Whit Sunday. Another scorcher. Up at 12 and do nothing before luch, which is always the case on Sundays. After roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding I nip down Tranmere to see Gillian - the femme fatale of Guiseley. Mrs Upton is a _______.Not forgetting the Jodpurs (can't spell this) and car wash leather. Gillian yells the usual abuse at her mother before coming back to Pine Tops to recline in a deckchair on the lawn with ice-cream and Mum, Dad and Lynn and eventually Dave. A really hot afternoon and would have been tranquil but for the fact that JR was screaming her ruddy, little head off two doors away. And when I say screaming, I really mean SCREAMING.
Gillian goes at 5 after laughing with Lynn about shorthand.
Dave comes at 5.30 and we have a laugh by having tea in the car. Why did we do that you are all asking? Well, the radio batteries are flat and the car radio is the only thing working at the moment, and so it came to pass that crumpets and ham sandwiches were had in the front seat of Papa's Cortina.
Lynn and Dave join us at the Hare, and we move on to the Black Bull, in Otley where I partake in a few too many Skol Special Strengths. Ray and his mate John joined us and Sunday night proved riotous for a change.
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