Diary

MacDuff, laid off in the Hamlets

THIS is a little embarrassing. Tower Hamlets, the local authority representing one of the poorest areas of east London, is keen to get friendly with the Government, put the case for revitalising the Docklands and so on. And thus the council was yesterday on the point of tying up a deal with Ian Greer Associates, the parliamentary lobbyists well versed in currying favour with the Conservatives (Mr Greer, you'll remember, recently stumped up the cash to publish John Major's campaign speeches). One of the Ian Greer men busy pitching for the Tower Hamlets work was one Robbie MacDuff, a former resident of Tower Hamlets, whose name, regrettably enough, is well known in the council's poll tax collection office. The latter has even had to go to court to try to persuade MacDuff to pay the charge (a snip at pounds 147 in 1991-92). Amused, we asked Tower Hamlets for its view of this lapse - and the council rather over-reacted. In fact, IGA was told yesterday afternoon its services won't be required after all. 'We take non-collection of the poll tax very seriously indeed,' says a spokesman. 'And in the circumstances the council is now of the view that it would not be appropriate to appoint IGA to undertake this work. Had this matter been disclosed earlier, then a regrettable and considerable amount of everyone's time would not have been wasted.' Ooops. Neither MacDuff nor anyone else at Ian Greer was, sadly, available to accept our apologies last night.

AT Christie's yesterday a Swedish pornography collector paid pounds 3,300 for an early 19th-century condom, eight inches long and made of sheepskin. The condom, the first ever auctioned, bears an illustration of a nun lifting her skirts and pointing to an erect bishop, declaring 'voila mon choix': despite this, according to Christie's Patrick Grant, the condom was 'not that popular in its day. It prevented pregnancy but was so insensitive that men preferred to risk disease rather than wear it. Not unlike today, you could say.'

Cooper scoop

OUR columnist Danny Danziger's interview with Jilly Cooper about the man who was her 'Best of Times' when she was 21 ('Our love is like a rainbow arched in shuddering orgasm across the sky', ran a Cooper poem of the time) has caused all sorts of stir - yesterday the Daily Mail devoted the whole of page three to Jilly's first love. Jilly was discreet with Danziger, but the Mail named the man as one George Humphreys, a show biz type who once sang with Val Doonican. It turns out that it was Jilly Cooper's grumpy husband, Leo, who slipped the Mail Humphreys's name - an indiscreet move, but understandable. Two years ago it was Jilly who surprised her husband, by writing in great detail about an affair of Leo's in the Guardian. The Guardian is probably not Leo's paper of choice. But neither is this one: 'No one in their right mind buys the Independent,' he grumped, 'let alone reads it.'

The murder of 17-year-old Lynne Rogers was described in court on Wednesday by Robert Seabrook QC as 'a sexually motivated attack that went horribly wrong'. When, you wonder, does such a thing go right?

Sniffy Scot

THE engaging Tory MP for Perth and Kinross, Sir Nicholas Fairbairn, talks of 'life and love' in this week's Spectator: 'I am delighted to have more of them (women) in the House of Commons, but they certainly do not give me feelings of femininity - and by that I don't mean 'beddable'. They lack fragrance on the whole . . . Why has womankind given up the exaltation of herself - that attempt to attract, to adorn, to glint? They all look as though they are from the 5th Kiev Stalinist machine gun parade.' With the exception, he adds creepily, of Betty Boothroyd (who just happens to be the Speaker). As for Edwina Currie, 'the only person who smells her fragrance is herself. I can't stand the hag.' (This from a man famous for fancying Margaret Thatcher.) Tony Banks, Labour MP for Newham North-west, comments: 'I have always been amazed that any woman would find Nicholas Fairbairn remotely attractive.

I think I would rather sleep with a yak . . . if I were a woman, that is.'

A DAY LIKE THIS

3 July 1781 The Hon John Byng writes of his travels through the Midlands: 'The way from Bromsgrove to Hagley would be pleasant but from the badness of the road, which is sand mixed with large pebbles, and worse than most seashores. I was disappointed with Hagley. Hagley is deficient of water and gravel, two great charms. I believe that Lord Lyttelton had more genius for poetry (and that not very great) than for improving a country seat. The house is ill-situated and ill-looking, and is entered by a flight of steps, inconvenient and unsafe in summer and winter. In Hagley village are some neat houses, all copying the greater example; for wherever a man or garden of taste is established, there are always around them some imitative warts.'