False alarm last night. It was one of those classic Tony Hancock Sundays when the skies are grey and there is an air of utter staleness over everything, a mediocrity of emotion. . . . .
We all sat about bored out of our skulls and apart from a slight argument at dinnertime with Mum over something or over (“I want Britain to stay British with lords and ladies,"etc. . . .), nothing much happened.