Uncle H, being alcoholic, is pissed as a frog after three pints, and to make matters worse he bought a bottle of whisky from the bar to take back for a further session.
Later we were joined by Edith and Ernest and knocked back ginger beer, wine, whisky, lager and beer. By 7 o'clock we were all canned and some of the party were complaining of hunger. Within minutes we were at the Hare (where Judith was playing at barmaids) on our way to the Flying Pizzatoo at Burley-in-Wharfedale. The restaurant was jam packed and we seemed to be waiting hours for our food.
Harry's changed a good deal since April. He's older and not half the fun he once was.
We all went back to Edith and Ernest's at about 11 for glasses of his cloudy pink champagne, but the end of the night was ruined by Uncle Harry's behaviour. At 12.30 he stormed out, packed his pathetic belongings and was away down the lane with his dog, Tan, telling me to 'piss off' and that he will never come back to Yorkshire. Isn't it a terrible thing? Mum came home with a raging headache.
Dom(inic) Melville arrived at some late hour to say he had seen Harry walking towards Rawdon and wanted to know if there was anything he could do.