Shrove Tuesday again. I say 'again' because Mum, in her ignorance, made millions of pancakes last Tuesday and passed the word round to the other inhabitants of Hawksworth Lane, who took her information as the truth, and followed blindly with the misguided pancake tossing.
Busy day at work. CB rang at 12.30 and is is cut off after two or three minutes by one of our ridiculous telephone operators. CB didn't bother ringing back. I hope she doesn't think I hung up on her.
Carole is sick of the pair of ignorant sods - her parents, and she says she's going to leave home when I move to Ripon because she can no longer stand being under the same roof with them.
I devour countless numbers of pancakes and Mum and Dad leave at 6.30 for Kirby Malzeard to offer the Henry Jenkins owner £30,000 for the lot.
Carole comes up at 6.30 straight from work. I make her several pancakes. C cannot remember the last time she had any. (Pancakes, of course. Behave yourselves.) Old Mrs Phillips has a lot to answer for because that poor girl has been subject to a near non-existant diet. The Phillips family eat nothing but chips. It wouldn't surprise me to discover that they in fact belong to a rare religious sect who idolise and worship the Frying Pan.
Have a quiet night in front of the TV with Carole, Lynn and David. He buys a bottle of apricot wine after we hap a whip round for the necessary cash. Saw a programme on BBC2 about John Bentley, the lecherous, ruthless financial wizard, who made £2m out of wrecking companies, and Carole says I look just like him! Pity my wallet isn't like his.
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