Approach Bank on the subject of an overdraft.... Bank Manager and I ... look at each other across immense expanse of pink blotting-paper. Irrelevant impulse arises in me to ask if he has other supply, for use, in writing-table drawer, or if fresh pad is brought in when a client calls.... interesting topic for speculation.

Take children to London [to return to boarding schools] ... Vicky drops large glass bottle of sweets on platform at Waterloo, with resultant breakage, amiable porter rushes up and tells her not to cry, as he can arrange it all. This he does by laboriously separating broken glass from sweets, with coal-black hands, and placing salvage in a piece of newspaper. Present him with a florin, and am not sufficiently strong-minded to prevent Vicky from going off with newspaper parcel bulging in coat pocket.

November 7th, 1929. Plant the indoor bulbs. Just as I am in the middle of them, Lady Boxe calls. I say, untruthfully, how nice to see her, and beg her to sit down while I just finish the bulbs. Lady B. makes determined attempt to sit down in armchair where I have already placed two bulb-bowls and the bag of charcoal, is headed off just in time, and takes the sofa.
Do I know, she asks, how very late it is for indoor bulbs? September, really, or even October, is the time. Do I know that the only really reliable firm for hyacinths is Somebody of Haarlem? Cannot catch the name of the firm, which is Dutch, but reply Yes, I do know, but think it my duty to buy Empire products. Feel at the time, and still think, that this is an excellent reply. Unfortunately Vicky comes into the drawing-room later and says: "Oh, Mummie, are those the bulbs we got at Woolworth's?"
Finish the bulbs and put them in the cellar. Feel that after all cellar is probably draughty, change my mind, and take them all up to the attic.
November 11th. Robert, in bringing down the suitcases from the attic, has broken three of the bulb-bowls, Says he understood that I had put them in the cellar, and so wasn’t expecting them.
November 13th. Take a look at bulb-bowls on returning suitcase to attic, and am inclined to think it looks as though the cat had been up here. Shall tell Lady Boxe that I sent all my bulbs to a sick friend in a nursing-home.
November 19th. Consult Cissie Crabbe about the bulbs, which look very much as if the mice had been at them. She says: Unlimited Watering, and tells me about her own bulbs at Norwich. Am discouraged. Administer Unlimited Water to the bulbs (some of which goes through to the attic floor on to the landing below), and move half of them down to the cellar, as Cissie says attic is airless.
December 9th. On Rose’s advice, bring bulb-bowls up from cellar and put them in drawing-room. Several of them perfectly visible, but somehow do not look entirely healthy. Rose thinks too much watering. If so, Cissie Crabbe entirely to blame. (Mem.: Either move bulb-bowls upstairs, or tell Ethel to show Lady Boxe into morning-room, if she calls. Cannot possibly enter into further discussion with her concerning bulbs.)
February 21st. Remove bulb-bowls, with what is left of bulbs, to greenhouse. Tell Robert that I hope to do better another year. He replies, another year, better not waste my money.