July 18th 1961
D’you know something? I’ve come to the conclusion that I rather like you.
I feel happy. Don’t know why. The days are beginning to whizz by like anything. Five weeks Friday! I think that sounds better than 37 days, don’t you?
I’ve just written to Lena and made the final, final arrangements (and I’ve not seeing double I really do mean that twice). I’m meeting her either outside Customs or by the information desk. I sound pretty knowledgeable in my letter. Anyone would think I knew where the Customs and Information desk were. I’m dying to get down to that airport, I want to see the aeroplanes. But I can think of somewhere better to see the aeroplanes!
Must tell you about Sunday night. Ugh! It gives me the shivers whenever I think about it. I was all ready to get into bed and I felt something tickling my back! I just started to have a good scratch and I heard a great plop! (sound effects) on the floor. I’ve just knocked a ruddy great daddy-long-legs off me. Ugh! I yelled and I was standing here shaking for about five minutes. People usually do walk over me but I’m blowed if I’m going to provide a public footpath for them there things. I’ve started itching again.
Goodness knows what happened to Jennifer yesterday evening. She had a spasm and I suffered. Talk about a mad half hour. We had salad for tea and I must have looked dirty because she kept wiping lumps of lettuce round my face. I just didn’t have the energy to stop her and I couldn’t do much about it anyway, I was laughing too much. I was hollering for mum fit to burst. Mum was trying to get Jen to stop but as she was laughing too it didn’t have much effect. In the end Jen grabs a handful of soggy lettuce leaves and shoots it down my dress. Boy, was it uncomfortable! She went belting off upstairs with mum in very slow pursuit – she didn’t have much energy either. By the time mum got up there Jen was under mum’s bed and refused to come out.
Have I mentioned a certain girl who works at the Bank, lives at Barking and has bought herself a Vauxhall Victor? She passed her driving test last Friday. Yesterday I was talking about having to get up early to catch the coach to Dorset and ups and offers to drive me to Victoria Coach Station. I didn’t even drop the tiniest hint, she just offered.
I don’t mind going to Victoria by train. That’s easy enough but I did ask her if she fancied a trip down to Gatwick on the 4th. She is in the process of consulting her map and pondering over the question. She’s at the stage where she wants to chauffeur everyone around to show off the car. But I don’t mind as long as I’m in it. You’re not the only one who’s got friends you haven’t even used yet.
I seem to have dealt with the party problem the wrong way completely. First of all the argument, (theirs) was that it was daft giving a party for you as you would probably have one. When I denied that, it was that I couldn’t afford it. So I told them what you had said. Then it was that they would be busy getting straight after the holiday. Now they wont even talk about it. Somehow I don’t think my parents and parties mix. Still, I haven’t given up hope yet. I can’t. There are too many people to uninvite.
You’ll never guess what I’ve just done knocked a bottle of ink over the table cloth. I think I had better go to bed before someone comes down. I’ll feel in a better condition to face the fireworks in the morning. Love and kisses. Goodnight!
Alan dear, I’ve got a problem. I’m getting a bit worried about meeting Lena especially since you mentioned the air terminal in your last letter. As you’ve probably gathered I intend to meet her at Gatwick. Are the passengers just shunted off the plane onto the coach for the terminal or do they go through Customs etc at the airport. It’s gonna be dead awkward if I turn up at Gatwick and find out she is on her way to London. Be a dear and answer this question as soon as you can. There’s only two weeks til she comes over and I’ve got to decide on something soon. I still don’t know if I’m going by car or by train. I’ve changed my mind now. I don’t want to go. I’m getting scared. Wish you were home. At least you know something about it.
I’ve been having another bash about the party this evening. At least, dad asked me how many I intended to invite ‘if you have this party.’ Every time it’s mentioned my last party is thrown back at me. Although everyone told me they had had a marvellous time, mum and dad didn’t seem to like it very much. Dad said he would probably come home and not be able to get in the door. Just because before, the numbers sorta grew at the last minute. But it still wasn’t overcrowded. I said I would have as many as we had chairs, which makes it fourteen.
Your remarks about Clive, Michael’s brother/Carol’s boyfriend. It would be impossible for me to have a party and not include Carol which includes Clive as well, of course. With regards to ‘tension’ that’s practically impossible with Clive around. I don’t think that chap could work himself up over anything. In the recent affair he had to get all the information from Carol as he and Michael hardly speak to each other at the best of times. So you can regard him as definitely neutral.
A few weeks back Carol and I held long discussions on the train about how she could get Clive to propose. I did suggest that the next time he came round she could sit on the sofa with a cushion at her feet. She said she didn’t think that would work as he would probably sit on it.
Something that makes me think my parents had made up their mind in my favour is mum starting to worry about where to put you to kip. I thought the greenhouse was a good idea but they didn’t approve. Trouble with my list of guests is that not many know each other – if you know what I mean. And from what I know of the boys they aren’t bad fun when they are warmed up but they need someone to make the first move. Still, I suppose anything’s possible if we pump enough booze into them. Trouble with inviting couples is that It hampers circulation a great deal. And no one wants to go mad in case they show themselves up in front of their partner. Very dodgy business.
Mum and I went shopping for fabric Saturday. The idea was to get fabric for a dress for me. We came out of the shop with five different lots of fabric. We’d only spent £3.10 more than we intended.
I bought fabric to make a straight skirt and I got down to cutting it out last night. I had one eye on what I was doing and one eye on the boxing on tv. Result: catastrophe! I won’t go into details but a straight skirt has three seams. One at the back and one each side. I’m different I’ve got one at the front as well. I’ve got to wear the darn thing. I can’t afford to buy anymore. Everyone thought it was funny, I didn’t.
I bet I get a letter from you in the morning; the last three times I’ve written to you, I’ve had a letter next day.
Don’t you do any work now? You said you were going swimming next day and that was Wednesday. Think I’ll have to join the WRAF. Or maybe I’d prefer the RAF. Yes, I would definitely prefer the RAF. Wow! Do you think they would have me. No, nor do I.
That’s about it then. Thirty six more days!
Lots and lots of love