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Wednesday February 22, 1978

The traffic on New Road Side woke me at 6:30. Hungover. Predictable really. Christine's Mum went off to work hailing her goodbyes at me as I lay ~ almost in state ~ on her settee. She looked older. I haven't seen her since Mr Braithwaite died in May.

CB and Honey.
Christine was up and looked just as she did last night. I think she has an 'A' Level in 'How to Drink to Excess Without Suffering the Repercussions'. She buggered about under her car bonnet whilst I was entertained by Honey, the gorgeous doggy. It's a Golden Retriever with a bit of Alsatian thrown in. We laughed when CB told me she wanted to call it 'Spot'.

A cup of coffee and mug of orange juice gave me a boost and at 8 I bid my fond farewells and cleared off on a green bus to the YP. Having a bus stop at the garden gate must be bliss. Or is it?

CB gave me a letter that she intended posting today and I read it on my short, cold journey into Leeds. I roared with laughter and tears trickled down my icy cheeks at her wondrous composition. The girl is the greatest!

At the office Sarah and Eileen pulled my leg all morning about my stay at Horsforth. Mind you, to them I suppose it appeared more than it actually was. I left at 2:00 because I was in no fit state to do any work. My eye balls were hanging over the sides of my sockets.

Found my way home in the mist and fog and spent the remainder of the day in confinement at the fireside. For each second that I managed to keep my eyelids from caving in I thought I deserved a Duke of Edinburgh Award, preferably of the gold variety. Sadly, however, my courage went unrecognised. It's typical of the age in which we live that good British 'graft' is taken for granted.


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