From that point [Y] went on to attack what she described as my egoism - although I think that an accusation of egocentricity might come closer to the crux of the matter. Indeed, I can see that it's true that I am far too self-centred in my whole way of thinking about life. It is evident whenever I glance back through this journal - especially when I first started making these entries. And by anyone's standards, this must be seen as a grave fault. But it is a fault which seeds a rich harvest, in terms of all the small insights into myself that I am constantly attaining. I doubt if these would be of sufficient interest to me, if it weren't for my egocentricity.

I just can't tell at the moment what my chances of obtaining a First might be. I may well have absorbed quite a knowledge of my subject by the time I get to Schools. In fact I know a fair amount already, so that I might already have obtained a Third if I'd been obliged to sit all the papers that I'd covered by the end of my second year. And if I'd done especially well, I suppose I might have got a Second, with some additional time for improvement during this third year yet to come. But I don't want to let my thoughts dwell upon this remote possibility of obtaining a First. Too many of us start talking about that, and then fail to live up to their own hopes - undergraduates who are a lot brighter than myself.

What is more, I have to admit that I have yet to master the examination technique. It's difficult to understand how I came to do so well in my School Certificate, or (on some occasions) in my trials at Eton, when I've never developed a good technique for writing essays. This was shown up all too clearly when it came to my Prelims. I know that I am improving, but probably not fast enough. It might be wise for me to cut out all ambition of obtaining a First, and pin my hopes to getting a mere Second. But there's always that fool inside me who keeps whispering more grandiose ideas about the level of my intellect, trying to persuade myself that the highest honours might yet be within my reach. It would make such a vast difference to my life if I came down from Oxford, having proved to the world the calibre of my intellect.

While we were rocking at anchor outside the harbour at Dunkirk, the group of sailors and stewards were finally becoming quite matey. And they were eventually enquiring from where we came. One of them said that he knew the Wiltshire area quite well. So I asked him if he knew Longleat. He said he did, so I told him that this was where I lived. Afterwards [Z] took me up on this point, saying that I'd been swanking. And I suppose it's true that I was - although it seemed natural enough that I should have been saying these things at the time.

She was a horribly down-to-earth woman. When we were approaching the end of dinner, there was the problem raised as to whether we should stay there on the terrace of the restaurant where we'd been eating (and watch the procession go by from there), or go out in a gondola so as to view the procession from the water. My own preference was for finishing the dinner, and then going out in the gondola afterwards - which I quickly stated so that it might be persuasive on the choice the others were about to make. But there were enough people voting for an immediate departure with the gondola to ensure that this plan would be adopted. Therefore I rapidly changed my tune, or I'd have found myself being left behind with the more adult crowd. And I made a bit of a feeble excuse in discovering that I wouldn't be able to view the fireworks properly from the restaurant's terrace. And this led Honor to comment tersely upon the inability of some people to make up their minds.

I fear that this is indeed the image that I seem to create. In fact Oonagh herself later touched upon this point (in her soft-spoken manner), intimating how she didn't really like people who are always so firm in knowing their own minds. She was expecting me to agree with her, and to start confiding in her all the secrets of my inner weakness. But I really don't perceive myself as this indecisive creature that they like to think I am. I am aware how there are always problems in coming to a firm decision about anything in life - because the world in which we dwell is so complex. It would be a falsehood to pretend that it was otherwise. So I shall continue to ponder my way through this maze, switching my decisions where necessary, without feeling that it is a shameful performance.

What I'd like is the opportunity to write a long thesis which would present a synthesis of all that I have written so far - increasing its scope so as to cover both sociological and psychological fields. But I am also concerned to receive some coaching in the improvement of my literary style, so that I learn how best to express myself in literary form. This would in effect prepare me for a career as an author, with my entire attitude to life, clarified within a neat parcel of thought.

The time will have to come in the near future that I prove to myself that I have the ability to emerge as an author. I shall have to get something published. My principal problem is that as yet, I haven't lived enough of life to furnish myself with sufficient material for what I should write. So it leaves me wondering what manner of book it should be, as I gear myself up towards this profession. And it could be that poetry might be the best form.

