest news on the way [Z] has been describing our travels. Laurence had given her a description of "the awful niggly way" in which I had treated [Z]. (I can see him chortling - and who can blame him!) It sound like a general picture of mental cruelty, with [Z] herself cast in the role of martyr. Well if that's the image of me that is now being circulated round London and Oxford, then the less I have to see of [Z] the better!

What troubles me is that I find I should mind about what she might be saying of me. She is going so public on what she sees at fault in me. But what am I supposed to do about it? I mean should I make a big thing about telling everyone what really happened? But such a display of washing our dirty linen in public would do neither of us any good. I expect I'll try to correct particular wrong statements that have been made to some of my closest friends. But for the rest, it might well be more astute if I hide behind a wall of silence. I'd best leave her to make all the unpleasant remarks, so that she falls foul of them within their own judgement of her. The lies should boomerang against her in the long run.

But I do still feel myself nettled - in her saying how I was so stingy with her. Her own expenses were utterly minimal in comparison with mine, and she must know that. And even if our travels together weren't precisely enjoyable, there is some small element of gratitude which she owes to me. Instead she's just pissing on my image, to the amusement of her friends. And I don't like it in any way at all.

It's perfectly natural that Laurence should be taking her side. Denigration of myself must be all a part of their current courtship. And he has told [F] incidentally, that the only reason why [Z] agreed to accompany me in the first place was that she had to drop out from the original plan (of travelling with himself) because she was moving houses at the time. But I think [F] knew better of course. She's a good person with whom to discuss such matters - combining sympathy with intelligent perception as she takes any situation into her understanding. And she's enormously loyal. It seems that she stuck up for me to Laurence, without knowing any of the facts of the case.

It was on the Friday night that I supposed for a while that [Y] and I might be left alone together in the drawing room - for the first time - after the others announced that they were going to bed. But Lord Ancaster put paid to that prospect, by telling her quite firmly that it was her bedtime too. He's just a caring parent I suppose. But in any case it was quite late, so I remembered that it was my bedtime as well, and retired - although in an opposite direction to herself.

On Saturday I went stalking again - a miserable day when I got soaking wet, and finally frozen with cold. That evening we all went to dine at the hotel in Gleneagles. And since John and Caroline had announced that they would be leaving next day, I set my own departure to coincide with theirs.

My relationship with [Y] had been completely stymied during the period when Francis had been there. It seemed that [Y] was in his company the whole time - conversing with him, playing ping-pong with him, going to Perth races with him.... And I was so disillusioned at finding myself invited up to Scotland to witness all this, that I had totally withdrawn in spirit from her. The final evening while he was there, she was in fact making quite an effort to be friendly with me. But under the circumstances, I wasn't going to allow her to succeed. In fact I was deliberately avoiding her - almost to the extent of being rude.

In retrospect, I find myself wishing that I'd been able to suppress my resentment, and to take whatever friendliness might be on offer. It puts me in the wrong when I'm constantly rejecting her overtures like that. But I simply couldn't bring myself to respond favourably to her. I was just feeling hurt, and miserable that Francis had so easily managed to win her away from me. Even after his departure, I had no desire to try and win her back again, for I was feeling far too depressed about life, and about the prospect of having to leave matters thus, while I took the train back home. I don't suppose that I'd said a hundred words to [Y] since the time of my arrival, and there was hardly much prospect that things would now take a turn for the better.

But at Gleneagles, I was seated next to her at dinner and she was still trying to be friendly - which highlighted my own stupidity in trying to remain hostile. I suppose I was thinking that the barrier between us could never be broken down until its nature had been illuminated, and comprehended by her for what it was. But of course there was no opportunity to get such matters into focus within the course of social conversation at the dinner table. I even felt uncomfortable when we were dancing together, after the meal had ended. So I made a point when possible of dancing with one of the others.

I should have mentioned how there was no sign of Lady Ancaster during this visit. It would seem that she and Lord Ancaster lead separate lives. But it's a pity that I never seem to get the opportunity of meeting her. A single telephone conversation is our only personal communication up to date! But I found it very easy to like Lord Ancaster - partly because I can see [Y] in him. And I do remember him quite well from the days when he used to come and shoot at Longleat, during the early years of the war. He hasn't changed greatly.

On Sunday evening I was due to catch the train, so I knew how there was no time to be lost if any improvement was to be made on the existing situation. It may be that with part of my mind, I was just clutching at straws, while with the other half I was determined to discard all opportunities for further dialogue if they should arise.

Anyway I was sitting in [Y]'s nursery, writing my thesis and secretly hoping that [Y] might come up. And she did come, sitting down at her desk to write some letters. But I was ignoring her, and she was just continuing to write. But the strain was becoming too much for me, so I eventually put down my notebook and sat in silence - which eventually led to [Y] coming across to talk things over with me.

What I told her was that I couldn't endure the relationship as it had developed, and that I must now look to find myself a new girlfriend - whereupon she wrong-footed me completely by declaring that she herself had reached much the same manner of conclusion. In fact she said that she'd reached that conclusion soon after she last came down to Oxford. And to my ears, this was about the most depressing line that she could possibly have taken. But I had to sit and listen her out until she'd finished. She said it wouldn't be too difficult for me, since she was planning to go abroad shortly - and perhaps for a long while. I said that all would be well with me, once I was actually centred upon some other girl, but I was going to find things difficult until then. This was about as far as we took the conversation prior to lunch-time.

After lunch, I said I was going for a walk, and she said she'd come too, since there was a dog she had to fetch from the keeper. We strolled round the park talking about this and that, and then I faced her, and asked her direct if she thought there was any chance of things going right between us. She was sweet. even loving in her demeanour. We were sitting on a bank, and we talked. We kissed. She even seemed to want me to be kissing her.

