I cannot really understand where my hangover is this morning. After all I drank last night it's a miracle that I'm not permanently damaged from the stomach upwards. My liver loo, cannot have enjoyed the bashing it received. After all, what's my liver done to me to deserve that. Poor Sod.
However, though I have no hangover, I do feel really tired and shagged out. The tennis men's singles final was on the TV this afternoon and I nearly fell into a coma watching Arthur Ashe beat the hell out of Jimmy Connors.
At 5pm I disappeared to my room and slept upon my bed until 6.30. I awoke feeling a good deal better, and refreshed.
Joh staggered me this evening when he said he was going to Maria's - sorry, I mean 'George's' - for the evening and not going out for one single drink at all!! This is incredible.
Chris rang and I said I'd see him at the Hare at 8.30. After seeing Barbara Stanwyck in 'The Titanic', I was surprised to see Chris calling for me in his Dad's car.
We went down to the Hare, where we were joined by Mr Mather, and we thought we were in for a boys' night out. However, Helen and Carol are in and they join us. Gillian takes a few photographs of us lads in the car park, and I can't quite get over just how crude that girl can be at times. The five of us move on to the Black Bull in Otley for a few, and come back to the Hare at 10.30 for a last look at the place before closing. Carol, Chris and I go on to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips, and I'm home for 11.30. Spend the next hour or two watching a weird Julie Christie film on the BBC with Mama.
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