14st 13lb, 7.5 units. This morning we had to rise at the crack of dawn to take Mrs H’s sparkling clean and polished car for its overdue service. It does look terrific: all shiny and British racing green. And there was method in her madness in having it valeted yesterday, since the reason for tarting it up was to make the dealer think that it would be a great idea to take it off her hands. It’s a lovely car, and great fun to drive (if you haven’t got completely out of the habit of driving one with a manual gearbox, as I have) but there is no denying that it doesn’t have room for a baby buggy or indeed any of the other impedimenta considered essential in the first decade of the twenty-first century for sustaining infant life.
Having got it back from the garage, we devoted the afternoon to a long walk in the glorious sunshine; out along the Duke’s Drive towards Eaton Hall and back beside the River Dee. It was completely delightful, apart from a close encounter with a bare-chested scratter riding his deliberately and unnecessarily noisy motorbike on the footpath shortly after we had set off. I wish I had the confidence, the courage and the necessary supporting physical strength to remonstrate; but the fact that I am still alive and able to type this entry probably demonstrates that it is just as well that I do not.
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