August 12, 1951

I was profoundly reluctant to leave Boodles last evening (Johnnie Walker Red Night), but Clemmie insisted I come with her to attend a rally by a peculiar American politician... Last name Allan or Allen, I can't remember... The toast of London -- more amusing than Oscar Wilde -- absolutely must see him...

It was chilly, and I was uncomfortable as we stood waiting with the assembled multitude for the great man. I enjoyed the friendly greetings I got from some in the audience, and was beginning to think this business of being out and about among the people had something to be said for it, when a bombastic voice sounded from the microphone.

The first thing he said was, "Hey! My caca!"

Everyone dissolved into giggles at this cowboy and his caca, though it struck me as vulgar rather than funny.

"What the fuck are we doing here, Clemmie?" I asked, perturbed, and not a little vulgar myself, at the thought of what I was missing at the club.

"Shh," she replied. "He's about to read from the book."

Indeed he now took from under his arm a racy novel and, after a few introductory words -- "Can you believe the filth my opponent writes? Listen!" -- he began ---- haltingly, in the manner of one unaccustomed to reading ---- to delectate some lengthy passages involving women accomplishing strange feats with bananas, and parents greeting their children in ways grotesque and obscene...

I was, frankly, quite put off by it, but Clemmie, I noticed, became more and more aroused. "Take me home this instant, Winnie," she suddenly said. I bundled her into a cab and that evening we had the best sex of our lives...



Despite this satisfactory outcome, I have turned down Clemmie's invitation to accompany her to next week's rally, in which a female American politician will read from her book about lesbians.