by request (and thanks to vinnie and yu)

[wytchcroft]

How to write a Diary:

It is a common belief, and false, that constructing a diary, that is to say writing, by which I mean – writing, is an awkward activity, an art form not for the timorous but only the bravely self regarding and unselfconscious.

This fallacy of the multitude needs to be put to bath – and swiftly, it is for this reason that I have gladly accepted the request to provide some common sense advice to approaching the task. I am sure that the attentive reader will find these guidelines useful and, after rehearsing them at leisure, that they will therefore discover a new ease and pride in their own creation, and that the act of authoring a diary will become nothing less than that, by which I mean, an act of authoring, by which I mean writing.

Leaving aside the rules of grammar and syntax, this is not a seminar in the use of the English language, (so you can take that look off your face, yes you in the back row… put the girl down Miles, thank you! ) rather the aim is to gather together disparate notions, those more rarefied ideas of content and structure.

Let us start at the beginning. You have awoken, in what state of repair? And where? These questions are deeper than they first appear – and part of the inalienable human condition, after all we all wake up somewhere don’t we? Well, unless we don’t. But back to the case in hand, you have arisen then –already a multiplicity of existential choices face you in your day, and all of these can be noted down and presented in an interesting manner.

For example, I notice that today you have chosen your green beard, does such a colour have definitive significance for you - why not elucidate? Does it remind of you something? The green of the Sea, your mother’s eyes, the thick slurp of absinthe or chartreuse in a glass? Is it merely that your other beards are being laundered at the present time? And. If so, how is that laundry service? Would you recommend the beard steaming establishment – or perhaps you have reason to grouse, a bone to pick? We are consumers as well as readers and it is always good to know the address of a good beard steamer.

Having chosen the beard and proceeded to breakfast what other delights may now be described? Your victuals, certainly, and those of your pets, why not? Many readers like to compare notes on the best feeding and treatment methods for their domesticated animals. Some readers may be comparative novices, new to the arts of animal husbandry (a phrase that conjures some delightful imaginings I’m sure! But if so, please contact me directly and I can assure you of a kindly ear, and confidential, from a good friend of mine in Harley Street) and therefore unsure of the method? It is always a little disconcerting feeding bits of postmen to one’s pets for the first time – so your readers will appreciate your efforts to note them down.

Having done all the above – and how much we have covered already eh? We can proceed to the heart of the matter, the events of your day. Perhaps you are to go shopping, yes, a new dress to match the beard or to obtain a playmate for the piranhas, a new pipe, anything is possible, and, (as I have already stated), your readers will appreciate the details.

Moving on – I think we can do better by example, therefore:

My diary – an excerpt – by me.

Awoke early, as usual, in the comfort of bed and with the best of company, by which I mean my own. Cheerfully I rang for the servants and obtained a good sheep’s beard for the warming of the chin, something I consider absolutely essential before breaking the fast.

As Bingo and Scruff set about preparing my repast, a typically heroic dosage of Sugar Puffs, I took some time in exercising my muscles according to the VanSprengheim method; this rare and rather wonderful techniques employs the use of several cub scouts who are willing to run one’s muscles about town for a few bob. And I must say, the little troop from St Giles’s have done me proud – no repeat of that dreadful Margate incident last year when I discovered, to my horror, that a mix-up had occurred and I was forced to spend an entire (and humiliating) morning wearing the muscles of an unsuspecting driver of the 192 Bus. Took ages to track the fellow down and return them, makes me bilious just to recall the affair.

After my exercise and breakfast it was on to work.

Now diary, you know I cannot divulge fully the nature of my employment, suffice to note; it was a good day at the Ministry and my experiments with sandwiches, whiskey and vintage magazines are showing definite promise, so much so that I was able to give myself the afternoon off.

The high point of the day was therefore a gleeful ensconcement at the local cinema where I was thoroughly entertained by a rather modish new French film full of the latest R’n’B sounds (apparently) and titled Mo’ Ped a Blues. Rather a bright young cast I thought.

On the way home I stopped off to buy a new hat to go with the sheep’s beard and my mother of pearl cravat.

Shortly after reaching ma maison I found myself in the garden and embroiled in an all too familiar argument with Scruff. The blighter will insist on mispronouncing privet as prevert. I ask you! Prevert! It’s not even a word! Oh the embarrassment of many a summer recreation on the lawns as some benign guest or other, enquiring as to my temporary absence, is met by Scruff’s doleful response, “popped in for more scones and lemonade he has, said he’d meet you by the prevert later.” Shocking really – I would sack the addled old cove but you can’t get staff so easily these days and imaginary friends don’t come cheap.

At a quarter past six we watched Heidi as she flew in. I have to say it’s remarkable, you can set your clock by her – how such a low orbit can be sustained is beyond me (though not beyond my hamster, it was indeed Lockheed that sent her up there in the first place). Always something of a liability as a domestic, she seems much happier now, always waving behind the little windows.

The evening was spent in the company of Sir Anthony Leopardius – whose dark reputation as an oculist is entirely short-sighted on the part of those tabloid hacks aiming to defame him. It was an intense session at the Ouija board (during which my late Aunt Agatha confirmed that an almost superhuman ability at sleeping does indeed run in the family) after which Leopardius recommended a new pair of bi-focal spectacles.

There, easy as 1, 2, 3!

And I could go on – but, alas, the next step, the most painful and difficult one I’m afraid, is yours. It is now time for you to try a first tentative step and provide your own examples following on from my, admittedly advanced, preamble, by which I mean writing.