The First of Bleedin' June.
Up with the larks at 7.20 and devour a few slices of toast before making off down the lane at 8 o'clock. Jim Rawnsley doesn't pick me up as he usually does and so I have to travel by bus like a peasant.
Carol is not in the office & so I cannot speak to her about Friday night's excursion to the Emmotts. Sarah is in good form. She says she'll come to London on June 12 to see the Trooping of the Colour. It would be nice to arrange a party from work because I am rapidly running out of suitable chaperones. John was always a good companion on these adventures but circumstances of course prevent his continuing in this capacity.
Blimey! 26 days before Peter and I bugger off to Ibiza for a fortnight! Just three and half tiny weeks! I'm in two minds about declaring a State of Emergency because I feel so unprepared for the holiday. I have a passport, I will have three weeks pay. Clothes? Do I have suitable gear? Eeek! All these things have to be looked into!
See a Jimmy Cagney/Bogart 1939 film on TV and go to bed at 11pm after discovering that I haven't smashed all the glasses Mum has accused me of smashing. She expects everything to be in its correct place, and had not bothered looking in one of the other kitchen cupboards where they nestled in complete safety.
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