Let me put it this way. Suppose I were to write a poem which incorporated all the tortured emotion which might be symbolized within the pent up forces which must eventually explode within a volcano. The volcano could be almost human in its feelings. This subject would give me full scope for showing how I feel, at one stage removed from myself - but furnishing me with a magnificent opportunity of venting my fury against the way I get treated by Dad. All part of the natural order, I daresay. But that in itself is a point worth making.

It does have to be admitted that I have written so little poetry, that the whole exercise might turn out to be a miserable failure. But I do somehow retain this belief that I possess a capacity to write good poetry, if I really set myself this task. And I do think that poetry might be more appropriate than prose, if this is going to be my theme. At any rate I feel the urge to try.

The opportunity for writing it will probably be next Summer, just after I've taken my Finals. I might even travel out to some part of the world where there is an active volcano, in order to absorb some of the atmosphere from that source. And I might have to write it anonymously, in order not to inhibit myself concerning any of the parallels that might be observed between the activities of the volcano, and my own life at Longleat. Then I'd truly be able to judge whether my published work were being praised for its poetic merit, or merely for the snob value that might be associated with it.

Then (if all goes according to plan) I might stay on at Oxford, if they'll permit me to study in the fields I've already indicated - until I have pieced my entire attitude together in academic form. And after a full year at this, I ought to be in a position to produce some literary masterpiece for public consumption, where my entire attitude to life is unveiled. I expect that I'll write this out in Paris - combining this with a reversion to my art studies. And two years after this, I should be ready to hold my first exhibition, which would mean that I'd be making my name as a painter at the same time as emerging as an author of note.

After this my plans become somewhat vaguer. Somewhere along the line, I intend to complete a vast quantity of art work for the walls of Longleat. The central staircase might well be the best site for an extensive exhibition of my work - replacing all those pointless portraits which have no real connection with the family. Nor indeed does that copy of the Rubens Lion-hunt have any real justification for such a central position at Longleat. And I may take up sculpture too - or some form of statue-making. For there are so many places in the garden and park that would be ideal for such display.

My most serious work will perhaps always be in what I write, although I remain uncertain what form this will finally take. It might even be something in Shakespearean vein - powerful speeches in blank verse, full of human emotion. And I'd like to express myself within kinetic imagery as well, getting into television, or whatever. I feel that might be the right medium for me to master, so as to communicate more directly with my public. All other aspects of success might then follow in its wake. So I've got to give it a try.

I daresay that I do rely in all this on the continuity of my financial income, which derives from the Longleat Estate. Dad is currently toying with the idea of setting up a vast caravan site at Shearwater - which sounds horrible to me ears. But I'm more inclined to give my thoughts to what might be evolved from such a scheme. I mean if the caravan site turned out to be profitable, I might be able to replace it with a village consisting of beautiful wooden chalets. And with the profits from that, I might be able to set up some manner of art centre - so that with gradual expansion upon such small beginnings, I might eventually establish a really cultural environment around Shearwater.

I see no reason why, in the long run, this could not emerge as a profitable venture, and literally save Longleat from the danger of getting taken over by the State. The cultural centre might become a public company of course - while remaining under the direction of the Thynne family. And this public company might eventually own Longleat. For that reason, there might be sense in building myself a smaller residence within the park - at Heaven's Gate perhaps - where we could preserve some notion of privacy and independence. But it would need to be in character with Longleat of course.

Finally, on the subject of marriage, I do not think it likely that I'll be committing myself to anyone in the near future. In fact I dread the thought of an early marriage. It might sap my will to get to the top in my chosen profession - in whatever terms I might choose to define that. There would be too much temptation to get absorbed into an atmosphere of home comforts. Indeed, there is some danger that my whole social environment is too cosy for me to find the necessary drive to go places.

As I see it, I stand at the junction of three roads. The first would involve society accepting me for what I am, encouraging me to develop along these lines which I am choosing for myself. On the second road, I envisage myself going it alone, after realizing that society simply won't be so kindly towards me - in which case I shall simply have to break my contacts with them to create a more insulated environment for myself and for my work. Or there is a third road which I currently view with much distaste, involving the idea that society will absorb me into adopting the image that they might wish for me - as a dutiful (and perhaps mildly contented) country squire, hosting the functions which they might desire to see taking place at Longleat.

For the time being, I think this will have to suffice as a statement of my plans for the future. It might be a mistake to examine them in any greater detail.