1990 - Winter
Since I took up residence in the United States, so many kind people, some of them total strangers, have sent me gifts and greetings that I have come to feel acutely the lack of some easy means of expressing my gratitude to everyone in the world. Now, at last, it is to hand.
Merry Christmas, everybody!
Being in hiding from Mr Claus, I have only attended one other public event: a party for my eighty-second birthday (billed as my eighty-first - to cheer me up?). It took place at El Morocco. Our hostess was the Countess Erme Klent-de-Boen, and she very graciously did the whole routine, standing by the door for about an hour to welcome each new arrival. I was deeply impressed.
Most of the week has been spent preparing for my forthcoming visit to Seattle. . . I shall go to the Alice B Theatre and try to say the words the Washingtonians wish to hear. . . In Seattle the management suggested that I should start by explaining myself in general and, in particular, the mystery of my so-belated decision to leave England and settle - if I can call my life here settled - in America. What seemed to amuse audiences at the Alice B Theatre most was my description of the difference between life in Manhattan and what passes for life in London.
Last week, a Mr Acosta, . . embraced me in the street, and whisked me away to a house of indescribable splendour on East 80th Street. . . he showed me extracts from yet another picture that may be categorized as unabashed festival material. If features Mr John Hurt as a bag lady heading a cast consisting entirely of cats, . . these creatures represent rather than act the story of Romeo and Juliet, . . It is Mr Acosta's wish that I should speak a few phrases uttered by a character called Balthasar.
Exactly one week after an extraordinary auction at the Cooper Union, in which two seats to hear the nonsense that I talk were sold to the highest bidder, I went to the New York Public Library to fulfil my half of the bargain. I didn't do well, but American audiences are too indulgent to protest. The best part of the evening began when the performance was over. Then the organizers of the evening took the winners of the auction lot and me to a small but delightful restaurant called Tout Va Bien. . . There we ate and drank and talked for hours without the management appearing to grow restless.
Merry Christmas, everybody!
Being in hiding from Mr Claus, I have only attended one other public event: a party for my eighty-second birthday (billed as my eighty-first - to cheer me up?). It took place at El Morocco. Our hostess was the Countess Erme Klent-de-Boen, and she very graciously did the whole routine, standing by the door for about an hour to welcome each new arrival. I was deeply impressed.
Most of the week has been spent preparing for my forthcoming visit to Seattle. . . I shall go to the Alice B Theatre and try to say the words the Washingtonians wish to hear. . . In Seattle the management suggested that I should start by explaining myself in general and, in particular, the mystery of my so-belated decision to leave England and settle - if I can call my life here settled - in America. What seemed to amuse audiences at the Alice B Theatre most was my description of the difference between life in Manhattan and what passes for life in London.
Last week, a Mr Acosta, . . embraced me in the street, and whisked me away to a house of indescribable splendour on East 80th Street. . . he showed me extracts from yet another picture that may be categorized as unabashed festival material. If features Mr John Hurt as a bag lady heading a cast consisting entirely of cats, . . these creatures represent rather than act the story of Romeo and Juliet, . . It is Mr Acosta's wish that I should speak a few phrases uttered by a character called Balthasar.
Exactly one week after an extraordinary auction at the Cooper Union, in which two seats to hear the nonsense that I talk were sold to the highest bidder, I went to the New York Public Library to fulfil my half of the bargain. I didn't do well, but American audiences are too indulgent to protest. The best part of the evening began when the performance was over. Then the organizers of the evening took the winners of the auction lot and me to a small but delightful restaurant called Tout Va Bien. . . There we ate and drank and talked for hours without the management appearing to grow restless.