18th after Trinity. Mum carries on and on about the slight mishap which befell us in the early hours of this morning when Mr David Andrew Baker measured his length on our kitchen floor - and in doing so roused the whole household from its slumbers. She proceeded to go on, and on, all day about how noisy, inconsiderate and selfish I WAS! Yes, it's apparently all my doing that Mr Baker found himself legless and pissed on our kitchen floor. In my attempt to bring the drunkard to his senses I fell victim to the wrath of Mrs Nora Rhodes. Please don't think I'm making myself a martyr here, but criticism must be levied against wrong-doers.
Peter N gives me a lift to the bus stop at 4pm. [Oh yes, Lynne took her leave at 11.30 and after bacon and eggs I attempted to exterminate a honeysuckle bush in the front garden.] So Pete took me for the bus and by 5pm I was at the YP. Work was totally dead and miserable. The news is centred on whether Princess Anne is pregnant or not and of course the Rhodesian peace talks. Home in more rain at 11 o'clock. Bring the record 'Lowdown' by Boz Scaggs home. It's been in my drawer since Friday. A good piece of music too.
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