Other diarists adopt a more formal pose. For the Standard's man a singer is a warbler, Prince Harry is a young shaver, and a book is a tome. People in the Telegraph's Peterborough column may deem rather than think, while in neither column do people say much. Instead they confide, whisper, sigh, or when upset, growl. Where have we seen this sort of thing before? Where else if not in Sapper's Bulldog Drummond, that classic of 1920?
We're back in the days of shilling fiction. It all helps to give the doings of our celebs a romantic tinge, make them nearer the "fair women and brave men" of the poem. It's not easy to sustain while making it clear that all the time you're in the swim. William Hickey of the Express, who calls cigarettes gaspers and uses words like erstwhile, knows it's modish to call one's lover one's squeeze.
He recently attempted the best of both worlds by calling singer Maggie Moon "James Hewitt's erstwhile squeeze", but somehow it didn't quite work.