We go to the Red Lion for dinner on New Year’s Eve with Ronnie Hare, the beautiful Judy having cried off through a cold. Later to Mrs Jacobs’ for the New Year, where I have a discussion on Burma, dates and what have you with Ronnie at about 1.30am, only to discover we are two years out. The rest of the week I walk about and go to a few cinemas, also over to Rawdon to see the Sproats and Betts.
I suffer from one or two bad attacks of my private gloom here, and I think I should have been better advised to go to St Ives, where there seems to be a bit of life all of a sudden over Christmas. Tomorrow I shake the fog of Harrogate from my moustache and go to be rehabilitated at Wallingford.
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