Saturday November 3, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

The River Itchen.

A rotten day. Bright, but nippy. Up at dawn because Samuel hadn't slept soundly and instead of lounging in front of the TV watching Mrs Gandhi's funeral pyre Ally decided we should go in to Winchester. I tried to stress that a world leader is not cremated in public every Saturday morning. She just sniffed her indifference. To town we went leaving Samuel in the capable hands of Grandmama. We went and bought Matthew a pullover and returned to see the smoke engulfing the VIPs in Delhi. The PM and Princess Anne sat together. Much maligned women, they are. Out in the sun with Samuel. We pushed him down to the river, walked through Easton and back to Chillandham Cross. Graham and Gill arrived after 12 and I was immediately incapacitated by Tara the dog and went into a bronchil attack which lasted for the duration. I was so bad that by 3pm I took paracetamol and took to my bed. The poor dog was banished to the utility room. We dined on turkey, which I didn't enjoy, and went to the Plough afterwards where I wheezed and gasped over everyone. Drank brandy alternating with pints of lager. Saw Neil. We haven't laid eyes upon him since he crashed through the garden fence after a surfeit of pernod in 1979. He is a rugby player. Today is Graham's birthday, but you wouldn't think so. Very low key.

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