Monday 19th August 1935

Mrs Dickens sent a message to the pub. Would I phone? I did. Yes, Diana had capitulated. (I can only pray she will forget about it, damn quickly.) “Good luck”
Anticlimax. I said, “Oh, would you be good enough to send my bathing costume on here? I left it behind, last night. And please tell Uncle Dick I posted his letter alright.”

(Emotional – practical? Dramatic – ordinary? Anyhow, life is just like that!)