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He has a strange snippet of info – the film about Hitler called Hitler – A Career is attracting so many National Front supporters in the West End that they’re thinking of taking it off. First time I’ve ever heard of a film being taken off for being too popular.

By two this afternoon it’s almost dark. The sky is low and leaden grey and there’s rain and sleet and a chill wind. The sort of day which sends wise men to the travel agents.

Tuesday, December 26th

A return to the greyness – and not just outside, where a blanket of slow-spattering rain covered London. At about ten Overseas Telegrams rang – news from New York. ‘Not too good, I’m afraid,’ said the faceless man at the other end. ‘Eve died on Christmas Day,’ he reads.

The outcome, which Al feared for a long time, but which he only resigned himself to in a letter to me last September, of Eve’s recent severe depressive bouts (twice hospitalised) has finally come to pass.

At midday in NYC, I rang Al. Spoke to his son, John, who sounded tight and tense, but said it would mean a lot to Al that I rang. An hour later I spoke to Al himself. His voice cracked as soon as he spoke, though he said he’d been trying to keep himself together. Eve had committed suicide – no details – but John was asleep and Al had gone out for a walk. He returned to find an ambulance waiting there.

Now Al wanted to get away for a while. The apartment, which Eve found, Sag Harbor, which she adored, all were now an intolerable sorrow. The only thing that could in any way lighten the pain was that he had seen it coming. It was almost inevitable. As I said to Al, Eve had a terminal illness.

Friday, December 29th

The toyshop in Maiden Road opens for the first time since the holiday, and is visited largely by parents returning malfunctioning goods. Kindly, middle-aged women with headscarves can be heard at the counter asking for advice … ‘I pressed the auto-destruct and the bit came off …’ or ‘Every time it goes round a corner all the missiles fall out.’

I take Willy’s Scalextric controls, which have been such a headache over the last few days. It turns out I’ve got a new model on which the controls have been improved. He gives me some old ones, and the whole thing works perfecdy.

I then drive down to Dulwich, collect Granny for the day and drop in our Christmas presents to the Joneses. (They took Terry’s father and Norah, his new wife, to see TJ editing. They showed Norah some of the film, and according to Alison she was most offended! But then she’s from Welsh Fundamentalist stock and it’s as likely that a Welsh Fundamentalist will laugh at people cracking jokes on the cross as it is that Snowdon’s made of pâté.)

Over lunch at the Barque and Bite I try to allay my mother’s fears about the film – aroused by the indexing of our film on totally specious grounds by the Festival of Light.’ I hope she doesn’t feel she’s in for a rough year. Despite being a regular Telegraph reader, she’s still tough and bright and with a mind of her own, so I’m not too worried.

Sunday, December 31st

Helen and I were watching Top Hat last night before a blazing coal fire and Helen was forever parting the curtains and looking out in glee as the powdery snow, driven by a sharp, south-easterly wind, covered Oak Village.

As we drive down to Dulwich I listen to the car radio and hear tales of horror from all over the UK. Edinburgh is almost cut off from the rest of Scotland (a fact which the weather only confirms!) and Scotland is almost cut off from the rest of the UK. The police are advising only ‘essential’journeys.

The result is a wondrously empty London. Even the streets of the West End are white with caked snow.

More bad Christmas news – this time that Veryan’s mother died in a fire at her home early this morning. But Angela and Veryan want our visit to carry on as normal, and possible gloom is dispelled by pre-lunch cocktails with two neighbours and their three daughters, who bring with them a game called Twister, which involves participants in a grapple on