Sunday September 9, 1973

I awake on a very small sofa at the residence of Mr C.H. Ratcliffe and discover that I am still intoxicated. John and MM laugh at me. Chris is preparing a chicken for lunch in the kitchen. I proceed to polish off another pint of ale along with a coffee at the same time. My head feels terrible. The day is very hot and sticky and the sun is blinding me through the windows.

Evidently, between 4-6.0am I sat near the stereo wearing Chris's headphones crying like a baby whilst listening to a Tamla Motown LP. I dislike Tamla, but it wasn't the cause of my distress - it was my devastation over the loss of June, made much worse by the exessive alcohol. I yelled for two hours solidly!

The party was really fantastic and poor Dave, who has never been in such a state before, went home on the bus with his trousers all covered in vomit. Andy left at 8.15 this morning - poor soul.

MM goes at 1pm and then John and I catch a bus. I feel really sick, still wearing my 'Teddy Killer' T-shirt I board the 1.30 33 bus - all other passengers clad in best Sunday clothes. Spend the remainder of the day relaxing quietly.

Rang Mother at 1.0pm from Chris's and she says Dad spent the night with Grandad, who is critical. They go back at 6pm. Uncle Harry rings at midnight to say he died at 11.50 pm. Although I was not even fond of him I cannot help feeling rather sad. Bed 12.15.

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