Monday

Snow falls upon Rutland in fat flakes, carol singers with lanterns progress from door to door and a poor man has just come in sight (he appears to be gath’ring winter fu-u-el). How happy I am to be home!

You see, a few weeks ago I decided to recharge the batteries by treating myself to a winter cruise to the Canaries. All went well – indeed I was in a deckchair sipping a G and T – until the identity of our lecturer was announced: “Mr Limpet Opec will speak on ‘Westminster: It’s a Funny Old World!’” Limpet Opec? I knew who the fellow meant at once. I did go along to his talk with my hat pulled well down, in the hope that Öpik had brought those jolly Cheeky Girls along, but it turned out not to be the case. When his talk turned to “Why I was right to claim those wigs on expenses” I could stand no more. Taking with me only a cabin boy to eat in case of emergency (as is, I believe, conventional), I took to a lifeboat and cast myself adrift.

Tuesday

By a great stroke of luck, I spied land after only a few hours at sea. By an even greater stroke of luck, it turned out to be the By-election Islands – discovered and named by my very own great great grandfather. (He made landfall at a time when the natives were involved in a ceremony involving a box with a slot in the top and pieces of bark marked using an X by burnt sticks, and put two and two together). The British Consul turned out to be a decent sort and I soon find myself returning home on a flying boat via Gibraltar, La Rochelle and Staines Reservoir.

Christmas Eve

Walking on the frost-rimed grass this morning, I reflect on the folly that has led to this tiresome “credit crunch”. Money was lent without security to finance what in many cases were no more than vanity projects – anyone who has visited Dubai will know what I am talking about. Fortunately the Bank of Rutland commissioned the necessary research and concluded that, although Abu Dhabi has a lot of wealth from oil and Dubai has a similar name to Abu Dhabi, Dubai itself has no oil.

Later I call in at the Estate Office with some of Cook’s mince pies to discuss progress with my plans for the Bonkers Tower and an island on Rutland Water in the shape of John Stuart Mill’s profile. Later still, I let myself down the chimney at the Home for Well-Behaved Orphans to deliver their presents and enjoy a splendid amontillado.

Christmas Day

I look around my table at the guests assembled for lunch at the Hall – Paddy Ashplant, Menzies Campbell and the formidable Elspeth, the Reverend Hughes, Knuckles Oakeshott, Hazel Grove (such a brave choice of dress in this cold weather!), Bob Russell (we miss his brother Conrad – though not the latter’s Big Band – on such occasions), Tavish Scott in his horned helmet, Susan J. Kramer (though not the Dakotas, who tend to eat rather a lot), some amusing young people from the Liberator “collective”, PC Heath, Philip “Whoopi” Goldenberg and several of the Elves of Rockingham Forest (strictly speaking they were not invited, but I find it is best to keep on the right side of these fellows) – and reflect how lucky I am to have so many fine friends and colleagues.

Saturday

When I heard that Liberal Youth (as the Young Liberals insist upon calling themselves nowadays) were planning to hold a boot camp, I was more than happy to lend a hand. As I have long insisted, we shall not be able to build a society in which none shall be enslaved by poverty, ignorance or conformity without a bit of discipline. Thus it was that I turned up on the first day with the Regimental Sergeant Major of the Queen’s Own Rutland Highlanders – I happen to be their Colonel in Chief. He certainly wasted no time in licking them into shape: “I want to see my face in that ethically sourced jute Focus delivery bag, you ‘orrible little man” and so forth. The Young Liberals all seemed to enjoy themselves immensely and the day was voted a success by all. For the sake of completeness, I must add that I first tried to institute such a camp in the late 1960s and received rather short shrift (though they did later appreciate the training in guerrilla warfare that I provided here on the Bonkers Hall Estate).

Sunday

My diaries, as I am aware, enjoy a wide readership everywhere from the clerk’s desk to what that fine fast bowler John Snow termed “the corridors of power”. I must therefore ask all my readers to keep what follows under their hats lest in fall into the wrong hands. We are informed by the government that our troops must continue to occupy and be killed in Afghanistan because if we were to withdraw then al-Qaida would return to that country and reopen their terrorist training camps. However, a terrible thought hit me whilst I was in the bath this morning: what happens if al-Qaida hits upon the plan of Going Somewhere Else? I reflected, as I retrieved my loofah, that this would render our forces’ presence in Afghanistan otiose. We must hope that these al-Qaida fellows do not take many baths, because if they do our goose may be cooked. As I said, keep this under your hat.

Monday

We stand upon the verge of a new political year (informed sources tell me to expect a general election, probably on a Thursday in the first five months). I foresee that global warming will continue to be a major concern of the world’s parliamentarians – what a blessing it was that everyone got home from Copenhagen before the snow set in! Oh, and do not expect preparations for the London Olympics to be complete for at least another two years.

Nearer to home, my bell tower is in need of renovation and repair, but I assure you I shall not be seeking public monies to fund the work. My maze is also in need of some attention; I shall tell Meadowcroft to undertake a little replanting and shall ask the people at the Department of Hard Sums, University of Rutland at Belvoir, to simplify their design a little. Tongues wag in the village if too many people fail to emerge from the thing.

Lord Bonkers, who was Liberal MP for Rutland South-West 1906-10, opened his diary to Jonathan Calder