Further property speculation, Jay, the snobbish proprietor of 52, Hawksworth Lane attempted to to 'gazump' Mama and Papa for a friend, who wishes to live in this lovely area. Poor Ern was offered £750 more for his house, but he and Edith stuck to their guns and told Jay to bugger off. Friendship is nice and useful at times like this.
My health is worse, I fear. My throat is hideously swollen and a bitter, foul taste lurks on every morsel of food I devour. Poor Dave must be fed up by my moronic appearance. I am doing my utmost to undertake the scheduled functions that were already in the pipeline. Take this afternoon for instance. The whole clan trudged to Morrison's (in wet, soggy conditions)at 11:45 and afterwards we supped at the Clothiers. Ernest accompanied us too, and he told us that the pub was the first he had ever been in all those years ago. The Clothiers has a lot to answer for.
This afternoon we watched the Grand National. Red Rum was nowhere to be seen and an obscure animal called Lucius won. Ernest walked away with the £2 winners prize in our own private stake, and Sue achieved second and third place.
Tonight we went to the Hare to collect Christine. She was in a foul mood & I was immediately depressed by her attitude. From here we joined the mob at the Shoulder of Mutton where Christine and I poured booze over each other and hurtled abuse. Peter's friends watched us with glassy eyes and panting breath. Christine never fails to be a sex symbol on these occasions. She inspires boys to be men with no trouble at all. Anyway, to leave Helen of Troy on one side for a minute I'll just say we joined John and Maria at Oakwood Hall which was abominable. Heat unbearable. Drinking pints of perspiration. I thought Maria was going to keel over and die. Susan wanted to leave early and so we left at 1am. Slept on the way home. Throat is chronic.
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