Rain. We got up and ate and said goodbye in darkness, and returned eight hours later in the same darkness. Surely we were intended for better things than this? We should find a job that keeps us together all day. Ally, whilst ironing tonight, suggested we buy an antique shop. I imagine you would have to be very pushy. I would enjoy it all the same. Pot dog salesman.
Margo is back from Poros with Mr White, looking brown. Kathleen is also back. Told her of our Lanzarote plans and she sent a memo down to the cashiers.
Helped Ally bake bread. One needs good wrist action. Sadly, we got flour all over the new carpet and I trampled dough everywhere. Ally had a fit.
Ally tired tonight and looks jaded. She needs a holiday. Derek Jenkins collapsed last night and is in hospital with some, as yet, unknown complaint. The only thing that Ally could get out of Mr Taylor is that the man is haemorrhaging, but from where? Ally also heard the word colostomy mentioned, but neither of us can remember what that actually is. Ally is sweet. For years she's blasted Derek with her worst ammunition, but now he's ill she doesn't have a bad word for him.
Roll on November 18. TV good. Russell Harty was talking to Molly Keane the writer. A funny lady.
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