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Over to the BBC. At least JHD doesn’t attempt the economic argument to convince me why ‘child molester’ should be omitted. He tries hoary old chestnuts like ‘What happens if a child is attacked that evening?’ He tries the power approach, ‘I really can’t let this sort of thing go out.’ I absorb everything cheerfully and can only plead that every line is part of the creation of a vital character and is used in innocent reflectiveness for the purposes of getting a laugh. Which it will get. JHD cannot pull experience on me either. We are almost the same age. So he capitulates with, I think, mock-crossness, and I think he’s not so bad after all. He’s just frighteningly competitive, that’s all.

Monday, May 29th

A thoroughly pleasant, though I suppose at times awkward, canal trip on Chris Orr’s converted ice-breaker’Scott’. The ‘voyage’ had been arranged by Robert, in order to get Chris and I talking about’Arthur’, his latest project, a story with lithograph illustrations. Chris needs up to £5,000 to get the project under way. The Arts Councll and the Fraser Gallery have been approached – unsuccessfully.

I’ve read the book over the last week and am very disappointed. I found it loose, undisciplined – in short a mess of good ideas, bad ideas, in about 40–60 proportion. Am I getting old? Why do I feel exasperation with this ‘experimental’ style? If only Chris would pare it down to essentials – but I fear that the very diffusion of style is what’s important to him.

Tuesday, June 6th

Ring Laurence Evans, Sir Ralph R’s agent one last time. A lady assures me that he has all the details and has been trying to get in touch with Sir Ralph. This game has gone on for well over a week, and I still haven’t even spoken to Laurence Evans.

I ring Lindsay Anderson. Lindsay is at his most charming and cheerful and, fortunately, helpful. He is interested to hear of my lack of success with Richardson’s agents. ‘They’re shits,’ he says, with feeling, ‘and I should know —they’re my agents as well.’ He himself will ring Sir Ralph (an old friend) and mention my interest.

A little breakthrough. Lindsay calls back. He’s spoken to Sir Ralph, who sounds to be available, and he has asked me to drop a script at Sir Ralph’s house in Regent’s Park.

Lindsay suggests that I give Sir Ralph a ring before dropping round – ‘His wife will probably answer, but if you can get through her you’re alright’ – so I’m relieved but momentarily shaken to hear the familiar voice of Sir Ralph himself at the other end of the line. Would he mind if I brought him a script … ? ‘No … no … by all means. I have my plaque up … “Actor available, no waiting …”’ the great man assures me genially.’I’ll read it … Put your phone number on the bottom and I’ll give you a ring.’

It’s not often one speaks to a Living Legend – there aren’t many left – and it takes me a while to come down from a slightly sweaty tremble of excitement. But in a cooler, more rational moment I remember what Lindsay had said – don’t be apologetic, if you’ve got a good script, an actor will jump at it.

So, armed with a good script, and William, who’s come along for the ride, I make my way to No. i Cumberland Terrace, the residence of Sir Ralph and Lady Richardson. It’s on the end of one of Nash’s impressive, classical terraces – full of ambassadors and burglar alarms. Lady Richardson answers the door and I hand her the script. Exchange of charming smiles and the door shuts.

Wednesday, June 7th

A crisp and efficient two-hour production meeting at the BBC. After we’ve been through the show and Jim is politely grumbling about the BBC, Sir Ralph phones and asks for me.

His voice has a chuckle in it. ‘Yes … Yes …’ says the Great Man. ‘He’s rather a nice old chap isn’t he … rather charming …’ He chuckles again. It’s as if he’s talking about himself, but I realise he’s communicating cautious approval, enjoyment even, of the character of Lord Bartlesham. I mutter something solidly flattering (to both myself and Sir Ralph)