INGRID FEELS SORRY FOR HERSELF
T H U R S D A Y, 3 A U G
Chump and me went to get the croissants. It was baking hot climbing the hill back up.
Mummy and me went to Paloma and stayed quite a while. I watched these people (2 boys + 3 girls) playing ball in the water and wished I could have been one of them. Went in for a dip, and read A Breath of French Air by H E Bates. It’s terribly funny.
Went back and tried on Chump’s clothes; the two dresses and skirt Mummy made are absolutely fabulous. Then the villa girl – her name’s Virginia - came over with a copy of Nice-Matin. In it we found Adamo’s at the Theatre de Verdure on the 6th, so that’s probably where Jacques Dutronc will be too. She rang up, and he is! We can get tickets on the 8th! She stayed and chatted and we had wine to drink. She really is terribly sweet, about 25 or 26 I suppose (but not married).
Mummy did her hair. I do pity her, it’s so curly it’s almost impossible to set it herself.
At 9 we went to Les Hirondelles, just down the street. It was beautiful under the vines.
However, I didn’t enjoy the meal. In fact, I felt absolutely miserable. I don’t know what’s the matter with our family, we don’t seem to enjoy ourselves any more. Chump doesn’t help being grumpy over deciding what to have, and Daddy seems always in a dream, thinking about the Amsterdam competition, or something. He never takes part in the conversation unless it’s something he gets all het up about, like the terrible wages of the working classes. And then he gets so involved. Mummy’s always perfect. I feel so sorry for her. It makes me unhappy just to write this down.
I don’t think I’ll go on holiday with the family next year. I feel awfully like crying.