A person hardly expects the arrival of 460 Anglican clergymen to signal wholesale whoopee. But judging from the Lambeth '68 guidebook, printed to help the bishops when they met last week for their decennial conference in London, somebody expects the old boys to kick up their heels a bit. In the section on where to eat, the Barque and Bite was highly recommended because "you get a sherry on the house while you study the menu." Chez Solange came out as "very, very French" with "ludicrously large helpings, noisy French neighbors and good carafe wine." L'Etoile was billed as "one of the most expensive," but the guide suggested that the bishops "get someone to take you." A few episcopal frowns, of course, were directed at the whole idea. Said the Rt. Rev. Oliver S. Tomkins, 60, Bishop of Bristol: "If there are some visiting bishops who can afford to turn their spare time into such an expensive spree, they could have been left to find out for themselves how to do it."

Dean Martin and Elke Sommer have locked up star billing in House of Seven Joys, Columbia's new Matt Helm thriller. Yet one supporting role is sure to set the audience buzzing. That's when an aide informs the President that thieves have made off with $1 billion in gold bullion. And there's old L.B.J. listening to the bad news. Old who? Well, it's not quite the boss himself, folks. It's his cousin. To play the President, Central Casting tapped J. B. Peck, 66, retired sheriff of Garland, Texas, and L.B.J.'s somewhat look-alike first cousin. It's just a flash of his pan, and J.B. got a kick out of it all. But then, considering the relatively short-term market for his kind of role, he headed back to his job as security guard for the Dallas Cowboys football team.

When the Norwegian shipping tycoon first showed his bride, a lover of 19th century art, around his Manhattan apartment back in 1956, she took one horrified look at the wealth of modern art hanging on the walls and gasped: "It's a nice place, but get rid of those terrible paintings!" Twelve years later, Sonja Henie, 55, is finally getting that wish. She and her husband Niels Onstad are giving Oslo an $8 million gallery to be stocked with more than 200 paintings from their world-famed collection of moderns. But the parting, it turns out, is sweet sorrow for Sonja, who has become an avid modernist. Ah well, they still have 50 paintings left for themselves and all that wall space in their three homes to start filling up again.

The two airmen were deep in hangar talk at the Soviet embassy party in Washington to celebrate the New York-Moscow air link. Chatting about the Soviet drive to be first in the air with a supersonic transport, William ("Bozo") McKee, head of the Federal Aviation Agency, told Aleksandr Besedin, Soviet Deputy Minister for Aviation, that he thought it was great "to see this kind of competition in civil aircraft and less emphasis on military competition. If you fly your SST this fall," continued Bozo, "it'll be a better mousetrap in the market for sure." What? said the baffled Besedin. "Mousetrap? Mousetrap? What means mousetrap?" The interpreter was summoned, and an hour later they were still trying to translate that old capitalist proverb that if you can build a better . . .

Anxious to show his native country to his bride-to-be, the proud young man whisked her down from Switzerland and started out on the town in Athens. Pretty soon the bouzouki music was winding up, and everybody was dancing and toasting and heaving their glasses on the floor in wild abandon. Josephine Chaplin, 19, one of Charlie's girls, started out shyly. But after a few faltering flings she was crunching the crockery as happily as Fiance Nicky Sistovaris, 30, who then upped the tempo by smashing a table on the floor. Luckily for the locals, they soon left for a cruise through the Greek isles before returning to Switzerland, he to his family's fur business in Geneva, she to the Chaplin family home in Vevey.

Fie on those rascals who regard old Stepin Fetchit of the movies as an eyeball-rolling, foot-shuffling yassuh man, the image of everything modern Negroes want to wipe out. It wasn't that way, says Lincoln Theodore Perry, 76, alias Stepin Fetchit in movies from 1927 to 1938. He claims that CBS, which used his picture to advertise its series on Negro history, has distorted him and his role in Negro history. "It was 'Step' who elevated the Negro to the dignity of a Hollywood star," Perry says. "I was the first Negro to stay in a hotel in the South, the first to fly coast-to-coast in an airliner." Perry, currently a stand-up comic in Chicago, is demanding equal time from CBS to tell it like it was about himself.

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