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See Terry G in the evening. He is very enthusiastic about the cover design (the self-forming box) for the new ‘Best Of album, which TG wants to call Monty Python’s Instant Record Collection. He wants material for the cover – blurb of any kind and lots of false titles for LPs, so the novel is put off for another day.

Friday, September 23rd

Squash with Terry Jones at five. Beaten again, I’m afraid. Then up to the Flask for a drink. Tell Terry J that I shall be writing the novel (hereinafter called ‘the work’) until Christmas. He doesn’t sound disappointed. Says that it will suit him, as he has further work to do on Chaucer, now his book has found a publisher. He’s just finished a translation of’The Prologue’, which TJ says he’s more excited about than the book.

Off to Abbotsley tomorrow for a quick burst of countryside, then back to London and the novel on Monday. A strange feeling – not knowing quite what will come out. I keep wanting to start – waking up in bed and composing cracking first six lines, then controlling myself.

Will I be able to keep the diary up? Will I choke on a surfeit of writing? Will the malfunctioning, non-reversing ribbon on my typewriter cut short a promising career? Watch these spaces …

Monday, September 26th

After writing a few letters between eight and breakfast time, I started on the work at 9.30.

The omens were good. The sun was shining, God was in his heaven and all was well. Slogged through ten lines – without an idea in my head, but used an opening I had thought of a week ago. A man wakes up in a strange room, a strange bed, almost in limbo, and has to reconstruct his life from there.

Over to Shepherd’s Bush for the showing of three Ripping Yarns to an audience. John Jarvis in a panic in his editing rooms because tomorrow’s showprint of’Olthwaite’ has arrived scratched in one place. He’s spent the afternoon redubbing ‘Claw’ because he felt the early lightning flashes weren’t right. Such dedication.

A full house – over 300 people tonight – and a good and warm and responsive audience. I suppose that the Radio Times publicity and the start of the series last week has helped. All three films go well – I watch them much more easily than the last two – but ‘Curse of the Claw’ goes best of all and seems by all accounts a winner.

Tuesday, September 27th

As I was leaving home, a black Rover drove slowly up Oak Village. Inside was the Lord President of the Council of Great Britain – Michael Foot – and a doubtless well-meaning, but obviously harassed lady driver who was lost.1 Foot had put down his Guardian and was looking around in some bewilderment. Their progress up Elaine Grove was brought to a smart halt by our neighbour Philip Clough doing a three-point turn in front of them.

Late as I was, I had to run back in and tell Helen there was a Cabinet Minister stuck in our street.

At the Beeb, watched ‘Olthwaite’ with Terry J, who arrived hotfoot and with a hangover. The laughter/no laughter debate began again as we were dubbing, but I tend now very strongly towards using it, so does Jimmy G. We compromised by dubbing it carefully – no words were lost, any titters or coughs were expunged and we only used it lavishly in scenes where it came lavishly.

There is an extraordinary feeling of optimism in the Beeb over the Ripping Yarns – despite the fact that no new ones have gone out. The top brass simply love them, and silvery-haired Mr Scott the Controller2 came up and shook my hand and said how much he’d enjoyed ‘Tomkinson’ the second time.

Back home. Watch ‘Olthwaite’ with Robert H, Helen and the boys. All enjoy it unreservedly. I must say I felt chuffed as I watched it. It’s so rich – almost too rich for telly – you have to concentrate on it hard or you miss lines, characters, beautiful shots. Whatever the press say, I feel that of all the things I’ve ever done, I find ‘Olthwaite’ and ‘Claw’ the most satisfying.

Friday, September 30th

At Darsham by 11.30. Am cutting back a profuse cotoneaster hedge when an 1100 eases