Friday, March 30, 2007

Sunday 7th April 1935

Morning stroll with Ron. (A long life and a dull one, is his motto – poor blighter. “The gentleman obviously doesn’t believe”.) Then it began to rain.
Young and I had tea at the pub then went up St. Anne’s and sat in a shelter there, yarning.

The rain stopped. We walked down through wet woods to a pub – “Golden Grove”
Saloon bar, with many dark, oil skinned Italians. Didn’t seem English. The hostess was French, and Young and I were immediately infatuated. (Forbidden fruit more attractive than blossom.) “England in the winter –eet ees a nice place to come from”.

My usual toast “The Six Great Loves”, and for once, Dick responded! Enthusiastically!
(Banjo and accordion strummed, “Boulevard of broken dreams”.) We stood at the bar all the evening. (Dark young Italians, danced as Latinos do.)

Came back along Old Coach Road, both very cheery and speaking with Continental accent.

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