_I did not see the old year out. I played 1/- bridge in the
afternoon at Captain Cave-Brown-Cave’s, with him, Captain B.
and Dr. F. and won_
_£—18.0._
_which at normal points would have been_
_9.5.0._
_(I presume that is what the right-hand column is for. But the
left-hand column? Ah, that left-hand column!...)_
_The last that I saw of the old year was a 68-7-0, grey-haired
parson in pumps and a prince-consort moustache and whiskers
waltzing a polka, or polkering a waltz—in short, dancing
something exceedingly modern—with a 15-7-0 flapper. Then we
went to bed, wondering how Stephen was spending his New Year’s
Eve, on board the ~Almanzora~, in a south-westerly gale._
Saturday, 1 January.
_When at 5.30 I switched on my light and rose, I saw a
leprechaun standing on my writing-table, looking like a little
sandwich-man. Fearlessly I approached; and he changed into a
bottle of ~eau-de-Cologne~ with an envelope slung round his
neck, inscribed, “To my Best Beloved.” Mark ~[my wife’s]~ bold
capitals. And show me another couple whose united ages amount
to 117 years or more and who still do this sort of thing. O
olden times and olden manners!..._
Monday, 3 January.
_Bridge at Cave’s with Captain B. and Dr. C._
_~[My wife]~: “What did you talk about at tea?”_
_Tex: “Jam.”_
_This question and answer never vary, after my return from a
visit to the C.-B.-C’s...._
_I foresee that this compilation is going to rival the ~Diary
of a Nobody~. And I am pledged to keep it up until the 7th of
March. Kismet! Or, as the dying Nelson said, “Kismet, Hardy.”_
Wednesday, 5 January.