It's 11.45pm and I'm sat here on the end of my bed watching blood ooze out of my right big toenail. Oh God I'm going to be a cripple by Christmas! However, discussing my personal injuries isn't going to get me into print and so I'll move on to more spectacular, seasonal events:
Mrs Johnson received the news of Mr Brotherwood's intended attendance next Wednesday with mixed emotions. At first she said she wouldn't be worried by his presence and in the next breath she said it may be a traumatic meeting. By 4.30 she was saying it wouldn't hurt if he did join us but her expression was far from ecstatic. I shall have to tell Tony it might be wiser if he boycotted the gathering.
Sarah and Eileen said today that Mrs J is beginning to take a fancy to me after all these years. I've always said that Carol must think I'm queer or something because every other male employee of the YP - possibly with the exception of me and the Hon Chris Monckton- have been seduced by Mrs Johnson. Am I now moving close to becoming a conquest?
The business of next Wednesday is worrying but I should ignore it and let them fight it out amongst themselves.
Saw June on the 33 bus again. She is great and I must still be greatly intrigued by her because for the first time in months I didn't fall to sleep on the journey and my eyes were rivetted to her throughout.
Just Susan, Peter and myself in until Papa and Mama come back from John & Maria's at 10 o'clock. See 'Carry On Loving' - rude, corny and poor but I laugh all the same. Up to bed after seeing a declining Earl Mountbatten of Burma present Danny La Rue with the BBC Sportsman of the Year Award. The 76 year-old Earl told a story of how a polo pony he was riding [in India in 1922] had a polo ball lodged up its anus. It went down very well.
King George VI is celebrating quietly somewhere today - his 81st birthday. Prince Albert died 115 years ago, and Coun Norman Anthony Gadsby was born this day in 1935 ...
Write letters tonight to Helen Malin in Gloucester and send cards to Glenn and Dave G telling them of Peter's change of heart. I knew all along that Mr Mather wouldn't let the summer of next year go by without seeing Ibiza and all those women.
Tony rings and we arrange to go to the Hare with Stuart at 8.15. I then contact Martyn and he says he's going with his girlfriend Carla to a new wine bar in Ilkley so I don't think we'll see him tonight. Later: Tony comes at 8.15 and we go to a Christmas-decorated Hare & Hounds and meet Stuart Walker, Esq, and Susan and Peter. After a couple of drinks we join Martyn and his lady at Ilkley and we polish off two bottles of wine before going on to the Rose & Crown. Quite a liquid evening. All back to W.H. Smith's for a coffee and Tony discovers he has a flat tyre which takes us through until 12.15am. Home in a fog and we discuss Thursday night. Hit the sack at 1.05am.
Nothing much to say today. I am always lazy at Yuletide. Couldn't even be bothered to contemplate the TV tonight and for a large part of the evening I sat glaring at my in-growing toe-nail. Why? Well, if you had paid £18 for a pair of shoes would you expect to get a deformed foot in return? I certainly didn't expect it, pal.
Lynne came up at 8.30 and we had a drink at the Commercial before she pissed off to Roundhay. We discussed the Yuletide arrangements. Seeing her on Christmas Eve and then there's a gap until Dec 28 when we go to John & Maria's. I've got Wednesday to spend with her and after that it's New Year's Eve. Why do we bother going out at all? I sometimes wonder. Of course I'd loathe it even more if she lived on my doorstep so what am I moaning about? I'm just a misery guts when it all boils down to it. Bed at 11.30pm. Goodnight.