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| The Queen and I. |
Warmer. Trains are back, sod it, so no early exit. YP dull. Told 'People' [the YP gossip column] that the Hon Robert Jeremy Hugh Lascelles, born in February, 1955, and twenty eighth in line of succession to the British throne, has taken the plunge, but my morsel wasn't rapturously received by anyone. Sod them. They'll all be screaming when [Nigel] Dempster gets it, or William Hickey, but at least it won't be my fault.
Phoned Lynn to enquire about photographs and found Mum, Dad and Auntie Hilda at Burley. They must be out cheering up poor Hilda, who says that the shock of Tony's redundancy is only just sinking in.
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| Pete & Sue. |
Home at 5:45. Splashed in the bath and helped Ally in the kitchen. At 7 Mum, Dad, Sue and Peter rolled in for dinner. Susie is massive and rounded and looks more like Mum's sister. Had drinks before our sweet and sour steak. Susie talked about baby names. Mum turned her nose up at Samantha, and Samuel and Benjamin received my approval. But, dear me, not Jennifer. Food, wine and more booze. Mum looked at books - endless glossy photos of the Princess of Wales - whilst Dad and Ally did the dishes and shovelled up the excess rice and noodles. I took numerous photos to commemorate what is most likely to be Sue's last motherless visit to Sprog Cottage. They went home between 10:30 and 11. Sue's not allowed to stay up too late.
Ally was horribly pissed and she sat with her gin and orange, kneeling by the fireplace, giving me a critical report of our first six months as man and wife. I laughed because she had no idea what she was saying, and eventually she disappeared upstairs and fell into bed, wearing her plum coloured tights. God Bless her.
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