A usual sort of day. Collected my weekly pennies at lunchtime. When I say pennies I'm not being silly either. Bugger all at work. Boring and uninteresting in fact. I feel quite normal which is strange considering the excesses of last night.
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| The Queen, by Annigoni |
See in the paper that a programme on the Queen's Silver Jubilee visit to the Commonwealth is to be broadcast by the BBC tonight and I realise that a horrible decision is going to have to be made. Yes, can a true royalist actually go out to the pub in the knowledge that Her Sovereign Majesty is to be seen, in all her glory, on the telly? What a dilema I am faced with. Yesterday I made a promise to go out with Martyn and Tony tonight and would it be right for me to go back on my word and break this contract? What would her Majesty's wishes be if it fell my lot to be so honoured by her presence at this agonising moment of indecision? On my knees before my tiny yet masterly portrait of HM by Annigoni I ask for some divine solution to my heart searching problem. As if from the heavens above a pealing voice fills the room saying: "Go forth my son and take refreshment with thy friends". So, I did. Can't say I was thrilled by it though. I suffered all the evening from pangs of remorse and horror at whether I'd made the right decision. My lager lost that pleasant bouquet. The comfort of the Hare and Hounds took on the aura of Tyburn gaol, and the gathering therein looked dull and lifeless.
Judith and Kathryn sat drinking wine. How many different ways can a man spell Kathryn? Or more importantly which one adorns itself to the person of Miss K. Young? Katherine? Katharine? Catherine? Kathryn?
We go on to the Crown at Yeadon which is rotten. Who the hell told me it was a great pub? See Philip Knowles, and then espy CB. She says she'll call me. We go for fish and chips. Tony goes on ________.
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| Playing at ventriloquists and dummies. |
No comment.
Back to the Hare where Miss Young sits upon my knee and we play at ventriloquists and dummies. She recites the alphabet in a strangled dummy voice whilst I drain a pint of that lifeless lager.
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