Alan Bennett

For a national treasure, Alan Bennett (at 80) is unafraid to say brave things. His recent lecture in Cambridge (now published in the London Review of Books) contains a claim that "One only has to stand still to become a radical." This, in the light of the fact that "there has been so little that has happened to England since the 1980s that I have been happy about or felt able to endorse."

And he goes further, comparing the dismantling - as he sees it - of the welfare state with the Dissolution of the Monasteries, "with profit taking precedence over any other consideration, and the perpetrators today as locked into their ideology and convinced of their own rightness as any of the devout louts who, four or five hundred years ago, stove in the windows and scratched out the faces of the saints as a passport to heaven."

Private education, he said, is "not Christian either. Souls, after all, are equal in the sight of God." I wonder what he would make of Stowell Park, a hymn to inequality. Four of us walked through this morning.

The Habit of Smart (phone users)

Five old friends came to lunch yesterday, and we talked about death, illness and travel, as one does. Caroline's bread and butter pudding was a triumph. I'm stuck for a segue to the scaffolders' visit today, to complete their spider's web, now surrounding most of the house at prodigious expense. And to the next item also.

"The Habit of Art" by Alan Bennett was relayed live from the National Theatre to cinemas three years ago, but I guess we were away. So we took the opportunity to view the recording they showed at Cineworld last night, part of the 50th birthday celebrations.

What a great play! And how did Bennett get the initial idea? Better than any Pirandello. There was one snag: Auden or Britten being strangers to me, I was perfectly happy to see them played by non-lookalikes; but it was different with Humphrey Carpenter, whom I had known quite well from his period directing our literary festival. Adrian Scarborough is nothing like him. This however was only a minor blip to set against some excellent acting, especially from Frances de la Tour.

Another snag arose in the form of a neighbour with her smartphone screen lit up. My request that it be turned off elicited a fusilade of invective, which was renewed in the interval. Yes, OK. I suppose I should be more tolerant in this day and age, but...

Live from the Oluvvier

50th birthdays undeniably deserve to be celebrated properly, and last night's 150-minute live relay on BBC2 served as a very proper big birthday bash for the Royal National Theatre.

Most of those still alive who have, over the half century, given greatest service upon the RNT stages were there: many of the famous dead (Olivier, Gielgud, Richardson R., Scofield) were brought back to life through film clips. As the evening galloped along, Caroline and I watched enthralled. Undoubtedly some gobbits worked better than others: the two Stoppard extracts fell flat, compared with a sublimely funny and moving scene from Angels in America, for instance. But it was the French lesson from The History Boys, with its creator Alan Bennett as Hector (a role he never played on stage, so far as I know) that stole the show.

Proper, improper? The good old BBC prefaced its broadcast with a foul language warning: more appropriate would be a foul (fowl?) behaviour warning for Miley Cyrus's recent award ceremony cavorting - but what a great David Attenborough twerk tweak! Unwittingly, old Attenborough, prophetically commenting upon our sad times, may have found himself a new, young audience.

Three of our apple trees must be 50 years old or more: they have fruited this year as if it's a jubilee. I'm off out to climb the ladder and pick more, before the winds blow them all down. This one was photographed at Schofields.