Miserable day at the YP. Sarah not in a happy mood. I sat admiring a new batch of photographs of Princess Michael of Kent. A classic beauty, stylish, &c. Sarah came out with a tirade of abuse directed at the images of HRH and said she looks 'plain'. Plain?
Delia phoned wanting to know Princess Marina's date of death. I told her (August, 1968). She didn't ask to speak to her daughter, which was just as well.
On the home front all is calm. Susan and Mum spent the night knitting with gusto. In fact it looked just like the war effort all over again. Peter didn't come up tonight because Margaret & Jim have taken his car and gone to see Lynn and Dave, and Pete always refuses to scale the heights of Hawksworth Lane on foot. (Even Sherpa Tenzing Norgay did it by car).
I had piles of sandwiches heavily coated in Mama's own pickle. Stupendous.
Jacq phoned to say Derek is taking us out to dinner on Saturday night at his golf club and so could I possibly pack something other than jeans. That rubbed me up the wrong way. When do I ever go anywhere taking only jeans?
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
Showing posts with label pickle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pickle. Show all posts
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Saturday May 5, 1984
Moorhouse Inn, Leeds Poor Diana Dors has run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. Aged 52, she has suffered from cancer. We laz...
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3rd Sunday after Epiphany 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford Baby slept until 6am which is amazing. Ally however woke at three and then...
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5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford Samuel has a hairy back and shoulders, you know. I have to record these things because in ten years ...