Chapter 66
Ludo
They got Peter Wildeblood. The “honourable” beak gave him a year and Montagu and Pitt-Rivers eighteen months each for buggery.
This arcane legislation must be wiped from the statute books.
I’ve written to Peter saying he should campaign, upon release, for the decriminalisation of homosexuality, and offering to give him every support I can.
I’ve no idea which prison to post it to, but I shall send it first class so that at least whoever reads the mail before they give it to the convicts knows the calibre of the pansies they’re up against.
Have just seen “Twang!!” Possibly the worst production ever to disgrace the West End.
Writer apparently strung out on LSD throughout rehearsals.
Director quit before opening night. Songs bore no relationship to the script.
Musical director collapsed at interval and didn’t come back.
House lights kept going up and down throughout the show.
Could hear the cast and crew arguing backstage.
Take every copy of the script, put them in a hessian sack, weigh it down with two bricks, and fling it into the Thames!
We lost Freddie Mercury today. Just a day after his statement to the press confirming that he had tested HIV-positive and had AIDS.
He said he had wanted everyone to know the truth, that he hoped everyone would join him, the doctors, and the gay community in the fight against this terrible disease.
The world has lost a musical legend. When I think of his bravery, I cry.
He spoke for all of us. His hopes are my hopes. Vale, Freddie.
Visited Michael in the hospital today. Sat with him for four hours until the nurses turfed me out.
He’s in and out of consciousness and angers quickly when he’s awake.
No sign of improvement. Put in a good word for him, will you please, Freddie.
He’s a good man. He needs friends in high places right now.
One minute I was laughing, the next I was in floods of tears. There was enough here for a dozen books. I felt a pang of regret that Uncle Ben had never written a memoir of his remarkable life. It would have been a bestseller. I wondered why he never had.
My phone chimed with a notification. Mummy.
It was eight o’clock, and she, Father, and Jonty were waiting around the corner at Le Gavroche.
She wanted to know if I was still coming or whether they should order.
I was just about to leave to join them when a thought struck me.
I dug through the box and found one last diary, flicking through to the correct date.
28 August 1998
Welcome to the world, Ludovic Benjamin Barker-Boche.
Your Uncle Ben already loves you very much.
I held you in my arms today, fresh from the oven.
A burbling mass of pudgy flesh, whisps of black hair caked to your head, and the bluest eyes God has ever seen fit to bless upon a little boy.
You gripped my finger with your tiny hand and spoke directly to my heart.
I am honoured that your wonderful parents, just children themselves, to my mind—whip smart but still feckless—asked me to be your godfather.
A thousand times yes, my dear little soul.
I promise you this, Ludovic: every day for the rest of my life—which may not be long, I grant you, with the booze and smokes and bacchanalia—will be dedicated to making sure you want for nothing, so that your life may be even more blessed than mine.
And my life has been truly blessed. May you know good health and happiness.
May you know success. May you know love, dear boy.
May you have the wisdom to see how rare true love is, the good judgement to recognise it when you find it, and the sense to hold on to it for dear life—and to fight for it when it’s slipping through your fingers.
And may you know this: You can always rely on your Uncle Ben—whether you need a warm heart, a firm shoulder, or a wise head.
I cannot wait to watch you grow up. My heart is full today—truly full—for the first time since we lost Michael.
I caught sight of myself in the wardrobe mirror.
I was a blubbing mess. I washed my face, turned off the lights, and pulled the front door shut behind me.
As I cut through Hyde Park to get to the restaurant, I knew one day I would use those diaries to write the story of Uncle Ben’s life, so everyone would know just how amazing he was, and how fully he lived.