Harry takes me to the bus stop at 8.15 and I bid him farewell until we next meet. Sure has been a good weekend. Feel something like how Richard Burton must feel like after he's been on the bottle for three or four days on end. I shall have to go to some sort of hydro to dry out my pickled liver, or kidneys [indeed which ever organs succumb to pickling after the consumption of vast quantities of alcohol].
Ring Lynne at lunchtime but her boss reminds me she's on a course this week in Bradford. Also ring home: still no developments from Maria. My nephew is four days late now.
Back at home: ring Lynne at Auntie Lilian's at 8.30 but she isn't in. Start watching a Dirk Bogarde film and it's midnight before I think of phoning again. Aunt Lil would probably have a coronary at this time of night.
Continue reading 'The Beatles' by Hunter Davies. Feeling shagged out still.
The Davina Mary Sheffield saga gathers momentum. We [Joe public] should read nothing into this until Buckingham Palace issues a denial. They only issue denials to cover up the truth. I approve of her anyway, even if one reader writing in the EP thinks 'Queen Davina' sounds odd.
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