Friday night on the town once again. We go down to the Hare & Hounds as usual. When I say 'we' I mean me and David. Since John got possession of the Spitfire I've been excluded from his chauffeuring activities, so good old David always offers to do the honours at weekends. Carole is away for the weekend, in Norfolk visiting relatives, and so I'm free for a couple of nights. Christine beamed when she heard of it.
David and I took turns to buy rounds at the bar and I can't help being amused by David drinking port. At the mention of port I think of some bloated Horace Walpole-type figure sitting about on a Queen Anne sofa, with his gout-ridden leg reclining on a cushion. David is attracting a sizeable girth at the moment, but he just laughs off any attempts to tell him of this. Nobody can get David to go to Wikis, and even Peter Mather's offer of money is refused.
Christine B, Christine D, Peter M and I went to Wikis and CD and I danced continuously from 11.50 until 2am. I nearly died when at 1am the DJ roped Christine and I into doing the competition which consisted of blowing up a balloon until it burst - well, he told me it was a balloon, but I can assure you it wasn't. After standing on a floodlit stage inflating items of a contraceptive nature, CD and I continued to dance for another hour.Tired and shagged out I walked up Thorpe Lane with CB and CD. CB stayed the night.
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