Good Old Uncle Harry's birthday [54th]. Take my umberella with me to Leeds this morning and, quite naturally, this particular region of the British Isles sees temperatures in the mid-nineties. Not a drop of rain to be felt within 48 million miles of my soddin' umberella.
See in the late editions of the EP that Margaret Hilda Thatcher attended the memorial service for the late Sir Edward Heath, thus ending months of speculation that at the time of the former PM's death the pair were not on the best of terms. Margaret Hilda really should have Sir Edward stuffed, mounted and placed on castors so that she can wheel the old gent onto the platform at the party conference each year. Votes would pour in.
Take the bear round to John's at 6 o'clock with Mum. See JPH and actually hold him in my arms. He's absolutely gorgeous. Mum cannot take her eyes off him. He was more interested in sucking his clothes and even thought Mum's ear was a source of nourishment. Maria looked a little pale. Didn't see much of John. Molly was full of cold, and so was Jim. Home at 7 o'clock for dinner and then it's decorating the hall and landing until 11.45pm. Believe it or not, I quite enjoy daubing paint on doors, walls and banisters, &c. So rewarding to stand back when it's all completed knowing you are responsible for the whole bloody lot.
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