Carole rang me at work this afternoon to say the usual things about feeling the same way about me, &c, and that she's written a letter and wants me to reply.
Dave L rings at 7 o'clock and says he'll give me a lift down to the Hare at 8.15. Ten minutes later Lynne rings and says she has arrived home a day early and we meet at 8.30 and go to the Hare. Everyone at the pub except Peter M and Christopher. Carol Smith says she saw Peter with Carole outside at about 8 but they didn't come in.
John & Maria, Jimmy and Elizabeth all come in together. A pleasant enjoyable evening. Jimmy tells me he's making a pond in the garden at Ridgeway, and I'm enthralled. I tell him I'll go round tomorrow and investigate. He's quiet all night and when I enquire: "What are you pondering about?" He replied: "My pond."
Maria is massive. Dave L says that when you walk past somebody it's over in a flash, but walking past Maria takes some time. One could read several chapters of 'War & Peace' and still be negotiating her bump. She is a big blue mass.
Home at midnight to watch a 1941 Ingrid Bergman epic. Not very good really. Make coffee for Lynne and she disappears over the horizon at something like 1.30.
Pleasant day. Sarah is back - Thank God. Another day alone with Kathleen would have finished me off. Go have another session with Hough (dentist). It costs me £3.50 - the first time I have ever had to pay.
Carole rang this afternoon for some sort of chat. When I got home Lynn's first reaction was that she knew Carole would contact me this week knowing that Lynne is safely exiled in Wales. I never think of things like this - but I suppose it's the female mind at work. Miss Phillips did not say anything spectacular but I hate her ringing me. I put down the phone feeling happy, which is disturbing. I can never go out with her again - but knowing it would be wrong to do so makes the temptation, in my wicked mind, even stronger. I feel sick inside because she is so nice, and she has such hope in her voice. Please don't take this is a my bragging about having an attractive girl wasting away because I do not love her. The thought of it revolts me intensely, and until the day I die Carole will always mean a Hell of a lot to me. She says she'll write, and I promise to answer. She sounded nauseated at the idea of me going out with Lynne and spoke her name a few times in sentences punctuated with shudders. She must be a bit of a masocist ( I can't spell it).
Home at 5.15. Lynn is ill with something not unlike Lassa Fever. David comes up at 8 to keep her company. We get a bottle of booze, and with Mum the three of us discuss morals and why ________ shouldn't fornicate with married men. I say Lynn and Mum are ridiculous and melodramatic about the whole thing, and suggest to Lynn that perhaps she should be a candidate for the archbishopric of Canterbury when a vacancy next crops up.
Get a postcard from Lynne M in Wales. It's a place I've never had any desire to visit really. I do suppose it has its nice parts - just like most boring places do if you look hard enough. The Welsh people don't do a lot for me either. Harry Secombe and Richard Burton are supposedly Welsh. The pubs don't open at weekends, or on Monday or Tuesday, or when the month has "R" in it. So, it puts me right off. See Wales, and die. I hope Lynne likes it anyway.
The good old Queen Mother is 76 today. I cannot help thinking about what Edith's opinion is of her. Does the Queen Mother really 'fancy herself' ? I don't know, but I'll tell you this - if anybody deserves to fancy herself it's the Queen Mum. 53 years of service to the Crown as a member of the Royal Family. If the adoration of eight billion people hasn't turned HM's head, then she wouldn't be bloody normal. Goodnight.