Awake feeling terrible. A runny nose, watery eyes, dry throat, blocked ears. Terrible. Stagger to Guiseley for the 8.20 train. See Judith who says I should not have ventured out in my condition. The weather is also terrible. Icy wind and very thick frost. I can feel it getting on to my chest. A nasty cough is round the corner.
Poor Dad spent the day in bed after being horribly sick in the night. The meal at the CW cannot have agreed with his digestive juices. However, Auntie Hilda has also been violently sick recently, but her case can be diagnosed very easily. If you drink an entire bottle of Bacardi you cannot expect to feel bright and breezy for a couple of days. She denies that the drink is the culprit, saying it must have been something she ate at our buffet!
Stagger home from the YP and go early to bed.Decide not to go in tomorrow because I do not intend killing myself for the sake of a cheap little newspaper.
Sit, propped up by pillows, until 8.20 when I fall asleep.
The papers are still full of the Prince of Wales and Lady Jane Wellesley. Somehow I can't see anything coming out of this affair at all. The Mail says Charles is only using her as a cover for Lady Cecil Kerr, a Catholic. I don't know what to think.
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