Trinity Sunday. Lynne is nineteen today and last night I gave Pete a card to pass on to her. It is a birthday card designed for a 90 year-old but the picture on the front is so pretty I didn't think she'd notice the slightly exaggerated number.
A beautifully hot day. Sit out on the lawn until 3.30 and then wash my hair in order to make myself presentable for tonight's laborious stint at the YP. Leave for Leeds at 4pm looking something like a cross between a lobster and a beetroot. Sat in the sunshine in Guiseley for 45 minutes waiting for the bus - and when it arrived it was packed to the very brim. (Do buses have brims? Discuss). Worked until 10.30. Bored to tears. Absolutely nothing to report in the news and I fail to see why I should continue filling in this page with the usual clipped, badly punctuated trivia. However, this diary isn't here to make me happy. It's here for your benefit. What is boring and dull to me now maybe of great historical importance in 80 or 90 years time. In fact, by the time Lynne's birthday card is applicable this diary may well be selling as a rare manuscript at Sotheby's for £70,000.
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