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Tuesday August 19, 1975

I wake up at about 10 but don't really think the others could possibly do the same after the events of this morning, i.e. from 2am onwards. After crawling past us last night in the bar they helped each other up to our room and dissolved into fits of laughter. When I'd rid myself of the women, and two cheese toasted sandwiches and several gallons of Coca Cola later, I went up to the room and John said he wanted another drink. We went down to the bar where he had a pernod and I had a beer. At 3am we came back to the room, and immediately John said he was going out again. This he did, and half an hour later he rolled in after even more drink. I helped him into bed and switched off the light. Chris hadn't stirred all the time this was going on.

At 10am then I was surprised to see Chris alive, well, and kicking. Leaving John deep in sleep we go down to the bar. Chris goes off to buy a newspaper and comes back with 'The Sun' of all things and shows me the headlines on page one. 'Princess Anne gets obscene phone calls'. This really is too much. First they try to kidnap and kill her, and now it's dirty phone calls. How did some pervert manage to lay hands on the princess's private number? The Post Office says that Special Branch are listening in to all her phone calls.

Stayed at the Manchester Arms until quite late in the evening and walked Denise and Diane home to their so-called hotel. No Caracola Club until dawn, and come back to the Osiris for a couple of drinks.

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Monday August 18, 1975

I seem to be waking up even earlier this week. 8.30am today! Lay in bed contemplating the ceiling until 10.30 when I rouse the two sleeping beauties from their slumbers.

We get a cool drink in the bar before nipping off to the beach, which is far too hot.

Back at the hotel we sit around in the sunshine until lunchtime with yesterday's Sunday Express. Not a very nice newspaper by any means, and I do wish they wouldn't give so much publicity to Reginald Maudling. The little creep is just as much involved in the Poulson Affair as Pottinger was, and I do think his criminal tendencies tend to colour all and everything he says.

The worst thing about this holiday is the food. I realise that we British are a fastidious bunch, but all the same I do think the menu could be improved. Oh, for the joys of Mum's cooking!

After lunch we go downstairs for a drink, and whilst I'm paying the barman John and Chris do one of their disappearing tricks. After searching the hotel from top to bottom I take a beer upstairs where I sit on the balcony to spectate at yet another storm. These Continental storms are only short-lived affairs.

Out on the town as usual after dinner. I meet Diane and Denise in the Manchester Arms, and John and Chris go off on a piss-up. We eat chips galore, and I bring them back to the hotel where, to our amusement, John and Chris crawl past us in an attempt to escape from the two women.

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