But then she was back on to her former line of thought. She said it was no good - she had known it would come to this before I'd even arrived. And this sounded to my ears like the words of a judge passing sentence. But I was immediately looking for loopholes through which I might escape. I said it was all very well me having stated that I'd be trying to give her up, but it wasn't that easy to put such a decision into action. Nothing would be easy unless I first grew to hate her. To find another girlfriend might be the right solution, but that kind of thing takes time. And her advice on this was not to rush things - just to do it gradually, when I saw my opportunities.

To tell the truth I now found myself in a position which was utterly absurd. I'd been outmanoeuvred, and couldn't decide on which line I should most profitably take. For the dilemma she had created for me was like this. I had formerly been taking a threatening line, about the pointlessness of continuing with the relationship unless she could bring herself to make the required concessions towards the fulfilment of an amorous relationship with me. But she was now calling my bluff, and saying how she fully understood how it was pointless to continue with our relationship, and was offering me advice on how to wind things up on a basis of friendship. So was I to accept her advice, or was I to admit to her that I had misrepresented my position, and that I'd like to cling on to her at all costs?

I still find myself embarrassed by the situation which has emerged, without any adequate plan for subsequent action. And I'm also smitten by a disbelief that [Y] can really intend that we should now break with each other. I mean she could be bluffing like myself - just to balance the threat that I was formerly making - about the need to accelerate the growth of true intimacy between us, or else....! So it could be that she's just holding out for a slower rate of such growth - which I do see that I'd be well-advised to accept, now that she has shown her hand. And I do see how this involves a certain loss of face on my side - climbing down too readily perhaps, on what might have been described as a proud stance. But it doesn't mean that I accept [Y]'s viewpoint in any way at all, as to the potential of our relationship. I think I see more clearly than herself how we are perhaps right for one another. But it's going to take time to get everyone else to perceive things that way.

A point of curiosity. Whereas [Y] used to tell me that she wanted me for myself - which is to say for the personality that she perceives in me, as opposed to any appreciation for the body which might give her sexual delight - she now tells me that she still desires me sexually, while now observing defects in my personality. Ah well! My own desire for her relates to my appreciation of all such aspects. I do not intend to relinquish her without putting up a good fight to retain her regard. Or is it that my jealousy is by now quite insane?

We talked about Francis, and she dismissed the idea completely that she had been displaying any feeling for him. And I do see how it is mad that I should be driving our affair on to rocks of my own imagination. But that is the way that jealousy works. If only she could take due cognizance of this defect in me, she might then learn how to tread more carefully - for example, by taking care not to invite me out in the company of others. If only she were more cautious in these matters, I feel sure that we could be happy together. But it remains to be seen whether the doubts she is now expressing are here to stay, to the detriment of all hope for our relationship.

I must now stand back and wait to see how she might choose to behave. It is for her to set the pace. I remain hopeful that she'll still want to come down to Oxford from time to time, but it will be up to her whether she chooses to come to see me. And if she is in the company of others, then I must curb all outbursts of jealousy.

It might well be that she'll want to sleep in my room if she comes down to Oxford - although whether in the same bed as myself, I'll just have to wait and see. But if she starts to share that kind of intimacy with me, I feel sure that she'll come round to an understanding that we make an appropriate couple. And if she were sharing my bed, I know that I could overcome my jealousy by daytime - because I'd know that the others in her life did not share with her the same degree of intimacy as myself. And then quite gradually, I'd be able to work on her intentions to go abroad, until she might start thinking in terms of travels which include myself. Or better than that, perhaps she might be persuaded to take one of the fringe courses, at Oxford - although not necessarily affiliated to the university - while I study for a D.Phil. But I'll need to do well enough in Schools before that becomes a possibility - meaning a good Second, I suppose.

All this kind of talk may be nothing but wishful thinking, I suppose. If [Y] really wants to slip out of my life, then no manner of planning on my side is going to dissuade her. So it's really just a defensive measure on my side, to put such a possibility out of my mind. I protect my peace-of-mind that way, for it represents too dreadful an outcome for me to contemplate.

After my long talk with [Y], I certainly felt depressed, but the atmosphere had somehow been cleared. I played ping-pong with her and [F]. I was chattering away quite cheerfully at dinner. And we all had a lively conversation about incest and homosexuality on the way to the station. The chauffeur was fascinated by our discussion.... I had a most uncomfortable journey on the train down to London, trying to sleep on the bench of a third class carriage.

But it sinks home to me just how important it is to Locker that I should do precisely this. He is most put out to see me writing at my desk. So he whines, and I eventually give way - pleased to see just how much he does enjoy that walk. But I don't intend to change my habits completely, to an extent that in future the walks will take precedence over the writing and reading. And it does occur to me that it might be kinder to leave him at Job's Mill - even though I enjoy his company. I daresay that Locker would be miserable to be left at home, since he'd be thinking of all those walks that he was missing. But in reality he'd be missing no walks at all - since they are a figment of his imagination, and wouldn't be on offer if he came with me. He'd merely have to suffer the frustration of waiting for walks which never materialized. Well I think there may be quite a parallel between Locker's plight, and my own - whenever I'm sitting there forlornly waiting for sex with [Y]!

I'm trying to get my feelings for [Y] into clearer perspective. I know perfectly well that I'd fall deeply in love with her, if only she gave me the slightest encouragement to do so. But the absence of it does embitter me somewhat. I am frequently telling myself that she's not worth all this hassle. I shouldn't bother about her. If she wants to be free, then I should let her go - because if she were ever going to fall in love with me, then it would have happened by now. There have been opportunities enough. So it is time to cut my losses.