I went over to Ardara this afternoon and found him at home in apparently very good health and pretty mobile, surrounded by a bevy of admiring ladies and a few, equally admiring, men, and enjoying songs and tunes. He sang and told lies but complains that he now finds it difficult to tell himself a story he hasn't heard before.
I wasn't able to stay for the party, which is probably still going on. Perhaps Sheila Millar or Julie MacNamara or Bonnie Shaljean who were there and intending to stay, will be able to fill in the rest.

Actually he has changed very little in all the times I've seen him since his eightieth birthday; roll on the ton!