July 2nd, 1989
Just got home a short while ago, after a very enjoyable day with Jon. He went out early this morning and came back with a pile of Sunday newspapers and chocolate croissants (yum.) We sat at the kitchen table poring over the newspapers with pot after pot of tea to sustain us. Whenever we found a news item we were interested in, we read it aloud in whichever accent we felt appropriate to the article but we ended up laughing so much, neither of us made it to end of any of them.
Went to the The Harrow for Sunday lunch and the pub was packed to the gills with mostly regulars, all of whom Jon knows. I think he was surprised when I mentioned that I’ve started looking into the possibility of buying a house in France.
“McGarr,” he stated. “You can’t leave the country.”
“You’d miss Sunday lunch too much.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I think the French have their own version.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same is it?”
“It’s probably better.”
Jon drove me home tonight and stayed for ages, chatting to mum and dad. Mum was giddy with excitement and I had to give her “the eye,” more than once! She asked Jon approximately eighty seven thousand questions, most of which he politely answered.