I've given up on the tennis and am taking a preprandial constitutional. 14 of us are about to sit down for dinner. Nathan's Mum and Ron are here, alongside my brother and Sascha, Ron's sister, and two of Celia's friends. I also think I'm going to get a chance to meet one of my Dad's school friends, whom I tracked down online a couple of years ago. We've booked a restaurant on Walmgate.
Yesterday night we drove up to Pickering in the early evening sunshine and then on up to the wonderfully named Rosedale Chimney, one of the highest points on the Yorkshire moors, and one of the most beautiful views in the world.
We stood at the summit of the hill, looking down across a patchwork of fields, dry stone walls and dark green woods. The sky was every conceivable colour, and when the sun broke through the clouds, little patches of the vista would light up magically. It reminded me of Mrs Tiggywinkle.
Pepys spent most of this day 350 years ago with his patron, Lord Sandwich, who had been bigging him up to various fancy London society types. Pepys was understandably thrilled, and went to bed in broad daylight, no doubt to maximise the number of office hours he could work the following day. He was a proper workaholic!