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1st June 2011

I was saddened to read recently of the death of Michael Onslow, 7th Earl of Onslow,
Baron of this, Viscount of that, Baronet of something else. He and I went to the same
school - though at different times. I'm more of the Cameron-Johsnton generation. Indeed
Boris used to f ag for me (please don't make any Pergrine Worsthorne/ George Melly allusions
- f ag has an entirely different meaning in good English schools). When we went up to Oxford
it was me proposed him for the Bullingdon. Of course, this exclusive club allows networking
of the very best type and I daresay that my current high position owes more than a little to
the people I met at bunfights in Oxford.

Anyway, Boris was on the old dog and bone (see note below) last night. His tone was excitable
to say the least - not his usual sang-froid at all. "I've got an 'oss", he says, and then all
sotto voce, "You won't tell anyone will you?" I assured him that he would have plenty of time
to get his measly bet on before I passed the information to anyone, so here it is:

Beckermet in the 1.40 at Nottingham. Should be good to overcome his penalty and win two on the
trot. Proven on turf. Fit. Enjoying the best form of his life.

When I joined the SAS I had no desire to be a "Rupert", so I went in as a trooper
having learnt to flatten my vowels and give it a bit of the old, "What's happening
Guvnor, don't phuck with me, know wha' I mean? Put yer 'ands on yer 'ead unless you
fancy arguing with Mr Heckler or Mr K0ch you scumbag". I also took a crash course, so to speak,
in cockney rhyming slang.
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