Christopher Isherwood (1904-1986) was een Britse, in de VS wonende schrijver. Hij hield het grootste deel van zijn leven een dagboek bij.
June 24. The day began badly because I flew out and shouted at the kids, who were spraying water from the Hines' hose over the Simca. Not much water - that didn't matter - but the noise disturbs me when I'm working, it threatens me with not being able to work if I want to. I heard Mrs. Hine reproving the kids later. Of course she thinks I'm an old prissy ill-natured queen, and let her, with all my heart, ïf it makes her keep her children away!
Also — after a mild debauch yesterday: a glass of sugary lemonade (no, two!) and a tiny rock cake at the Thurlows', a glass of wine at Jo and Ben's and a cookie and a large helping of fish — I was back to 150. All that self-denial wasted!
But, courage! The children left me fairly alone all day. I rearranged the whole sequence of the restaurant scène in my novel, reopened my unemployment insurance claim, and kept the calories low.
Bart Lord called up with a long tale of woe. He must break with Ted, who continues to shoplift and who isn't interested in Bart's new house - which he's going to buy in the Valley, to get "security". Of course, Bart is shallow [...] from one viewpoint. But the fact remains that only a St. Francis of Assisi could handle Ted. You'd have to sacrifice everything - maybe get yoorself arrested for shoplifting. Whereas Bart doesn't even want to give up listening to classical records, which Ted hates. And am I any different?