When Denis Thatcher addressed Cambridge City Rugby Club some twenty years ago, and someone suggested to him that the game would become professional, he said, in typical Denis style, "Mark my words, it'll all end in tears".  At the time I dismissed his words as an old man, clinging onto the past.  I have a feeling if Denis were alive today, he would be saying I told you so.  CRUFC decided to go professional, or rather than simply paying expenses (as the Welsh would say, cash in the boot), they actually paid the players a salary, and indeed, two years ago, they reached the No.2 position in the 3rd division, and only just failed to go up to the 2nd.  Last week, the club made the momentous decision that it could no longer afford to pay the players.  Our £40,000 a year coach, and four of our best players had left by lunchtime the next day. 

Modern rugby players are understandably mercenaries, who must move to whoever will pay them what they're worth, and in some cases considerably more than they're worth.  So it was with some trepidation that I made my fortnightly trip to the City ground to watch us play bottom of the table Birmingham & Solihull, who have suffered the same sort of financial setbacks as we have in the past few years.  Result? 

What a privilege to join a private view of the Lucian Freud Portraits exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery yesterday, and to join  my colleagues from the House of Lords to see the David Hockney show at the Royal Academy this morning.  The Hockney is such a massive show, with so many vibrant pictures, that I had several favourites.  It is a visual delight, and well worth a visit.  One of the advantages of going away, is that there are so many things to catch up on when you're back....

Arrived back from Majorca yesterday, having spent seven weeks on the first draft of the new book.  I know it doesn't sound long, but it's almost 400 hours of work, and it's only the first draft.  I had to come back for several reasons, not least because Chelsea FC clearly need me as their manager, and England need someone who can bat at number 4 or 5. 

Lot's of things to catch up on - I must be the only person who hasn't seen The Artist yet - and there's about a dozen shows at the theatre I need to see.  But the main reason I'm back in the UK is for the launch of The Sins of the Father, volume two of The Clifton Chronicles, which will be published on March 15th.  So it's back on the treadmill of interviews and signings, which I always dread, but then end up enjoying.  And thank you all for so many emails and letters over the past few weeks.

This is my last blog for 2011 as I'm off to Cambridge for Christmas, before going on to Majorca to write book three (untitled) of The Clifton Chronicles.  Book two, The Sins of the Father has been completed, and will be published on March 15th, and by then I should have finished the first draft of the third volume.  On behalf of Mary and myself, thank you for your interest in my blog (1.46m readers a month), but as I am going into writing hibernation for the next six weeks, I'll only occasionally be able to bring you up to date.  Have a wonderful Christmas, and I hope you will all enjoy a successful and prosperous New Year.

On Friday, I completed the last auction of the year, in aid of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.  I haven't been in a more difficult room to conduct an auction in my life - the poor audience was divided in two, and had a wall between them, and no chance of knowing what was going on.  We ended up making only £12,000.  However, this morning my PA added up the figures from all the charity auctions for the year, and the amount came to £2,300,000, which is considerably higher than last year's total. 

Last night I attended Macmillan Cancer Support's carol concert at the Guard's Chapel, as the guest of Charlie Porter, one of the sponsors.  We enjoyed readings byDamien Lewis, Sheila Hancock, Derek Jacobi, Imogen Stubbs and Richard Wilson, along with solos by trumpeter Alison Balsom and cellist Natalie Clein - both magnificent. The singers - dare I call them just singers - were Toby Spence and Gerald Finley, plus the a capella ensemble VOCES8 who gave us a traditional rendering of Away in a Manger, and then had us all laughing with their version of Gershwin's I've Got Rhythm. The evening ended with the Band of the Scots Guards entertaining us until the last person had left the chapel.  What a wonderful evening.

One of the problems all charities face, is what to present to their audience as entertainment at their fundraising events, and how to pay for it.  No such problem last night, when I conducted the auction for the National Youth Ballet at Drapers' Hall - what a wonderful venue.  We were delighted by some exquisite dancing by the current students of the NYB, from little ducks aged 6, to 13 year old intermediaries doing the Charleston, and a magnificent duet by the company's Principals to end the evening.  Thanks to the generosity of the supporters during the auction (which raised £26,500), six new scholarships will be granted to young boys and girls next year.

It's the auction season - two last week, four more this week. Saturday night was one of my favourites, for Make-A-Wish, the charity that grants wishes to children with life-threatening illnesses.  Their annual Ball is tremendously well organised, and the ballroom at the Dorchester that normall holds 400 somehow squeezed in 430.  As auctioneer, I followed a cabaret by the cast of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, to face an already lively and noisy audience.  The auction raised £254,500, and among the lots were a trip to Vegas to stay at the Bellagio, a chance to be on stage in a performance of Jersey Boys in the West End, two tickets for the Opening Ceremony of the 2012 Olympics and an uncorrected proof manuscript of The Sins of the Father, volume two of The Clifton Chronicles, five months before publication.

Last night I spoke at a creative writing course.  I don't believe there is such a thing as creative writing - you're either a writer or a storyteller, possibly both - but the storytelling bit is God-given, the writing bit is damned hard work.  Nevertheless, I faced 15 people who'd signed up for the course, and found that some of them were already either half-way through writing a novel, or in one case, had completed 110,000 words.  Their questions were illuminating, not least because all 15 of them had day jobs, and could only write first thing in the morning, last thing at night or at the weekends.  This didn't seem to dampen their enthusiasm, even after I'd pointed out the cruel fact that for every 1,000 books that are sent to publishers, only one is published.

Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of sitting next to Professor Sir Magdi Yacoub, the legendary heart surgeon, now in his 75th year.  The occasion was the Chain of Hope charity's annual ball, held at the Natural History Museum, which was attended by over 400 people.  The affection and respect for Sir Magdi could not be missed.  Clearly there were many people in the room whose lives he'd saved.  One of the most touching stories he told me, was on arriving at London airport recently, a BA attendant in her early twenties, thanked him for saving her life.  "I don't remember operating on you," Magdi said.  "Neither do I," she replied, "but then I was only three at the time."  It must be wonderful to do something where you can see the results of your labours every day, which is why, he explained to me, he'll never stop working.  The law in this country doesn't allow you to operate over the age of 70, so Sir Magdi is now devoting himself to working in Africa and Egypt.  He added that he would go on operating until he could no longer find a country which would allow him to.  I had the privilege of conducting the auction, with Sir Magdi standing by my side.  These are difficult times, we are in recession, but that audience generously raised £600,000 so that he can carry on saving lives until he falls.