Wednesday 9 June

Then I got the flue, last Saturday; sat shivering at Lords, in the hot sunshine; so have seen no one, except 
basement dwellers, & put off Don Giovanni, Dadie & Hope tonight, & Osbert [Sitwell]'s dinner tomorrow. All
my bubbling up faculty at once leaves me. I grind out a little of that eternal How to read, lecture, as the Yale
Review has bought it, & cannot conceive what The Lighthouse is all about. I hope to whip my brains up either at
Vita's or Rodmell this weekend.

Yes, Rodmell is a perfect triumph, I consider—but L. advises me not to say so. In particular, our large 
combined drawing eating room, with its 5 windows, its beams down the middle, & flowers & leaves nodding
in all round us. The bath boils quickly; the water closets gush & surge (not quite sufficiently though). The 
weather again failed us, & we had a queer journey home, via Newhaven, Peacehaven & Brighton. Trains slow 
& scarce. The Strike, I should say, continues. We then went to a party at Edith Sitwell's (I in my new dress) 'to 
meet Miss Stein', a lady much like John Fry, but more massive; in blue-sprinkled brocade, rather formidable. 
There was Morgan, Siegfried [Sassoon], Todd—to whom I proposed, wildly, fantastically, a book—which she 
accepts!—(& Viola so much criticised in the austere heights of Ham Spray) & Edith distraught; & cherries in 
handfulls, & barley water—as L. described it very brilliantly to Sybil the next day. She came: no one else; we sat 
& laughed—& wheres the harm in this stupidish, kindly, rather amusing woman, I asked? Then she expressed a 
wish to dine with us. L. is lunching with Wells today.

Leonard back from Wells who chattered till 1/4 to 4: likes to walk through the streets; has a house in 
France kept for him by a very intelligent Brazilian lady. Called me "too intelligent—a bad thing": can't criticise; 
brings in social theories, because he says in an age when society is dissolving, the social state is part of the 
character. They lunched at Boulesteins. Leonard asked for him at the Automobile Club; "A very famous name" 
said the man. And the warmth & clamour of Wells' fame seems to reach me, this chilly rainy evening; & I see 
how, if I stayed there, as he asks us, he would overwhelm me. (We are very hungry, by the way; Nelly is 
preparing a nice roast chicken & ices for dinner, which I shall enjoy. Then we shall play the Gramophone). I'm 
cheering up after my attack I'm glad to say, though a little undecided whether to stay with Vita or go to Monks 

L. is going to make a book of his essays. I think of asking Lady Horner to write her memoirs. Today we 
discussed the date of Nelly's holiday—& so we go on.