Max pulls a master stoke

Old Max Clifford is worth every fucking penny. He's fixed it so that the 'Richard and Judy' show comes and films here at Phuckwhitt tomorrow and Sunday. They will do a little 'Weekend in the Country' piece, which will be broadcast this coming Monday, 6th September, during the Richard and Judy show, which starts at 5pm. This will show the world that Leslie is just a perfectly normal widowered baronet in his mid-seventies, who is never happier than when pottering about in his library, working on his life's project, a translation of Hegel's 'Phenomenology of the Spirit' into Welsh. What could be more normal, for such a figure, than to take an annual reading pary to Tunis? This keeps the press off our backs for a few days; more importantly, it takes the focus away from Peter somewhat. If the faeces does get sucked into the air-conditioning, then people would have seen that Leslie and his household could not be more conventional, and things like that have been known to sway juries. Max has gone back to London, the phone has fallen silent, and Leslie and I have just enjoyed a dinner of cream of asparagus soup, cod baked in a cheese sauce, and cold apple tart, cooked for us by Mrs Evans. Now we're working our way down a bottle of the '73.
It's the calm before the storm.