Wednesday January 14, 1976

I am completely shattered with cold. My nose glows like a lighthouse all day long and I come home and stagger around the place sneezing and wheezing like an 85 year-old. If I see the month out it will be a miracle. It's always the same every January. Christmas is over and done with and it's as if my resistance tries to commit suicide at the thought of no revelry and tinsel for yet another year.

The holiday is settled anyway. I rang Pete at 7.40am to receive his assent to my booking the Pacific Hotel, San Antonio, Ibiza, from June 27 to July 11, 1976. With his assent given I rang Denise, who at once set the whole system of booking into operation. I'm paying my £10 deposit to her tomorrow night.

Carole rings me at work at 4pm. She's still upset about the events of Saturday night and doesn't believe I've forgiven her foolishness. A child she is, nothing more, nothing less. No argument would have arisen if she had only come to me with her grievance in the first place.

Go to bed at 10pm and decide not to go to work in the morning. John comes in at 10.30 and tells me a horrible tale, the details of which I will recount to you in detail on the next page. But let me say this; something is going to be said and a certain line of action is to be taken which will make certain people waken up round here.

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