Woke with a ghastly hangover at 7am. Dear Mama was, of course, my alarm system. My God - the whites of my eyes were bright pink - a horrible Rhodes give away if ever I saw one. From the depths of deepest Berkshire to the bleak hills of Cumbria if you should ever come across a man with bloodshot eyes you can guarantee his lineage. Just like the wearer of the Crown of St Edward owes his glory to Alfred the Great, the man with the eyes of a purple hue does so because of Lawrence the Great, commonly called Rhodes. (God, my mind is wandering again).
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| Hollywood Hotel. |
I was in Stockport by 12.30 and went with David G to the Hollywood where we sat drinking in the billiard room until 3pm. Billiards. A pathetic, mindless pastime. Bashing little balls into little holes on a big, oblong, green table? Why not take up missionary work in Saigon instead?
Out to the County Club at 10 with David, Bill (up to his usual standard of insanity), and Garry. These 'cabaret evenings' are all very well but not really my scene. Loud, lewd comedians and the like. I'm not a fan of sitting in a chair drinking and clapping simultaneously as well as taking in the comic's obscenities. I'd sooner be drinking in a dark, perfumed grotto with James Brown records pounding rapturously. Oh God!
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