Sunday March 14, 1976

2nd in Lent. John's first full day as a married man. I am up at 12.15. Uncle Harry explained the symptoms of his chill to me over morning tea.

In Lynn's bedroom Carole is apologising for being ill last night. I keep thinking about what Jackie said to me ____________. I really do think she is enormously attractive.

Have a cooked breakfast with Mum. John and Maria rang from the hotel this morning. They're leaving for Scotland before lunch and hope to be over the border in time for their evening meal at their hotel in Howick. He (John) was laughing at Maria's insatiable desire for food. A lovely girl though. Stunned at the thought of having a sister-in-law.

Carole gets up for an hour and then goes back to bed. I'm concerned that she hasn't eaten a thing since the wedding reception.

See "The Barrett's of Wimpole Street" on TV this afternoon and decide that the most talented star in the whole film is 'Flush' Elizabeth Barrett Browning's pet spaniel.

Carole emerges from her pit at 7.30. Drink vodka (except Carole that is). Take photos with my polaroid camera. Carole is still unwell and sits trembling like a leaf, from shock I think, and as Molly Macdonald told me this morning, it sometimes takes a year to get over an accident like that.

David takes Carole home at 11 and I retire to a bedroom. A bedroom without John, which is weird and unusual.

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Thursday February 20, 1975

Eileen and I go to the Central for lunch again. I say 'again' because we did the same thing last Thursday, but that seems to have been missed from these historic pages. Swill down a few pints of lager before moving reluctantly back to the YP.

Chaos reigned this morning. Evidently, the Dowager Lady Mowbray, Segrave & Stourton saw fit to do herself in last night, and alas, no photos of the obscure, highly neglected lady are to be found in our files. The newsdesk and Donald Futrell went berserk, but calmness was dispersed by our beloved leader, Miss Rainford.

Us librarians are getting sick of the quiet and the cold, which we are forced to endure while workmen install new air conditioning in the press hall. Will we survive until May. Wait and see.

At 8.30 John and I go to Gillian's for a beer and record session (nothing else either). Have one glass of Dad's home brew concoction, then decide not to bother with any more. Listen to the Monty Python LP (mine) and a bit of Bowie's 'Diamond Dogs'. Gillian gets even worse, and I'm going to have to make it clear that a) I'm not going to sleep with her, and b) marry her, or c) buy her the Smirnoff Vodka Company. Home at 12 feeling horribly tired, or incredibly bored. I expect it was the latter disease.

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