Auntie Mabel phoned this morning to say that Uncle Jack's (Myers) days are numbered. Cousin Jackie had phoned her to say the family had been summoned to the hospital to be told nothing can be done to stop the cancer. Auntie Eleanor is going to sell her shop. The poor family must be in torment.
Jacq and I listened to records all day and Dave B took us in the Spitfire to the Hare at 8:30. The place was like Belsen, but without the rotting corpses. So deserted. From here we went to the Fox where Christine joined us at 9. After a short debate we moved to the Crown at Yeadon, which is packed with the cream of local society. The majority of ladies here are like Roman goddesses.
The party was back at Guiseley (on Victoria Road, above the fish and chip shop). Knocking back the booze and dancing to Rod Stewart LPs. Poor Jacq regurgitated much of tonight's alcoholic intake. She didn't pass out though, like some people. Poor Philip was one of the first to keel over.
I bumped into Lynne Sykes and we had a good long chat reminiscing about Benton (Park). One way or another it was just like old times and I didn't feel like a nerdish 23 year-old with one knee in the grave, which was refreshing. Christine was a sorry figure because she was hitting it off with Philip so well, and when he crashed out in his girlfriend's bed it left her stranded. She danced a good deal.
Home at 4:30 to a damned dawn chorus.
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