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Over South Dakota. Having made such an ass of myself I can hardly bear to mention it in case you want a divorce! Janet drove me to the airport and I went along to Gate 35. All went well, perfect, till I came to the last item – identity card? Rummage – no identity! – then horror dawned. I had decided to off-load junk like charge cards etc. and of course had forgotten I need my identity card for going back. Time 3.20. Plane, yes, to time. I rushed. Left my luggage with the desk and ran. Talk about the Ride to Ghent! Taxi – Homewood and
back! I couldn't do the Sherlock Holmes as they have no sovereigns, and while “Dollar if you do it!” doesn't sound bad, it does not sound as good as “Cabby! A golden sovereign!” Well, on the whole I did not lose my head too – would that have been worse or better? – so I thought I might as well pick up Julian's Bible now I was weighed in. Fortunately I knew exactly where I had put the cards. We were back with five minutes to spare – the last passenger after leftover seats were taken up. It is wonderful what it is to take a load off your mind, but I can't advocate putting it on for the pleasure of taking it off again.
It is a terribly bumpy flight. I always hope they have nailed the wings on properly. Two people on board, it has just been announced, were married an hour before boarding. Congrats – a bit half-hearted I thought.
Midnight, Pacific Time. I feel as if I have had a good night's rest – it must be because I go to sleep so suddenly, violently and completely. The film has been antique Chaplin, but I could not be bothered with it although, like all he does, he is a natural clown. He, Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd were the only real, natural clowns, although in their time there was a cult of blowing them up to a great deal more. Still, a clown is somebody – Grock, Herb Williams come to mind. Grock I have heard was not so good in his native language – I never saw him except in England where on the stage he was silent and very funny.