_. Another hot, sweaty night but my throat has eased. Poor Ally didn't want to get out of bed today, and clung to her pillows. Boiled eggs and coffee, then she was gone until 12:15. She returned skipping like a Spring lamb.
I made several phone calls this afternoon. Phoned Mum, spoke to Dad, and Lynn. Jacq and Paul are dining at Burley tonight. Mum is feeling slightly better. It's her nerves, you know. The deadline for the Stonehouse is just two weeks away.
Read 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'. I first read it years ago. One of Agatha's best. It's quite eerie how Agatha can make one suspicious of grey haired old ladies behind lace curtains. Old Miss Whincup over the road was peering at me from behind her nets this afternoon. A Miss Marple sort of thing.
Petal came home at 5. We had corn on the cob, and fried fish and chips, then made pancakes from the left over batter, soaked with lemon juice and sugar. We do eat very well.
Royal wedding fever grips the TV news. This Gibraltar furore is a shame. We don't want diplomatic incidents at this joyous time. The Prince of Wales had a 'stag party' tonight at White's Club. He and 12 friends noshing from 8 until 12, swilling Bollinger champagne [his favourite]. The royal wedding postage stamps went on sale today too. But, alas, the Queen Mother is in bed with a temperature, they say, after a leg infection.
After our sumptious dinner we sat reading until 11.
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