Fanny Hill is the most sexually explicit thing I've ever had the fortune to read. It's hard to imagine it was written 200 years ago.
Up at 8 o'clock, and finished off painting the front door. I am now that person I would have roared with laughter at five years ago. Painting a door shrouded in the autumn mist of early morn. Silly bugger.
Ally made haste to the Co-op and then we had breakfast. I bottled beer and then waited for the paint to dry before we went into town. The hot bus made Ally feel faint. We bought a lampshade for the kitchen and other odds and ends.
If you think my handwriting has deteriorated then blame the fountain pen which is more or less knackered. It hasn't had a new nib since April, 1973.
Salad sandwiches. Splashed in the bath. John came at 6:45 with the lounge door which he has restored. We went to the Farmers' Arms at Stanningley at 9. Joined by Lynn, Dave, Sue and Peter. On to Karen and Steve's, where we were joined by Jill, Tim, Phil and Denise. We all drank punch, which is fatal. Susie looked chic in a boiler suit with her hair swept up. Lynn was fat and frilly. John had a roaring time. Ally went to rest in a darkened room at 1am. Blame the punch. To bed there at about 2 or 3. I arranged to see Di for a drink next Thursday.
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