Around noon Henry Fonda appeared at my door dressed as a minstrel. Still in my pyjamas, I ushered Henry into my hotel room, offered him a glass of sherry and enquired as to why he was sporting such an elaborate costume. He informed me that he had recently ingested a large quantity of a substance called Lysergic acid diethylamide and could he trouble me for a glass of cold water and a suitcase filled with lemons.
I had a rather fine meat pie for supper and two helpings of bread and butter pudding.
My movie is almost finished but I am yet to decide on a title. My current favourites are as follows:
The William Randolph Hearst Story
The Randy Hearst Story
& Sleepless in Seattle
I’ve just ordered the beef stroganoff and the cook recommended the trifle for dessert.
Rita said that my sexual performance is hindered when I consume Sherry so I’ve decided to switch to Brandy. She also demanded that I refrain from quoting Chekov during congress and suggested that some choice passages from Lady Chatterley’s Lover would be more appropriate. When I informed her that I would never stoop so low as to utter a single word written by that talentless hack D.H Lawrence, she became upset and said she was going to stay at her mother’s for a few days.
The salmon was a little dry so I had to be over generous with the dill but the profiteroles were majestic.
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