So the matinee at the Colidrome is to come off. The _piece de resistance_ will, of course, be Juno Farrington and Tricky Sal. Then the Dunstables' two girls, Franky and Freckles, have promised a sparring match if their mother doesn't get to hear of it down at Dunstable Castle (they're going out with their aunt this season). Beryl and Babs will wrestle. And they want me to give a show with the Indian clubs (no one does them quite as I do, but I'm not a bit vain about it). Every seat is sold already! I believe people never had such a horror of bores and banality as they have now--owing chiefly to the influence of our Anti-Banalite Club. Silent dinners, at which one communicates only by wireless, are a good deal done and are quite nice and restful, the general atmosphere (if someone tainted with banalism seems inclined to speak) being, "I know what you're going to say. Please--please--_please_ don't say it!" On a little dinner of this kind at Bosh and Wee-Wee's last week there descended a terrible man, a far-away cousin of Wee-Wee's, who hardly ever leaves his _terres_ in some remote part of the country--the sort of creature, you know, dearest, who always has a colour and a smile and an appetite and who writes to the papers to say he's seen a bush growing upside down or has heard the cuckoo singing in the night or has plucked and eaten something in his garden in December! He began by _mentioning the weather_! People quite jumped in their chairs, and Popsy, Lady Ramsgate, gave a little scream. He followed this up by saying _town seemed full_; and then, _a propos_ of having run up against a college friend in town, informed us that _the world was a small place after all_! When this last enormity was let loose upon us Norty said solemnly, "Where's the nearest point policeman?" And, instead of taking the hint, the creature began to hold forth about "that fine body of men, the London police!" Wee-Wee was in sackcloth and ashes about it afterwards. She says that sort of thing is in his family. I had a serious talk with Norty about the Irish problem yesterday, and he tells me there's a whisper in the Lobbies that _certain persons_ have already sold the kinema rights of the first Irish Parliament to a film company for a _colossal_ sum and, as the money is spent and the company is _incessantly_ jogging them to deliver the goods, they're bound to put the thing through! It's said that someone asked a Member of the Government point-blank whether there was any truth in the rumour, and was told, "The answer is in the negative-affirmative, Sir!" Ever thine, Blanche. * * * * * DISCLAIMERS. [Sir Alfred Mond states that there is absolutely no foundation for the announcement made in some newspapers that a peerage is to be conferred upon him and that his name is to be included in the list of this year's birthday honours.--_Daily Chronicle._]