Oh to be there. . . .

The airplane a bit late leaving the aerodrome in Croyden but all right after. Over the Isle of Jersey and the rest. Looking like teardrops in the sea, they always did. Funny. Part of Britain but always seeming like little ducklings attached to a mother somewhere near Dover.

The heat no better than the last time but a new beaver coat to be worn and a splendid new hat to show off. Better than summer, for sure. No bits from the wicker in the chair back to stick into bare arms in a summer dress. The front of the thing still stocking catching but wool of course, not silk. Not so bad and hard for anyone to see.

Dinner with uncle’s lawyer friend’s son someplace in Amsterdam. Cab to the hotel, first, and a long bath. Satin cocktail frock with heels to match and a tiny tiara from who knows where. Not really a tiara family but auntie unearthing it. Might be better not to lie but still. Getting to be on the shelf and a husband needed soon.

But a nice gentleman across the aisle and time to chat. With any luck the winds going the wrong way and having to land somewhere else and have dinner with him. . .like the girl who was down the hall back at Saint Timothy’s . . . .had to go to Barcelona and not Lisbon . . . . a Spanish count met and then married . . .never did get to Lisbon at all . . .