Perhaps it may be as well, Teixeira concurs, 30.12.20.
31 December 1920.
I did not see the old year out. I played 1/- bridge in the afternoon at Captain Cave-Brown-Cave’s, with him, Captain B. and Dr. F. and won
£—18.0.
which at normal points would have been
9.5.0.
(I presume that is what the right-hand column is for. But the left-hand column? Ah, that left-hand column!...)
The last that I saw of the old year was a 68-7-0, grey-haired parson in pumps and a prince-consort moustache and whiskers waltzing a polka, or polkering a waltz—in short, dancing something exceedingly modern—with a 15-7-0 flapper. Then we went to bed, wondering how Stephen was spending his New Year’s Eve, on board the Almanzora, in a south-westerly gale.
Saturday, 1 January.
When at 5.30 I switched on my light and rose, I saw a leprechaun standing on my writing-table, looking like a little sandwich-man. Fearlessly I approached; and he changed into a bottle of eau-de-Cologne with an envelope slung round his neck, inscribed, “To my Best Beloved.” Mark [my wife’s] bold capitals. And show me another couple whose united ages amount to 117 years or more and who still do this sort of thing. O olden times and olden manners!...