The eve of Christmas. To the YP for the age-old tradition of present swapping and merriment. We always sit behind the filing cabinets being hideously cheerful with each other. Kathleen especially is like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, and other wrinkled saintly persons. I gave Mrs Slocombe the soaps that she had given to Sarah. It all went off splendidly. I'm hoping for an Oscar. The Asti Spumante saw us through to 12:30 when we drifted away.
Ally came to collect me in the little yellow Lada and we left immediately for Winchester. I clutched a bottle of Dry Martini all the way, sipping leisurely. Ally was bright as a bobbin (or is it a new pin?), and nearing the journey's end she serenaded me with carols. At Chillandham Cross for 6:30. Saw Matthew for the first time. He is such a tiny person. Everyone says he looks like Frank, but all babies look like Frank. Little, bald and sleepy.
Ally was shagged out and didn't want to go out which upset Graham. We sat with Bessie and Frank and retired at 12.
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