Funeral over we can now think about the holiday. Out of bed at 5. Frantic packing in the dark and rain. Well, it wasn't raining indoors, but you know what I mean. Dave B phoned and arrived at 7. He was in one of his serious moods, and sat drawing on a cigar contemplating the ceiling. To Manchester Airport arriving at 8:45. Ally had to pay an extra £10 to travel with a passport named as Dixon when her flight ticket is named as Rhodes. Gin and tonics. We flew at 10:15. It was like a flying Berni Inn. We drank like fish. The plane was half full of babies. Must tell Sue and Peter about this. Arrived at Arrecife Airport, Lanzarote, at 2:30 and met John and Sheila, lurking behind potted palms. He is tall, tanned and extremely distinguished. I suppose he's a streamlined version of dear Papa. Sheila is thin and well-groomed and just as affected as she was 10 years ago. Little changed. John, with an enormous 10 inch cigar, drove us to their vast villa surrounded by giant palms and set in the scorched countryside. Everything inside is on an enormous scale. Hugo (the labrador) is alive and well. Out for a pizza with John and Sheila and a couple called Julian and Hilary. He's a Peter O'Toole look-alike. Garlic. Raging thirst. Home and to bed at 10:30. Ally is brown before we start.
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