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Friday December 3, 1982

Fresh bread for breakfast and then out into the cold.  YP. Nothing thrilling.

News: Labour won another by-election. Well, they didn't win it, they held it. 

Sarah is back. The decorating must have reached a happy conclusion. I did nothing this afternoon and skulked around the office like a rat.

Tonight Ally sat and wrote me a wonderful letter addressed to Santa Claus setting out her demands. I roared with laughter. She wants an Afghan (a dog of course, and not one of the sweaty rebellious humans). She'd call him Clarence.

Glynnie phoned to talk about Tenerife. He sounds to have had an excellent time on the bottle. He met up with a pack of landlords from Bristol, or somewhere.

To bed very early.

-=-

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