Best not to drink too much beer
Otherwise, it was a nice weekend. I went out running on Friday night, training for the first time at the Olympic Stadium. It was raining, quite heavily at times and I had not been there before. I was not sure exactly where to meet the others and it was a time bfore anyone lese turned up as the rain got heavier and heavier. Eventually, there were about sevemn of us and we did some exercises under the roof of the stadium before going out onto the track. It was dark by now and the floodlights were on, the lights shining on the raindrops teeming from the sky.. There is something quite wonderful about running under such conditions. With modern techniques in textiles, it is possible to buy rain resistant clothes and it was quite incredible to come back after about a half an hour and to only really feel wet around one’s running socks and shoes. Time for a cup of tea before going home, probably to watch some debate on THAT film on TV.
I had a party to go on Saturday and Fred was still suffering and still had more work to do for school. It was a nice sunny day, the first for quite a while, just a bit windy. We were interviewed for the government’s statistical office by someone who had previously been a history teacher, who, of course, was very interested to hear that Fred was also a history teacher, and wondered whether he might not like to get back to teaching. We didn’t say anything, but the poor chap seemed to be altogether to be too timid to be a teacher at any school, let alone one in Amsterdam.
My party was due to run from 3 to 8 and it would have been nice to have been out in the garden, but the sun had gone in a little and the wind was up, so it was in the conservatory and kitchen. It was one of those parties where you don’t know hardly anyone, but where you can have a very pleasant time meeting new people in a very relaxed and friendly atmosphere. It was so nice, in fact, that at after 1 in the morning, I was last to leave the party, having arrived at 4.30 pm. I told this to Mum and she called it typical Roffey behaviour, which is interesting because I know that Mum and Dad were also quite often the last to leave parties which they attended and somehow, I seem to have continued the tradition. Would there be a not-leaving-the-party-until-last type of gene? Or would it rather be socially developed? I just wonder, myself, what the point is of leaving a party which you are enjoying when you don’t have to and where the host seems quite happy for you to stay? Maybe it is politeness, social etiquette, I don’t know…
The consequence of staying so long, most of the time with a bottle of beer in one’s hand is that you end up drinking too much. Seeing as we compounded the effect of a long party by going out later and having a couple of drinks in a bar and getting home even later is that you are not at your best the next day… and so it was (again)… We managed a short walk outside in the afternoon, played a round a bit on the new Apple and watched Jane Eyre on DVD. Not the latest, hi-tech, big budget BBC production, but a much quieter one from probably the early 1990’s, part of a boxed set of 11 BBC Classics, which cost just € 20 (for 40 hours of viewing time). Not bad!