Awful day at work. I'm sick to death of having to do Monday's work on a Tuesday. What they do when I have a day off I just do not know. Sarah looks ghastly. She's had all her hair cut off and the reason why she and Delia didn't arrive to see me on Friday was because she went hysterical in the hairdressers.
Salad for tea which I detest. Susan and I go through the ritual of moaning about sodden lettuce and boring accessories.
 |
| Martyn: women drop at his feet. |
Martyn rang at 8 to thank me for the photo of Her Majesty and the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society details. He experienced the delights of Miss Moorhouse on Ilkley Moor on Sunday afternoon and he wined and dined her that night. He's having a drink with her tonight in the Hare and I'm tempted to join them for a small sup. But glancing at my financial situation I decide to remain imprisoned here at Pine Tops. I could be jealous of Martyn, you know. His sex life is amazing and women drop at his feet wherever he goes. Denise thinks he's the sexiest lad she's laid eyes on in ages.
Mum and Dad go to the Commercial and I beg Sue & Pete to join me in fish and chips which they do at 10.30 when Pete drives me down to the (fish and chip) shop. I blame that ruddy salad for the pangs of starvation. No good for a growing lad.
Anthony Crosland is still deteriorating and is unconscious after his heart attack. I don't give him much longer to live. However, he could be like another General Franco and deteriorate for two or three months. Poor sod. Somehow I think he might have eventually had a bash at No 10, Downing Street. Will Healey now move to the Foreign Office?
-==-
No comments:
Post a Comment