Hear the alarm clock for the first time in months and lay awake until I hear Lynn plodding around the house at 7.30. She complains about me having a party as though I'm a small child. What's happened to the adventurous, boisterous sister of mine? If a lad can't have a bit of a party occasionally he might as well go live in a Russian labour camp or something. All work and no play isn't something I adhere to at all. Is poor Lynn forgetting what it's like to indulge in a bit of good, old, dirty fun?
Work: we laugh at Saturday night and Sunday mornings escapades. Evidently, when I was at Carol's I was chasing one of the cats all over the building in awe at the sight of such an amazing creature. On being reminded that I am severely allergic our feline friends I am reported to have exclaimed: "Oh, is she a cat?" What on earth did I imagine I was so attentively pursuing? This question, unfortunately, remains unanswered.
Sarah tells me that Peter B thinks he knows me from somewhere. I tell her his face is very familiar. Where have we crossed paths before? This is another mysterious, unanswerable question.
Home at 5.15 after calling in at a shop in Guiseley for a loaf. Chicken and chips for tea with Lynn & Susan. Just the three of us. Sometimes I feel that our family is dwindling away. Things are bad enough without John, and Mum and Dad away make something of a large gap. Lynn tells me that she met CB this morning, who told her every detail of Saturdays events. I cringe at the very thought of CB's colourful descriptions of Mrs Monkman yelling abuse from her bedroom window and other tales of a blood-curdling nature. A sharp, rebuking letter is called for. I don't believe in hiding things from Lynn or purposely deceiving her, but the complete gory details are quite unnecessary. Dear me.
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