Mum is bedridden with her back. I don't like being at home when a member of the family is ill. I have a pathological hatred of poorly people. I'd walk round Lourdes slapping cripples.
Poor Molly Macdonald is at death's door. John told Dad today that she burst a blood vessel in her arm yesterday evening and a doctor told Jim [Macdonald] that 'she could go at any minute.'
Sarah told me today that she and Peter [Baker] have finished. Pity really because he was quite a good laugh, but at least I stand a chance once again. Oh, I might have been going out with Lynne M since June, but that devilment still exists. You can't keep a good man down.
Out with Lynne at 8 o'clock to the Hare. A dead, miserable hole it is too. Sit with Sue and Peter all night, and then David L and the delectable CB arrive at 10 o'clock. Whenever she's around I go wild with exuberence and excitement and our eyes seldom drift from each other for long. Why is this? Is it cruel to Lynne? Do I really think anything at all of Lynne? What the Hell have I been doing since the beginning of June? Oh God. Have I been leading L down the garden path? After Carole, will I ever have a normal affair again? [I'm not offering any apologies for all these questions because you lot have nothing better to do than to attempt to answer them, anyway.]
Home at midnight and Lynne goes off to Bramhope to collect Karl from a party and they drive to Thornton-le-Dale. Won't see her now until next week.
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