Tuesday 1st January 1991 At home 09:07
At 9 o’clock on New Year’s Day, Gary and Maisy Wilkins found Fred slumped against their snowman. Maisy lifted his hat. Fred was cold and icily blue. They shook him but he wouldn’t wake up.”
“He’s ruined our snowman!” Gary said angrily. “He’s drunk!” Fred still smelt strongly of whisky. Obviously, he had been too incapacitated to walk all the way home last night.
“I think he’s dead,” Maisy said. They both looked down at him.
“We better get Uncle Desmond.”
Dad was still in bed when they ran into the house. He sent me to investigate. I called an ambulance.
Fred was suffering from severe hypothermia. He was lucky to survive.