United Nations Day. The hospital says she (Carole) is just the same but I think they are keeping the bad news from all except her family. I don't think Fogarty is allowed to go. Feeling horribly depressed at the YP today I phoned Christine, who didn't know about Carole's illness. She wants to go out for a drink tonight and I readily agree.
Christine came at 8 and we went to to the Shoulder of Mutton, the White Cross, the Hare & Hounds and finally the Fox & Hounds. I was quite pissed after lager, Pernod, cider, Stella Artois, but I needed it, I really did.
Christine was horror struck at the way nobody sticks together these days, the old crowd. She did her utmost to make me laugh. One funny story concerned her most recent boyfriend. He had his arm tattooed with the immortal words 'I Love Christine' and the very next day she told him she wanted no more to do with him! I really liked that. Her attitude is that he can go have a skin graft, or alternatively he can go out and find another Christine.
Christine looked nice too. A new £120 coat and handbag. Her hair nicer than it's been for ages. She isn't as silly about drink as in days of old. In fact she insisted on tipping her drink into my glass each time I complained about 'still' feeling sober. She came back for a glass of wine but had to get off by 11 to see her Mum.
Christine's coming out on Friday night. We always go into hysterics when discussing _______.He is the rallying point, the focal point in fact of my sarcasm, or anything nasty and rude which needs to be bandied about. It must have something to do with his face.
I watched Patrick Moore on the TV with my eyes all bleary and Mum made me a bacon sandwich (I must have looked under nourished) which I don't remember eating. In bed at 12.