June 15th, 1989

June 15th, 1989
At home

Stephen and Sebastian are on their way over and the plan is to go clubbing in London. I’m not really in the mood for any of it but Stephen insisted its time for me to get out and start living it up.

It’s been a good day so far catching up with Granda, who has yet to remove his flag cap. He’s such a spirited character and keeps us entertained with many family tales. He and dad are two peas in a pod (especially where their love of whisky is concerned!) and once they get going with the stories (and the whisky!) there’s no stopping them. I’ve learned more about their side of the family in the last couple of days than I ever knew.

Dashed in from the garden to answer the phone this afternoon.
“Hello?”
“McGarr!”
“Hi Jon, how are you?”
“Excellent, I’m glad I caught you home. How’s the car running?”
“Seems to be running fine. It starts and it stops and gets me there.”
He laughed. “You and cars McGarr.”
In a cocky voice I said, “I much prefer jets.”
“Hey, how was the South of France?” He asked, catching me off guard.
“How did you know I was there?”
“I’ve had several nice chats with your mum recently.”
“Of course,” I said, then paused.
“So, how was it?” He prodded.
The words devastating and heartbreaking were running through my head but all I said was, “It was an experience.”

From all the commotion coming from downstairs it sounds like the boys just showed up.

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