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Sunday December 4, 1977

_.2nd in Advent. Slightly better. In fact I'm a lot better. Just watched TV the whole day and ate a sizeable Sunday dinner at about 6:00pm.

Watched 'Royal Heritage'. It was about Victoria and Albert. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' is finished! Over a thousand miserable pages in about as many days. It's nothing to be proud of at all, Michael Rhodes. Two months to read a book. I really should be horse whipped. I bet Mr Dumas wrote the bloody thing in half that time.

Mum and Dad went out for a drink tonight and I watched a play called 'Waste' on the BBC. Quite good.


Saturday December 3, 1977

_.Mother's coffee morning in aid of Mark Sansom, a 19 month-old brain damaged child whose parents want to send him for treatment to Philadelphia, U.S.A. About 60 people turned up. I stayed in my bed and was visited by my nephew. He must think I'm a lazy rat. Sue came up to see me and had me in stitches when she told me she'd given a cup of hot coffee to an old lady with Parkinson's Disease, who proceeded to shake it all round the room.

I got out of bed at about tea time and remained in circulation until about midnight. Didn't hear from 'the lads'. Saw a Jack Lemmon film on the BBC which was hilarious.


Friday December 2, 1977

Maria has told Mum that Mrs Phillips told her on Tuesday that Carole's got a 'dark patch' somewhere. Carole is, of course, unaware of this. Shit.

Basil Rathbone.
I'm ill. Revoltingly ill. Saw Basil Rathbone in a 1939 Sherlock Holmes film and then went to bed where I got no sleep until the crack of dawn. I was sweating like Hell all night. Ghastly it was. And the dreams I kept having went on and on for what seemed like hours.