Sunday March 6, 1977

2nd in Lent. Lynne's birthday. Oh God I've just called my sister by a strange name. It's her bloody birthday too. I am sorry. She's just been in my bedroom looking quite ravishing showing me the presents she's bought David for his 21st.  I bought her a bottle of French perfume which she seems to like. Her boss comes round at 10.30 with a bouquet making overtures of affection to her in the kitchen. ________.

Lynn: 19th birthday.

The Prince of Wales has gone off to Kenya shooting the wildlife. Good for him. This gives a good two fingers to these thoroughly boring conservationists, environmentalists, &c.

John, Maria and JPH come up at 2. Baby is making a bit more noise and says "Da Da" and then "Da Da Da" when provoked. Eat turkey, pate, ham - and sup glass after glass of Cinzano. The mean contingent keep reminding me that I have to go to work in a couple of hours and I sit sombrely contemplating the clock. Chris Baker and his girlfriend Julie Harris drop in for half an hour or so.

The YP tonight was absolutely dead. Just Ursula and I. No news. No catastrophe has struck East Ardsley or anything like that. Reading the paper I see that the Prince of Wales is not shooting crocodiles. He is in fact taking photographs of them with Claire Watson, and maybe Miss Sheffield.

Hon Claire Watson: shooting crocodiles.

Home by taxi at 12.30 with a little driver who is a leading authority on snake bites.












-==-