3rd after Easter. Wet day. Not going to say much because it was such a normal, uninteresting day. The Silver Jubilee is looming. The poor Queen is going to be exhausted by autumn. Bless the Old Girl.
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| Naomi: dragged me in |
Saw part of the 'Edward VII' series on tv and then Mama gave me a lift into Guiseley in torrential rain. I was stood at the bus stop for ten minutes when Naomi drove up, threw open her car door and dragged me inside. Very hospitable of her. Miss K. Moorhouse was a fellow passenger. They were on their way to Denise's for dinner. Eventually got a bus at Rawdon at 5.20pm. Work was up to it's usual mundaneness. Can anything be 'up to it's usual mundaneness?' or have I invented the word?
Taxi home at midnight. My driver was a silent one this time. Not a reptile expert or connoisseur of Rococo architecture as they usually are. The journey home was one of inward thought and general reflection. Poured with rain all the way.
Ate boiled eggs and sat looking at one of the lower class Sunday papers. Queen Victoria awaited my attention in my boudoir but my eyes ached and I had no intention of taking her up tonight.
Isn't it remarkable how some days I fill a page with minute, incredibly tiny handwriting and on other more lazy occasions I can scribe away like something not dissimilar to a moron?
King George V had silly handwriting, you know.
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