Something in these sweets (would it perhaps be E numbers?) produces not merely nausea, but outright madness in a dog Percy when sane is irritating enough But Percy mad is a dreadful companion. He lets out whoops and moans as if the terrors of hell had been revealed to him He becomes hyperactive He runs hither and thither. Nothing said or done or shouted to him has a calming effect on him. Howl, howl, howl, howl, as King Lear says at his most abject moment. Last time something similar happened – he ate a whole box of chocolates on that particular occasion – he was mad and vomiting for 24 hours.

Was it some such incident which led to his arrival in Battersea Dogs’ Home where we met him two or more years ago? Among the many emotions evoked by his howls – irritation, pity, anguish at the suffering of another – there is the worst feeling of all: the fact that, when it comes to it, one does not even like this little suffering creature. It is said that the suffering of those we love is the worst pain which life can impose On one level this must, I suppose, be true But at least they are pure feelings. As the air is rent with Percy’s banshee-shrieks, I feel waves of self-reproach and self-hatred sweeping over me. If only I were a kinder person, I’d love this little animal which the fates have given into our care. But, oh, the smell of sick.
NANNY innocently remarks that there does not seem to be much news at the moment. I ask if she recalls the demeanour of some of the men who visited my house last week, and I explain to her that they are all normally busy writing for the papers.At this time of year, the journalists are all tottering up and down stairs slightly the worse for drink.

You could say that they did this all the year round, and that this did not prevent them producing good “stories” in spring or autumn. True, but there is something about the pre-Christmas binges in what used to be Fleet Street which produces near-inertia. So, in a week in which there has been a great deal of news, far more than usual, the newspapers nonetheless feel, and are, thin.It is Christmas Day as I write and we have all been to church, and contemplated “One born in a manger”. Probably in Hartlepool, which is Mandy’s constituency, they think that a manger is luxury. In Hartlepool, young families could not afford to stay at an inn, even if there was room for them. So, of course, we remembered the people of Hartlepool in our prayers at this time.

But even more, I feel sympathy for those who want to live in London and simply cannot afford the house prices. It is all right for journalists, barristers, advertising executives, sheikhs, best-selling novelists. But even if you brought all such people together, they would still only fill up a few Kensington squares. Add all the pop stars and TV personalities and you could fill up a street or two in Notting Hill. But that still leaves huge tracts of our capital inhabited by people who can’t afford the house they live in.London was built at a time when this country was truly prosperous.