Everybody (except N. P.) was up when I awoke about nine – Mum, Dad, Carol, Robert and Andrew. It was one of those typical Sunday mornings – quite good weather (sun) and the “Sunday Times.”
Robert and Carol went at about 10.30. Mum said they didn’t want to go. It must be rotten living somewhere that you hate like they do.
Dad was on at two, and when he went I spent the afternoon playing records and watching tele’. It was just like old times again. I got terrible butterflies in my stomach about this Oxford do tomorrow. Mum was a bit peeved that I hadn’t found out fully where to meet Vicky Miller so she cajoled and nagged me into ringing all the Millers in Farnshaw. The first one, on Fletcher Road, was a wrong number (an old Scottish woman), so Mum went across to Mrs Jackman's (the School Secretary) to find out Vicky's address (and phone no.).
I rang and arranged to meet her outside Farnshaw station at 8.45 a.m. How much better I felt after clearing that up!
Mid-afternoon I watched the British Grand Prix on TV (Alan Jones won it) and then I played records with Andrew all evening. I also had a bath and had my hair washed, letting it dry while watching a film about the last bridge over the Rhine at Rejmagen.
I went to bed feeling really worried.