Bitter blow

I went to Gillian and Julian's for a last supper last night. It was nice to say goodbye without delving into dustbins for cast-off handbags or being in a curiously unnatural state of sobriety. Sadly it meant more tears, Johnson and Johnson should have been on hand.

I managed to get back to Watford and put the rest of my worldly goods into my sister's loft before choking my way through the night. I may have developed an allergy to cats. I certainly feel like I have furballs and the sensation gets stronger whenever I'm near Willow and Ivy. There's a slow realisation that Stussy and Millie provoked a similar reaction in the past, but I'm in denial: What will become of my plans for growing old in a town house in Hampstead and two Siamese cats if they set off asphysixic reactions?

I had to repack my ocean mail case so I wasn't smuggling illegal quantities of contact lenses into the Land of the Rising Sun and protectionist optomistrists. It's now in the hands of Portland House post room. I hope the fact that I filled in the accompanying documents incorrectly doesn't go against me or its safe arrival... Tomorrow I have to post the remainder of my possessions via Royal Mail. It's going to cost me a small fortune to deliver my smalls, but I don't want to frequent the Japanese Evans if I can help it and my massive Western back will make it a necessity if I'm to shop abroad.