Woken at 9.15 by the phone. It is Kathleen who asks if I was at the YP last night. I say of course not, then realise I should have been at work yesterday and then take a night off in the week. I feel dumbfounded. Kathleen is not at all mad, but she is expecting the complaints to roll in this morning. The fact that my working week begins on a Sunday never entered my head. Dress at 9.30 and then go for a walk into Guiseley. Buy a couple of newspapers and call in at the bank - deposit £4, and walk home feeling quite proud.
Old Mr Monkman comes round at 11 and asks if I can lend him an instrument which levers spark plugs out of sockets. I say I don't know what he's talking about and he'll have to wait and see Dad. Have a coffee and look around for something to read having finished 'Mrs Fitzherbert'. Find 'Have His Carcase' by Dorothy Sayers, which I still have not completed. At about 12 I ring the YP and speak to Kathleen and she says nobody's complained yet, but the night staff don't come into until 5 o'clock. She's taken it very well. This horrible forgetful incident has ruined my day.
Looking in the mirror, which, I hasten to add, is no regular pastime, I realise my hair is in a terrible condition and decide that Wednesday morning is to be the day of judgement. It's five months since I last had anything done with it! Hear on the 1.30 news that Princess Anne was thrown from her horse 'Doublet' at Windsor this morning and that the horse broke a leg and was later destroyed.
Go to the YP for 5. Quiet evening really.
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