Susan's birthday. Climb out of the pit at 7.30 and nip into Sue's room to congratulate her on reaching the grand old age of seventeen. In half an hour I must have said 'Happy Birthday' 48,000,000 times. Like me, she isn't ecstatic about this annual event and seems sickened off when I left at 8am, because Lynn, Mum & Dad added a further 3,000,000,000 'Happy Birthdays' to my sizeable number. Sue has a nice, dry sense of humour which isn't appreciated by many - only a few great humourists - of which I am one of the greatest - revel in her quiet quips and double meaning sentences.
At lunchtime Brian rings to say he's riddled with (gastro)entiritis and dare not risk coming in (to the office) tonight. I martyr myself and offer to work until 10pm. Eleven and a half hours at work! Actually, it wasn't all that bad but by the time I got home at 10.45pm I was on the verge of starvation. Have lamb and peas and Mum, Dad, Sue and Pete, Lynn and Dave come in from the pub as I'm eating. They bring me a lager and we all sit watching the revolting Olympic Games. I added a further 27,0000,000 birthday greetings to the list, and Susan eventually escsaped to the sanctity of her bedroom - unable to tolerate any more.
The British Ambassador to Dublin was assassinated by the IRA this morning. I expect the Conservative party to suggest that Sir Harold Wilson takes up the appointment - just the sort of job for a retired Labour prime minister - amongst the rolling hills and landmines of Eire.
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