I have to say that 2018 has not begun auspiciously for me. New Year’s Eve itself was much as I’d imagined it would be. I joined the chaps at the Club for a few celebratory drinks and we saw the old year out in good style. Most of the old guard were there, in body if nothing else. From what I saw, most of them were asleep long before midnight and should really have been tucked up in bed with their cocoa. Those who did manage to stay awake joined us at the bar in time to hear Big Ben herald in the new year.
We all have hopes that each new year will bring us better luck, health or prosperity than the one before. Some of the chaps were talking about gym memberships, diets and abstinence, but we all know that they will either have forgotten their resolutions before morning or will have discarded them before the end of January.
Anyway, I left the Club around 1 o’clock, hoping to flag down a taxi. This it turns out was my first mistake. I should have arranged to have old Arthur pick me up but I had given him the night off. Normally taxis are fairly easy to get, even at that time, but on this particular occasions, probably due to it being New Year, there were none to be had. The one thing that there was no shortage of was drunken revellers, tumbling out off every bar and club and making a damned nuisance of themselves. In the end, I had to walk all the way to Piccadilly before I could secure myself a taxi. By the time I arrived home it was almost 2 o’clock and I was not happy at all.
Whether it was due to the inclement weather, the drink or something else entirely, I awoke Monday afternoon feeling more than a little unwell. Now, I am not normally one for letting minor sniffles and colds get the better of me, but for once, it knocked me right out. In fact, I was so ill that I didn’t leave my bedroom for the whole day and only did so on Tuesday because I was getting unimaginably bored of just laying there, staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself. Dorothy tells me that an awful lot of people have been struck down with colds and flu over the festive period, so I am not alone. Not that that is reassuring in any way. When one is unwell, there is little comfort in knowing that others are also suffering.
By Wednesday I was well enough to be out and about, so decided that I would make my way to Hope’s gallery. From previous experience, I knew that there was little chance of me managing to entice her away for lunch, but I did hold out some hope of at least having a little chat. When I last saw her she had been leaving the old country pile with that rogue Simon and I was keen to be reassured that he had not in any way upset her. Anyway, to cut a long story short, it seems that she had in fact made arrangements to meet Simon that very afternoon and could only spare me a few minutes before she had to leave. From what she told me, I gather that he cancelled his prior plans for the new year to spend it with Hope and Charlotte. Needless to say, this was not the news I had wanted to hear. Simon’s reputation is not a good one and I was very surprised that Hope had been taken in by his insincere charms.
Had Charlotte been at the gallery I would have attempted to talk to her, but she was, apparently, at home working on some project or other, so, on leaving the gallery I made my way to the Club for some lunch and a few drinks. At least, that was my plan. What I hadn’t planned for, and indeed never could have imagined happening, was that as we made our way out of Chelsea, Arthur and I were involved in what was a minor accident involving ourselves and a large delivery truck. I say minor only because no one was seriously hurt, but the damage inflicted on my dear old Bentley was not inconsiderable. In the end, both vehicles had to be towed away and I decided at that point to simply return home. I have to say Arthur was rather shaken by the whole affair and I had to send him home. Obviously, I still have the Daimler to get around in, but the Bentley is an old family favourite and I am very anxious about its future.
Yesterday (Thursday) was a rather quiet day. I awoke feeling stiff and rather sorry for myself so remained indoors for the entire day. Dorothy fussed about administering various remedies, even at one point suggesting a massage to ease my aching back. Nigel came round and we did a little more work on the ever-growing family tree, but otherwise, I didn’t do very much at all.
I am still not feeling at my best today but did manage to get to the Club for a very nice lunch with a few of the chaps. It seems that most of them will be returning to work on Monday, so we made the most of having one last afternoon together before we return to the old grindstone. Over lunch, the subject of resolutions came up again. Whilst I have already made my views on such things well known before, I was intrigued to hear what others were planning to start or give up. For most of them, next week will see the beginning of a new health and fitness regime, although I very much doubt that many of them will stick it out for more than a week or two. They have no staying power. When pressed, I suggested that I might give more attention to business matters this year. That at least is something I think I can do and, in many ways, actually, need to do. Aunt Murdock is not getting any younger so no doubt I will have to take on more responsibility over the coming months.
I think that for me it is going to have to be an early night. It has been a long day, and not the best of weeks, what with the crash, feeling ill and Hope’s involvementt with Simon. Hopefully, tomorrow will mark the beginning of something better.