Lounge around in bed until 11. Mum rang Kathleen about my cold. I'll be OK on Monday no doubt, but work just wouldn't do me any good this morning. Have lunch and then go upstairs to look for some counterfoils for a £15 postal order which was despatched to Barclaycard before Christmas. They keep sending me reminders about it, and I'm worried it's lost in the post. After an unsuccessful attempt to find them I sit on my bed in despair. £15 is a hell of a lot to have to fork out again. Mum tries to cheer me up by saying the Xmas post will have delayed it, but I can't see it being held up for two weeks.
Contrary to all my practices and beliefs as a human being I go with Mr Mather and Denny to the Hare at 10 o'clock to see all the others. I feel far from well and come home half an hour later to a barage of questions from Papa 'what has possessed you to go out supping ale in your condition'.
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