18th Sunday after Trinity
I awoke to find myself facing a blank, unfamiliar wall. Ally heaped up behind me. The bed was too small. Steve was on the phone downstairs. He had slept in late and was arranging to play football at 10. Karen made toast and marmalade and awful tea and she excused herself by saying she never drinks the stuff. She was drinking Coca Cola. Ally looked dreadful. John's eyes pink. After the marmalade we escaped to Rue Club. We sat with sandwiches, drugs and coffee watching David Niven and June Allyson on the BBC. John left at 3:30 and we lounged on. Ate fish. Fanny Hill. TV. Bed. Our new curtains come tomorrow.
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