Not a spectacular day at all really. I ring Denny about the San Antonio holiday and she gets us in, provisionally, at the Pacific Hotel. However, when I contact Chris he tells me he is now unable to get July 3-17 for his summer holidays and says he'll ring me tonight. The boy's a failure.
At lunchtime I ring West Yorkshire bus service to make enquiries about the bus service from Kirby Malzeard to Leeds. It isn't as bad as all that and I'm cheered up somewhat by the timetable. Carole rings shortly afterwards and is full of cold. She tells me that she wept herself unconscious in bed last night over the incidents of the weekend and asks me whether I've forgiven her for acting ridiculously. I assure her that I still want to go out with her and arrange to see her at Maria's tonight. I don't think Mrs Mac will like visitors running all over the house at a time like this but Carole insists I go.
Home for tea at 5.45. Sue tells me that Agatha Christie died today. I don't hear anything about this on the news however, and no doubt I will have to wait for the morning papers to announce this sombre news. She was a brilliant writer, and I will always look upon her books with reverence and respect.
Go to Maria's at 8.30 and sit feeling quite ill. A sudden cold seems to have descended upon me. Maria is in high spirits and has taken her grandfather's death very philosophically. Her attitude is that he's in a better place now and he's the last person we should worry about.
John brings me home at 11pm. I've been sat with Carole all night. We didn't say much, but I suppose the trauma of the weekend is very much on our minds.
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