Olena Zelenska, Ukraine’s First Lady, is a remarkable woman. I listened to her in a packed meeting room in Westminster as she talked of repeated rape and sexual torture. This is what ‘liberation’ means in Russian. She spelled out how Vladimir Putin is using the desecration of women on an industrial scale. Women as old as 84 have been raped by his troops. Their youngest victim was just four. ‘We will not surrender,’ Madame Zelenska said, ‘but victory is not the only thing we need. We need justice.’ This demure, neat figure seemed so slight in the historic surroundings of Committee Room 14, yet her words beat down upon us. Women as defiant as Olena Zelenska will never forget or forgive. Even if Putin occupied every inch of Ukrainian territory, he could never achieve victory. The anger of Ukraine’s women is too great for that.

I’ve spent the week dining with political opponents. Chris Evans is a Welsh Labour MP, the sort of dinner companion who might make my chief whip squirm. But I bumped into him during the royal funeral preparations and found he has a gift not only for explaining his views with courtesy but also for listening. That makes him a rare political beast. He’s written two gripping books in the past couple of years on controversial sporting stars – the football manager Don Revie and the notorious heavyweight boxer Freddie Mills – and frankly I’m hoping Labour loses the next election simply so he can keep on writing. I also met David Willoughby de Broke. He’s a non-affiliated peer, formerly Ukip, and he knows his own mind – so much so that he refused to participate in a scheme dreamt up by the Lords authorities entitled ‘Valuing Everyone training’. The mind-numbing premise of this programme, which cost taxpayers £100,000 to inflict on us lordly dullards, is that if we are old, male, bibulous and lecherous, we shouldn’t take advantage of young assistants. Because David concluded this was box-ticking rubbish he declined to attend the course, with the result that the powers-that-be have banned him from many of the facilities, including the Peers’ Dining Room. So I took him there as my guest. A small act of defiance in a world losing any sense of proportion.

Dinner with some passionate Greeks during which we discussed the Elgin Marbles. They’re shown off in unforgivable dreariness in the British Museum and could be so much better displayed back in Greece where they came from – but while the Greeks say we stole them, we say we rightfully own them. It’s a classic standoff worthy of the siege of Troy. My friends and I think there may be an elegant solution. Create a well-funded Anglo-Hellenic foundation that will help share the Marbles with Greece, in return for which other Greek treasures would come here on a regular basis to be exhibited at the British Museum. The Foundation would also fund a large number of scholarships and exchanges for British and Greek students, underpinning one of the greatest of international friendships. Win-win, perhaps, and retsina all round if we can get the terms right. It might pave the way for similar deals elsewhere. Yes, I’m a dreamer, but I’m also a realist. Doubtless others will try to kick the idea to pieces. In which case, we’ll probably end up giving the Marbles back, and in return be given nothing but abuse.

About a year ago I caught a virus, possibly Covid, that laid waste to my inner ear, mashing my hearing and totally destroying my balance. Every step I take nowadays is an adventure, but twice a week I go to Matt, my personal trainer, who has pushed and pounded my body into coping. I’m now fitter than at any time since I was 20 – although a little while ago in the Lords chamber I staggered into the red benches and fell upon Ruth Davidson, who rescued me.

My wobble problems are one of the reasons I can’t get to Manchester this week to help with the gala dinner of the Graham Layton Trust. It’s a charity that treats blindness and helps repair eyes in Pakistan. It was set up by Layton, a senior British Army officer during the war who later made good money on the subcontinent and, in his own words, ‘wanted to give something back’. And how well he succeeded. This year we treated our 50 millionth patient. Graham Layton was an old-fashioned British officer with a thin moustache and unconquerable spirit who helped transform countless lives in one of the most turbulent parts of the world. Long after his death he continues to spread happiness and hope. Bloody brilliant.

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