I don't emerge until nearly lunchtime, and when I do eventually arise I hear from Mama that Uncle Harry is on his way over to see us. He rang them yesterday to let them know he spent Christmas and New Year in Spain and that he is seriously thinking about buying property in that fair and sun-blessed land.
They both go off shopping leaving me to play records on the stereo at full volume. I watch TV all afternoon. Laurel and Hardy followed by a Mae West & W.C. Fields epic, which in turn is followed by a Marx Brothers classic.
Uncle H arrived at 4.30 with a camera just like mine, a bottle of 5 year-old Scotch whisky and news of the Costa Brava. He looked extremely fit and well and was a few inches the better off around his girth. He also invited us all (girlfriends and boyfriends included) to stay with him at his cottage in Ravenglass for the weekend 7/8 February.
Salad for tea. John runs me to the Hare & Hounds where we have a few drinks. I then go for Carole and CD joins us at Oakridge Palace - the Phillips ancestral pile.
We get a bus to the Fleece and stay until after 10pm. Dave L, Sue, Peter, John, Maria and all the others are in and Chris's party gets going at about 11pm. I cannot render myself even remotely sloshed, and neither can Dave L. We just stand about watching people slide under the tables and chairs. CD, Alison and poor Darling Carole are all smitten with the vomits, and I put a stop to the loud party rabble at 3am by ringing Chris from a phone booth at the top of the street pretending to be an agitated neighbour. Chris was in on the plan of course, and he played along nicely. Everyone seemed a good deal quieter when I got back.
At 2am I discovered Carole in bed with cronic stomach pains. __________________________.
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