Like the Curzon sisters, Chips Channon was both a truly fascinating and truly horrible man. He was unforgiveably rude to servants (always a bad sign). One cannot decide whether he married his Guinness wife because he loved a) her, b) her money, or c) her social connections, but probably a lot more of b and c than a. Whatever kind of bisexual, cad, and/or prototypical social-climber he was, Chips Channon was one of the three unquestionably great diarists of the 20th century (the other two being the unequalled James Lees-Milne and the runner-up Alan Clark). Chips' diaries are acutely perceptive, witty, biting (esp his earlier entries re Winston C), snobbish in excelsis, self-involved to the point of absurdity, and utterly, utterly fascinating. One wonders whether he had a great degree of self-knowledge (unlike Lees-Milne or Clark), though. His commentary on the great people, places, and events he experienced is entrancing, and his descriptions are often sublime. It is said that his son Paul Channon is reluctant to allow an expanded version of Chips' diaries because of the quite well-deserved scandal they would engender. Since Paul's political career is over, he ought to add a few more pounds to his bank balance and put all two million words of his father's diaries into print. They would be a sensation, and a guaranteed huge seller. As it is, even the "edited" bowlderized version we now have is one of the great English diaries of all time - and written by an American! Imagine!