When Margaret Thatcher, as she then was, made Irwin Bellow a Life Peer in 1979 he wanted, unsurprisingly, to be known as Lord Bellow. This was not allowed by the College of Arms which, I suppose, means Garter as he might be mistaken for Lord Bellew.
Who was Sir James Cassels? He was born in 1877, the only son of an assistant clerk at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. James learned shorthand at school but was destined for greater things than life as a clerk.
Van Gogh’s peasants, he painted them in 1885, are startlingly unattractive. His subjects were inspired by The Blessing before Supper by Charles de Groux; a more comely assemblage.
Yesterday Bertie and I walked up the towpath to Richmond for the first time in over three months. During lockdown there had been many too many cyclists, joggers and walkers to use the towpath safely but now it’s back to pre-virus normal and Bertie was off the lead most of the time.
You can judge this book by its cover; the cover is orange, the endpapers green. Brian Desmond Hurst was born a Protestant in Belfast but converted to Catholicism so an apt reflection of his life.
I saw this plaque today and, as usual, realised how much I don’t I know. The picture isn’t mine: it’s on the Ranger’s house but he was at home and I didn’t like to intrude.
The very name, Trieste, is redolent of sadness: I’m thinking of Françoise Sagan’s novel. I went for a Ryanair weekend in 2008 and, to avoid repetition, you can read about it in a post misleadingly titled Tahiti .
James Agate tells the story of a generous but punctilious host, one of whose guests arrived thirty minutes late for a luncheon party. Full of contrition she (of course) explained that she had stopped to buy a chandelier.