4th Sunday after Epiphany. Don't wake up until afternoon. Mum, Carole, Lynn, Susan and Maria are downstairs preparing something to eat and seem to be getting on poor David's nerves.
John is like a corpse in his bed. He was actually violently sick in my new shoes, both there in the room swimming in veg.
The party was a great success though and John and Maria received a nice start to their future life together.
Edith Blackwell called round to see how we fared last night and she recounts, over sausage rolls and cold chicken legs, how Ernest lost his false teeth in the festivities.
At 2.30 Carole and I went for a long trek over Hawksworth Moor and almost froze to death in the process. My fingers were ice cold even in gloves and I've never known a day to be so cold and miserable. We got back at 4.30 before it began to grow dark.
I cannot understand why I wanted to finish with Carole on Friday night because we normally get on so well together, and today was no exception. I seem to be able to change my mind about something in the space of a matter of minutes.
We all watched television, and I fell asleep in the chair which is unusual for me.
John and Maria went down to Silverdale to look at a semi-detached house and came back with favourale reports. They'll get off to a nice start if they can begin with a new house.
We all looked through old photographs. Carole and I walked to Harry Ramsden's at 9.30 and I saw her on a bus homeward. I return home via Thorpe Lane and just about freeze to death for the second time today.
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