In a letter in London's left-wing weekly Tribune, Angry Young Playwright John (The Entertainer) Osborne, 31. showered spleen over his fellow countrymen. Zeroing in on Britain's political leaders from a refuge in southern France. Osborne denounced them as ''murderers" for refusing to dismantle all British nuclear weapons forthwith: "My hatred for you," he wrote, "is almost the only satisfaction you have left me. My favorite fantasy is four minutes or so of noncommercial viewing as you fry in your democratically elected hot seats, preferably with your condoning constituents. I would willingly watch you all die for the West, if only I could keep my minuscule portion of it ... Till then, damn you. England."

In Guatemala, where philandering approaches the status of a national sport, the present chief of state, President Miguel Ydigoras Fuentes, 65, is a defiant monogamist of 38 years' standing. Last week, after long tolerating the irailties of his colleagues, the marital maverick finally shot off a thunderbolt to the Ministry of Interior. "Public rumors supported by evidence," he wrote, "show that many functionaries and government officials not only have mistresses but are seen in public with them, displaying disrespect toward their homes.'' The snapper to President Ydigoras' attempt to achieve fidelity by fiat: "Since it is unlikely that a functionary earns enough money to maintain two homes, it is urgent, in cases where proof is evident, that these officials be fired."

Flying home to Chicago to receive the Czechoslovak National Council of America's Masaryk Award for "inspired leadership in the cause of freedom," Illinois' snow-topped Senator Paul H. Douglas, 69, conclusively proved that a lifelong devotion to the "dismal science" of economics need not make a man as stuffy as a Cook County ballot box. Extending a glad hand and a twinkly toe to a comely procession of native-costumed constituents, the old Marine hero determinedly fought his way through the intricate steps of a beseda.

Unsettled by Pope John XXIII's recent encyclical Mater et Magistra, William F. Buckley Jr.'s National Review turned a cold eye on the problems of God and man at the Vatican. After dismissing the encyclical as ''a venture in triviality" in one issue, the magazine returned to the attack with the revelation that "conservative Catholic circles"--of which Editor Buckley, 35, is the razor-tongued wunder-kind--were muttering "Mater si, Magistra no." At that, the Jesuit weekly America jumped into the fray, proclaiming that the National Review "owes its Catholic readers and journalistic allies an apology." Unapologetically, Career Iconoclast Buckley brushed off the protest with one word: "Impudent."

Shaking down as Boston's new civil defense director was Charles W. Sweeney, 41. well-heeled leather manufacturer and a brigadier general in the Air Force Reserve. Previous experience: piloting the B-29 that flew as wing plane on the first atomic strike over Hiroshima and of the one that three days later dropped the even more lethal Nagasaki bomb.

In a London TV studio, Enceinte Terrible Eartha Kitt, 33. slunk before the cameras in a gown considerably more billowy than her wonted tattoo-tight attire, but not billowy enough to conceal her six-month condition. Called upon to mount a stool for one of her numbers, the sultry South Carolina songstress found it a struggle, outraged Britain's myriad Mrs. Grundys (and snarled network telephone switchboards with carping calls) by chuckling: "Okay, Junior, this is the last engagement."

After 49 years in Congress, Senate President pro Tempore Carl Hayden, 83, now stands third in line of succession to the White House (after Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson and House Speaker Sam Rayburn). Last week the Arizona Democrat won an even more impressive title: first lady-pleaser of the land. Hayden's credentials, as proclaimed by a bouquet-bearing delegation from the League of Women Voters: he is the only incumbent Congressman to have voted for the 19th Amendment, which ushered in female suffrage in the U.S.

In one of the year's most clandestine airlifts, a White House craft early this month furtively shuttled from Hamtramck, Mich., to Hyannisport, Mass. Aboard was Hamtramck's Director of Tennis Jean Raymond Hoxie, fiftyish, a leathery blonde Barnard graduate whose singleminded enthusiasm has converted the tough, working-class Detroit district into a fertile Forest Hills farm club. Summoned to the weekend White House to give a tennis lesson to Jacqueline Kennedy. Mrs. Hoxie brusquely chivied Secret Service men into action ("What are all of you just lounging around for? Pick up a racket and start hitting some balls") but reserved her most pungent orders for the First Lady. Barked Teacher Hoxie to Pupil Kennedy: "Keep your hair out of your eyes and your eyes on the ball."

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