I had such a good sleep on New Year's Eve, after a lovely evening. I was a bit groggy when I woke up, but it wasn't too long before I felt myself starting to pull round. I went to the top of the village to wait for a bus home, and I waited and waited. I waited for an hour and twenty minutes for the half-hourly service, but there were no buses in either direction. I was very embarrassed to turn up on my friend's doorstep, but he drove me back. I really didn't want to impose myself in that way.
When I got home I lay under a blanket on the sofa and read some more of the Walford. After a simple meal I watched some more of the Stanley Baxter programmes followed by Attenborough's The Private Life Of Plants. I soon had to turn that off for the usual reason. Bed at nine.
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